Beware the Ides (and the rest of) March

True confession: March has never been my favorite month. From Mother Nature's mood swings (Snow, rain, wind, ice, and melting all in one month? That's crazy!) to losing an hour of sleep due to daylight savings time to my seasonal allergy attacks which will kick in every single time we have a small thaw, leaving me snotty, breathless, and mainlining Claritin to cope with my sinus headaches to the way that March deposits a heaping helping of fresh grief and loss on my doorstep, March is the time of year when I feel less like a princess and more like pee. Lest you think that was either a Freudian slip or spell check error, let me be clear – I feel like actual urine. That was intentional.

On March 14, 2001, I learned the true meaning of grief. If you don't answer when grief calls, don't worry. Grief leaves a voicemail. And if you don't respond to that voicemail immediately, because you're busy being a very important corporate drone and you decide to return the call when it's more convenient for you, grief will join forces with her BFFs guilt and shame, and the three of them will wait for you and they will deliver an ass-kicking that will stick with you for the remainder of your days. Like most of the lessons I've learned, I learned this one the hard way and I have the invisible scars to prove it. When I finally got around to returning grief's phone call 14 years ago, I remember feeling annoyed and put out that I had to respond to this likely annoying voicemail – until I heard the words that would break my heart into a million pieces and change me forever. Nate was dead.

Nate was the embodiment of love, of laughter, of light, and of life – but where there is love and light, there can also be darkness lurking below the surface. Nate's struggle was epic – he fought the demons of bipolar disorder and depression quietly and alone for many years. He won many battles but ultimately, mental illness won the war when he took his own life on March 13, 2001. He was my best friend. Why didn't he confide in me? Why didn't he tell me how bad things had become? I couldn't reconcile the idea of a guy who was too gentle to kill a spider with this man who bought a gun and used it to end his life. How did this happen? Why didn't I know? Why didn't I stop it? Lather, rinse, repeat.

On St Patrick's Day 14 years ago, we said our goodbyes and buried Nate – and I said goodbye to my dear friend and hello to my three new companions; grief, shame, and guilt. The four of us spent a lot of time together in the ensuing days, months, and years – mostly late at night when the rest of the world was sleeping. My three new companions would gang up on me; tell me horrible things about myself; and they pushed me to make lousy life choices. So, no, March – I don't particularly care if you decide to go in like a lamb, a lion, or a loose cannon . . . I just plain don't like you.

Of course, time marches on (pun not intended but awesome nonetheless) and since it's not socially acceptable to take to your bed for an entire month just because it's not your best time of year, I continue my efforts to give up, give in, or give it all I've got. Here's the latest:

Give Up: I gave up an hour of sleep – but so did everyone because daylight savings time is here. I also gave up part of my weekend to take my niece (aka mini-me) on some college visits. There is nothing like spending 36 hours with a 16 year old to make you feel older than dirt. I remember the day Mini-me was born, and suddenly we're filling out college applications and looking at dorm rooms and talking about college majors and careers. She has a drivers' license, an opinion about everything, and such a bright future in front of her. I want her to take advantage of every opportunity and shine – and not make all the mistakes that my dumb ass made, but I also know that screwing up is part of growing up, so instead, I bite my tongue so hard that I taste blood and do my best to be a good role model, mentor, and champion for her while trying to remember to buy Geritol and Activia because I. AM. OLD. How the hell did this happen?

Give In: I love living in America, and I know that part of the deal of living in this great land is that I have to pay taxes. Yet the annual income tax routine makes me sweat, itch, and panic like nothing else on earth. I am terrified of the size of the check I will need to write my uncle, Sam. Occasionally, I get a small refund but more often than not, I'm writing a check with a lot of zeros. Last year, I sold a house and made a profit (on paper) so I feared the worst. After almost chewing off my nice-looking fingernails from anxiety, I decided to suck it up and the hubby and I called our tax dude. The short version of this story is that yes, I owe some money. It's a lot less than my worst nightmare and we'll be filing this week. Am I thrilled to write these checks? No. But it could be a lot worse, as I learned in previous years, so I'll write the checks, lick the stamps, and shut my pie hole. And that, my friends, is the very definition of giving in.

Giving It All I've Got: I have 69 days of mostly honest and complete food logging on MyFitnessPal, which is both a personal record and quite an achievement. I'm terrified to step on the scale to determine if I'm making any actual progress, so I am relying on the positive affirmations and proactive shaming I receive from MyFitnessPal on a regular basis to define my success. Thankfully, MyFitnessPal has not yet figured out that I occasionally replace entire meals with wine, so it has yet to provide me with the shaming I so richly deserve, "Wine is not one of the four food groups" or alternately, "This much wine consumption is only going to lead you down the road to inhaling a family size bag of Pirate's Booty before the day is done." I jest. I only had wine for dinner one time. I promise.

I'm finishing up my Thrive Eight-Week Experience. Have I lost weight? Only my scale knows for sure and I am certainly not going to hoist my fat ass onto that digital nightmare to find out. Do I have more energy? I think I do. Do I feel pretty good most of the time? Yes, actually – which is no small feat considering March is generally the time of year I go into a deep depression that no amount of sleep, chocolate, wine, or Lifetime movies can cure. One of these mornings – preferably not a morning after I've smashed an entire platter of onion rings (also known as last Thursday) or a large pizza (also known as the prior Saturday) or a gooey chocolate-peanut butter Rice Krispy treat (within the past 72 hours) – I will face my demons, step on the scale, and get an official progress report. Until then, I'll keep Thriving because it's probably not hurting and frankly, sometimes that's the best I can hope for.

Not only have I been religious about seeing Big Bad Trainer, but I think I might be getting stronger! I frequently flex my biceps at home in front of the mirror, the cat, the dog, and my husband. None of them seem too impressed. I huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf's twin sister when Big Bad Trainer puts me through the paces, and the thought of lunging or squatting makes my hair hurt. And maybe Big Bad Trainer is playing head games with me, but even he has mentioned that I seem to be getting stronger. You've been warned.

I've been sporadic about my cardio workouts – but, I did pack my sneakers on my weekend road trip to Fargo, ND – and damn if I wasn't in the hotel gym at the Candlewood Suites getting my sweat on early Saturday morning. I'm not giving it all I've got here but I'm giving it something which is better than nothing, right?

I am pleased to report that I do not have to move out of my little community. My volunteer application to serve on the human services committee has been approved and I am supposed to be sworn in by the city council next week. I attended my first meeting tonight and I'm looking forward to being in a position to make a small difference in the community where I live. My husband is happy that I'm not going to move out, as I threatened to do if I was not selected to serve. What can I say? I'm a vengeful person.

It's been at least 65 days since I last chewed my fingernails. I do still occasionally pick a ragged cuticle but I'm not going to lie to you – my nails look pretty good. I have discovered the shellac manicure which has been basically life-changing, and I frequently admire my own lovely nails. Because I can.

Finally – in the spirit of giving it all I've got, I'll be remembering my dear Nate on Friday, March 13^th. While I remember him every day, on Friday, I'll be taking special care to "give it all I've got" to paying it forward and honoring his memory. Don't be alarmed if you get a phone call or a text from me. Will I be handing out hugs? Doubtful. But hey – stranger things have happened.

© 2015 Princess D

Count Your Blessings, Not Your Problems

When I decided to give it all I've got, I wasn't actually referring to completing the transformation to total psychopath. Unfortunately, in my current, "go big or go home" world, half-assing it is not allowed. If I'm going to be an ass, I'm going to be a whole giant one. And believe you me when I assure you, the ass is in!

I'm used to being the mayor of Crankytown. It's a role I'm comfortable with and I enjoy ruling my kingdom with an iron and cranky fist. I'm not used to channeling Cher songs whereby my "words are like weapons, they wound sometimes." I don't know what happened on Friday night, unless it was a unique combination of Neptune rising, workplace stress, wine, and premenstrual syndrome. All I know is one minute, we were having a lovely conversation on the couch and the next minute, I was threatening to ram a screwdriver through my husband's ear, and at one point, I believe I shouted, "If you don't get in here and watch television with me right now, I'll divorce you!" Who does that? Hint: I do. And it's not my proudest moment.

In addition to giving my all to becoming a complete and total ass – a feat which took up a surprising amount of my time and energy because it's not like being that horrible came naturally to me, no matter what you may have heard – I also spent some time giving all I've got to other areas of my life. For those keeping score, here's the latest tally:

Give Up: According to my husband, I gave up good manners and took rage to new levels over the past few weeks. I can't argue his point – I've been itching to pick fights with anyone and everyone. Note to those in the service industry: this never ends well for you. Letters were written and mailed to restaurant general managers who wronged me; online surveys indicated my displeasure with the enthusiasm in the greeting I received upon entering your establishment; and cashiers who failed "Bagging 101" class were loudly reprimanded for doing it wrong. Attention, bagging personnel: you do not need to put items that have built-in handles into a bag. If I can't carry the milk jug by its handle, the flimsy bag (paper or plastic, it matters not) is not going to solve the riddle for me. You should also avoid placing all the heaviest items together in one bag, leaving me with one bag weighing more than a bowling ball and another one that feels like it contains feathers. And for the love of all that is holy, you are making the Baby Jesus cry when you put cleaning supplies in the same bag with perishables. Get it together, people! I'm half-blind, lack depth perception, am spatially challenged and even I can bag correctly. If you're not sure if you're doing it wrong, you probably are. But check out this handy guide to correctly bagging groceries and perform your own self-assessment.


There is a follow-up rant in my future where I'll discuss my extreme displeasure with the way cashiers provide your change on a cash transaction - so you have something to look forward to.

Give In: In 2007, I purchased my first hybrid car, a 2008 Honda Civic hybrid. While it doesn't have any bells or whistles – it has doors, windows, and a horn, thank you very much – it does get about 37 mpg and more importantly, I haven't had a car payment since 2010. In fact, my Honda is one of the very few items from my "old life" that I've carried over into my new (happily married) life. I've had that car longer than I've known my husband. It's been stuck in snowbanks; it has crashed into inanimate objects; and there was one instance where it drove up onto someone's lawn. It's been crashed, smashed, and it bears the scars. It also has a furry pink steering wheel cover (yay) and just under 110k miles on the odometer. While I can't park it to save my life, this car has served me well. I'll say it: it's the most reliable car I've ever owned.

And . . . it's time to let it go. Minnesota winters are hard on cars, and rust is starting to eat away at my beloved vehicle. The self-inflected dents and dings I was too cheap to repair look like rust-colored bruises. I am giving up on my car and giving up on my debt-free living, and I bought a new car. Not only did I buy it, I drove it home tonight! My new ride has bells and whistles that are probably way too complicated for a Luddite like me to figure out – but it's cute, it's a turbo diesel, and more importantly, my little Honda has found a grateful new owner. Take good care of her, Ted. 

Giving It All I've Got: At the risk of sounding like president of my own fan club, I've been giving it all I've got all over the place. Here are the headlines:

• I raised my hand in my community and expressed interest in serving on the human services committee. I interviewed with the city council last week and although they didn't "hire" me on the spot for this volunteer role, when I inquired, "What are you looking for in a new committee member," the answer was, "Someone exactly like you!" I took that as a positive sign, since I fit that description pretty well, and I look forward to giving back to my city and its residents in this way.
• 56 day streak on MyFitnessPal!
• Lost 0.9 lbs. since my last weigh-in on MyFitnessPal, making me 3 lbs. heavier than when I signed up for MyFitnessPal in the first place several years ago. It's progress – I'll take it! In all seriousness, my experience with food logging shows that, once you make a habit of it, it will help you eat mindfully and you will be able to s-l-o-w-l-y return to your fighting weight.
• Although my nail polish is chipping, my fingernails look pretty damn good. Not one person has inquired as to whether or not termites have been chewing on my digits, which is another positive sign. I haven't picked or chewed a fingernail or cuticle in almost 60 days.
• I finished my stupid work paper, turned it in, presented it, and survived! I re-read the paper this morning and was pleasantly surprised at how smart it sounded, and this afternoon, I got some feedback from a bunch of very important people at work, all of whom agreed that it was written well. As an aspiring author, it was nice to hear that I may have a talent for storytelling.
• I even had a performance review that didn't suck!
• Two weeks shy of finishing my Thrive Eight Week Experience and while I'm not going to be peddling this stuff myself anytime soon, since taking the supplements, I have felt zestier and more energetic than normal. I almost never want to lay under my desk and nap midday anymore. I will likely continue taking Thrive after the eight weeks are up. I haven't missed a day yet.
• Missed a workout with Big Bad Trainer, but made up for it with a self-induced cardio butt-kicking. And I'm back in the strength-training saddle starting tomorrow.
• Did I mention what an asshole I've been lately?
  

Do I still wish I was younger, smarter, thinner, less freckly? Of course. I also wish I was a millionaire, a natural red head, and living in a warm climate. But I've got to tell you – since I'm giving it all I've got, I'm spending more time being grateful and appreciating how amazing my life is. If you're looking for me, I'll be drinking a beer and counting my blessings.

© 2015 Princess D


 

 

 

Show Yourself Some Love

Isn't it ironic how time can move both quickly and glacially at the same time? Consider the conference call that just won't end at work; the time spent thumbing through a collection of germ-infested decade old magazines while you wait for your health-care practitioner to call your name; or the meeting you have with the guy who does your taxes as examples of the latter. On the former, it's how you seem to blink and suddenly you're a year older; the way that the dirty laundry seems to reproduce while you're not watching; and the sense that no matter how hard you try, you'll never have enough time to do it all.

It's Valentine's Day, which means that February is half gone and March is just around the corner. Apparently, 2/3 of us have already abandoned our New Year's resolutions and are either wallowing in a pool of guilt and shame or are celebrating that we can now eat gluten or carbs or sit on the couch watching television with our mouths hanging open with reckless abandonment. But . . . 33.33333% of us are sticking to our guns. We're still in the game. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to count myself among the fighters since I publicly eschewed resolutions in favor of an annual anthem, but since I feel like a winner, I'm going to count myself in these statistics.

Yesterday was my first official paid day off in 2015, and since old habits die hard, I had this incredible list of "shoulds" concocted to fill up the hours I'd normally spend at the office. I'd go to the credit union; I'd complete a required financial transaction; I'd go to the gym; I'd clean the house; I'd pick up groceries; I'd walk the dog; I'd do laundry; I'd go to the gym . . . You know what? All I wanted to do was take a nap. So, after a trip to the credit union and a required financial transaction (the whole reason I took the day off), I came home, had a snack, and napped like a baby. If my dog hadn't been so offended by a garbage truck traveling down the street – he expresses his displeasure through a series of painfully loud barks – I might be sleeping still.

So, here's my Valentine's Day progress report:
Give Up: Maybe it's just me, but I harbor a vague sense of guilt when I take time to do things for myself. I feel like I should be busy saving the world or at least making sure my household has clean underwear and a well-stocked refrigerator. Perhaps I'm imagining the conversations I'll have at the office on Monday when people ask how I spent my day off. Will I be ashamed that I spent a good portion of the day in bed? Perhaps, but why? My colleagues don't care how I spent my day off. They're being polite and making small talk – and I bet that each of them secretly wishes they were napping anyway.

I've tried to give up the shoulding all over myself, but 40 years of bad habits don't change overnight. It's a process. So, instead, I am giving up on feeling guilty for taking care of myself. If I don't, who will? Besides, there are fewer greater pleasures in life than snuggling in your warm bed with a fluffy cat and a big furry dog.

Give In: Oh, was I a crankypants this week! I don't know if it was sleep deprivation, stress, or just general witchiness, but I was unpleasant to the core. I was the kind of horrible that feels like an out-of-body experience – where you can actually see yourself being a crazy bitch but you can't do anything to stop it. Innocent people tried to ask me questions and instead of answers, they received vitriol. So much vitriol.

Sometimes, I'm not nice. And when I'm feeling horrible, it usually means that I'm failing in some other aspect of my life. In this case, as I gave in to my inner bitch, I realized I was neglecting my self-care. And apparently, when I am not fed, watered, and rested appropriately, I become hazardous to your health. You've been warned.

Giving it All I've Got: I still haven't missed a single workout date with Big Bad Trainer . . . which may not sound like a real accomplishment, but I assure you, it is. I normally train twice a week after work – which means that I've been up and at 'em in some way, shape, or form for at least 11 hours before I head to the gym. There are days when I'm so tired that I don't even want to walk from my desk to my car, much less participate in whatever heavy lifting antics Big Bad Trainer may have up his sleeve. Wednesday was one of those days and I debated whether or not it would be okay to miss my workout – until I realized that I'd have to confess my sloth to one of the four people who read my blog and it was that shame that propelled me through my workout.

I'm on a 46 day streak on MyFitnessPal, even though there was an incident with some peanut butter M&Ms that I'd rather not discuss. MyFitnessPal knows all about it, and provided the appropriate level of fat and sugar shaming already. I haven't been on the scale in February yet, since I'm still reeling from seeing those very large numbers the scale reflected back at me in January. I suspect we're in a holding pattern. Or worse. But what I don't know is unlikely to cause me to fling my iPhone or my expensive scale out the window. Besides, it's really cold out and we probably can't afford a new window.

I'm continuing my Thrive Eight Week Experience. Since I refuse to get on the scale, I can't really provide any insights on whether or how well this is working, but I have not missed a day of vitamins and protein shakes. Since I'm not promoting, selling, or making any money from this experience, my assessment is likely the most honest you'll find. I have some more energy and I am less prone to snack attacks, so it's doing something. Is that worth the price tag? Unclear until I know whether or not we are seeing any results on the scale I'm terrified to stand on.

I'm still trying to figure out my purpose in this life. After being rejected for several volunteer positions, I received a call recently inviting me to interview for a role on the city's human services committee. My 15 minute interview is on Tuesday evening, and I've already explained to my husband that if they reject me, we will obviously sell our house and leave the city immediately. (He is less convinced.) Since its inception, the city's human services fund has allocated over $1.4 million to community agencies. This year, they will allocate almost $50k to organizations like Second Harvest Heartland; the YMCA; PRISM food shelf; and others. I'm studying for my interview! Wish me luck – I can't handle being rejected for yet another unpaid position. There is a fine line between humbling and humiliating, and I don't think we need to cross it.

And – thanks to the guy in my basement, who is a lovely person and a frequent volunteer – I have been invited to volunteer at the Marie Sandvik Center tomorrow. I think it is important to be of service to others for so many reasons – frankly, it's an entirely new blog – but most of all, I think we can all benefit from changing the channel in our own heads from the "all me, all the time" show to the "focus on someone else" hour.

Last but not least, there is my writing. While I don't update this blog on any kind of planned or predictable schedule, under the guise that would be awfully close to shoulding on myself, I am writing. I don't know if writing is my hobby, my therapy, or something else but I do know that when I write, I feel better than when I don't – so giving it all I've got seems like a good choice.
Although it's the kind of cold that even polar bears complain about outside, the sun is shining, and I've banished should from my vocabulary for the day. We'll see what happens – and tomorrow is a new day to tackle that which doesn't get done today.

 
© 2015 Princess D


 

 

 

 

 

Whoooosh . . . there it is!

If you listen really closely, you'll hear a deep whooshing sound. That's the sound of me releasing the breath I've been holding for the past few weeks; exhaling the self-doubt, the angst, and the feeling of being an imposter in my own life. In retrospect, I didn't exhale all at once but rather, like a helium balloon with a tiny leak, slowly released the breath I'd been clinging to since the calendar turned to 2015.

A few things you should know about me. First, I'm terrible at math. Second, I'm incredibly vain and also shockingly immature for a person who generally goes through life with a giant stick crammed firmly up her backside. There's an entirely different blog and lucrative retirement opportunity for the therapist who wants to help me unravel that mess. Thus, I am frequently shocked when I wake up in the morning, do the math, and realize that I'm 40-something years old. It was a minor relief to discover that my remedial math skills are so poor that I'd incorrectly calculated my age as 42 . . . until I realized that I am, in fact, 41 and will be 42 in a matter of months. This discovery led to two immediate actions; first, I scheduled a shockingly expensive anti-aging facial that promised to take years off my appearance. Second, I went a little bananas. I'm almost 42 years old and what have I done with my life? What is my purpose? Is this all there is?

The facial was both expensive and quite uncomfortable. In all honestly, I think I look about ten years older and a lot more gullible for the experience. Perhaps the results will improve over time? Or maybe I'm just stuck with the face I've got and I should deal with it. What was more disturbing was the sense of existential angst I was wallowing in . . . but after I finished what I hope is the final damn draft of that idiot paper I'm working on at work, I was able to calm down a little bit, and like the self-proclaimed princess that I am, I decided to take my own medicine and anthem the hell out of this! Yeah – that happened. I made anthem a verb.

Here's the latest "anthem update" for those keeping score:

Give Up: I caught myself almost giving up a few times lo these last few days and weeks. There were times when I doubted my own ability to persevere, let alone succeed . . . but then I remembered my damn anthem and instead, I decided to give up my fear (of failure, of embarrassment, or whatever it is that is getting in my way) and I gave up on giving up more often than not. And I even learned something about myself in the process, which I know you're dying to hear, so I'll share it with you. Giving up is the easy way out in the moment, but when you give up, you are stuck wondering "what if" for eternity. In my personal experience, it would appear that giving up is what I do when I am under extreme stress and/or feel doomed to fail. I'd rather quit than fail. What's fascinating about this is that, last time I checked, I don't have psychic powers so I am actually not able to predict the future. Before I give up and throw in the towel, I'm trying something new. I'm pausing – just for a moment – to think about the reasons why. Sometimes my reasons are valid and in those instances, you bet I'm giving up. But more often than not, the act of pausing and getting really clear about my reasoning and rationale helps me make a different and intentional decision to keep on keeping on.

Give In: There's something about the phrase "give in" that just sounds negative. And yet, giving in is part of the human condition. If no one ever gave in, life would be an endless series of temper tantrums, slammed doors, raised voices, and random acts of violence. If we never gave in, no one would drive the speed limit, no one would pay their bills, and believe me when I tell you that more than one person would have been trampled to death by my shopping cart in a SuperTarget. Just like giving up, giving in is one of those things that is best done intentionally and mindfully.

There is a thin, thin line dividing giving in and shoulding all over oneself. For example, my mother-in-law is in the hospital, and I knew I should visit her. Because it's the right thing to do, blah blah blah. I really, really, really didn't want to. And I did it anyway. I gave in because it was her birthday, she's family, and if I didn't go visit her, I was just going to take a nap. However, the long list of things that I know I should be doing right now (laundry, vacuuming, walking the dog, going to the gym, organizing my closet, preparing my taxes, booking a hotel for my upcoming road trip to Fargo, ND . . .) and it's driving me nuts. I still haven't figured out how to give in without shoulding all over myself and if I do . . . you'll be among the first to know.

Giving it all I've Got: Because I've been pretty careful about setting realistic and reasonable expectations, I feel pretty good about where I've given it my all. Here are some examples of my commitment:

1. MyFitnessPal tells me that I have logged my food and exercise religiously for 40 days! 40 days without skipping or lying or pretending that I've lost my phone/laptop so that I don't have to confess my food sins to an app! While I've yet to shed a single pound, I am more thoughtful about what I eat (and don't) and am starting to see some rhyme and reason to my food consumption and overconsumption. This is a habit that, while annoying to others who are forced to watch me fiddle with my phone in restaurants, coffee shops, and bars in an effort to log my food real-time, I'm happy to keep up.
2. I decided to cut myself a break on the fitness front. This is actually an example of giving in and giving it all I've got. I am choosing not to spend all my free time at the gym because I have some other things going in my crazy, wild, colorful life that I'd rather give my time and energy to – so I made a deal with myself. I refuse to miss a single strength-training session with Big Bad Trainer Aaron – no matter what – and when I'm there, I am pushing myself as hard as I can. This is evidenced by the profuse amounts of sweat and the horrific grunting noises I'm emitting. (See also: big checks I write to my trainer.)
3. Now that I'm almost done with my paper for work, I find that I have more time on my hands for other activities. I want to do something meaningful and helpful, so I've applied to be a volunteer at a couple of places. Unfortunately, no one seems all that enthusiastic about my offers to volunteer at their homeless shelter or their job clubs. I've filled out applications, been interviewed, and had my references checked. It's humbling to realize that I may lack the appropriate skills to work for free. If you know of an organization that would like someone like me – I'm tall, I have my own car, and I can be nice when it's required – to volunteer a couple of times a month in a role that doesn't require a lot of hand-eye coordination or crafty abilities, please let me know.
4. Thrive by Le-vel Eight week experience. This is the pyramid marketing scheme I'm involved in where I take some vitamins in the morning, drink a chalky tasting low-calorie protein shake for breakfast, and wear something that looks suspiciously like a nicotine patch on my arm. I'm just over halfway through my eight week experience and while I don't think I'm going to be recruited to provide a personal testimonial, I will tell you that I continue to notice my increased energy and decreased appetite as happy side effects.

Also on the horizon of things I "should" give all I've got . . . networking and getting more involved in the local human resources community. I'm not quite ready to take this leap yet but am considering recruiting some friends to join me in this endeavor. Ask me about this again in a few weeks.

Sure, the groundhog predicts another six weeks of winter, but I predict an early spring . . . because I am continuing to spring into action and attack 2015 with a vengeance!

© 2015 Princess D


 

 

Knowing When To Hold Em, When to Fold Em . . .

As the first month of 2015 comes to a close, I can't help but wonder how everyone is doing with their resolutions. Are you still feeling resolved? Are you making progress? Or did you put your resolutions in the back of the closet, next to your acid-washed jeans, high school letter jacket, and that giant can of Rave hairspray you've been holding on to "just in case" mall hair makes a sudden comeback? More importantly, how do you feel? Are you feeling defeated? Inspired? Exhausted? Overwhelmed by a sudden desire to don legwarmers and acid washed jeans?

Although I was a wee bit tardy to the party in developing my antidote to New Year's resolutions, it's been just shy of a month since I embraced my 2015 anthem. In case it's not seared into your memory, I'll repeat it here:

And because I apparently can't take anything seriously, even (especially?) myself, I've also dubbed 2015 the year that I stop "shoulding" all over myself. That's how a ghetto princess takes a classy and lovely sentiment and keeps it real.

As I prepare to put a bow on January 2015 (that's a wrap, kids) and look forward to what February brings, I can't help but reflect on my own progress as 1/12 of the year comes to an end.

Give Up: You'll be hard-pressed to find someone as stubborn as me. When I was much, much, much younger, I remember my mom telling me, with some amount of awe in her voice, "You never, ever give up on things, Denise." I hear her voice every time I quit something, which, contrary to my mom's interpretation, I do more often than I care to admit. More than not quitting, though, I tend not to start things if I don't believe that I can succeed. I don't want to fight a losing battle. I'd rather fight battles I believe I can win. One of my biggest, scariest fears is that I don't want other people to think I'm incompetent or stupid. It's perfectly fine for me to think this about myself but darn it, you better not!

The gift that January 2015 gave me was perspective. I've struggled to make progress on things that my heart wants me to give up on. I've forced myself to keep moving when I wanted to throw in the towel and crawl into bed. Many of you know I'm writing a paper at work – a task that should be a no-brainer for someone who has a passion for writing. Instead, it's been a laborious process that's brought to light all kinds of unflattering aspects of my psychology. More importantly, the damn paper still isn't done! In fact, there is nothing I want to do more than give up on this paper and admit defeat. The consequences of that choice, however, are simply too great. I like my job when it's not making me face my inner demons and write papers. Hundreds of other people at work have gone through this process successfully. I haven't been singled out for torture. If I give up, I admit defeat and worse, I am admitting that maybe I'm not qualified for the job I have. Even I know that's bullshit, if you'll pardon my Portuguese.

There are plenty of times when giving up is the right choice to make. When you give up, you are making a choice to walk away without knowing exactly how the story will end. You are accepting the consequences, good, bad or ugly, of your choice. There are lots of appropriate times and places to give up, but January has taught me the importance of owning my choices.

Give In: I never really thought of myself as the "give-in" type – and January once again pointed out the flaw in my thinking. Every time I start shoulding on myself – every time that voice in my head says, "You really should fill-in the-blank", I give in. Giving in isn't inherently bad – as my buddy Kenny Rogers wisely said, "you've gotta know when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em." Kenny, you're a genius. If you know when to fold 'em, you're making a conscious choice to give in. You're in charge and you're calling the shots. You've weighed the options and decided that you're not going to gamble on this.

Being able to give in – and forgive yourself for giving in – is a gift. We can't be everything to everyone all the time. I'm not super-woman, no matter how many capes I may or may not have in my closet. In January, I gave in a lot. I expect the rest of the year to follow suit. I gave in and completed tasks that were nagging at me, like renewing my passport (finally). I gave in and paid my bills; balanced my checkbook; and showed up places I wasn't in the mood to be to support my friends and family. Being able to give in is a gift that I hope to learn how to give more often in 2015.

Giving it all I've Got: How many days does it take to build a new habit? Google was absolutely no help to me on this as I got a variety of answers. Regardless, I have given all I've got to MyFitnessPal, and I've successfully and truthfully logged my food for 31 days in a row. (And gained 2 pounds since my last weigh-in but that's another story.) This may seem like an incredibly tiny baby step – and it probably is – but this new "habit" is something I'm committed to because it helps me make intentional choices about food. I'm not, by nature, a mindful eater and after I take down a bag of Cheetos and a box of doughnuts, I'm ashamed. I don't want to put it in writing and be confronted with my poor choices. Giving all I've got to food logging has made me a more mindful eater and although I'm still making some questionable choices, I'm feeling more proud and less ashamed of my eating habits. This is a win! 

I'm also giving my all to my strength-training. I haven't been doing the cardio I should and that's okay. I chalk that up to a "give in" since there are only so many hours in the day and I have intentionally prioritized my paper over my cardio. I haven't missed a session with Big Bad Trainer and when I am there, I am a sweaty, grunting mess. I am stronger than I've ever been and even though that means I'm still weaker than most people, I'm better than I was yesterday. It doesn't matter how tired or stressed or sad or whatever I might be – my two hours a week with Trainer Aaron are sacred to me and I won't give up on myself. I love having a trainer who is also a role model and an advocate. He's not giving up on me, so why should I?

For those that are interesting in how my guilt-induced pyramid marketing scheme is going (aka the Thrive Eight Week Experience), I'm about halfway on my journey. I'm still taking the vitamins, drinking the shake, and wearing the patch, and while it's not the miracle that the promoters will tell you it is, I am seeing some positive results that I'll share. First, I do seem to have more energy and I am awfully zesty the first few hours of the day. Second – and more important to me, frankly – is that I notice I am less inclined to my typical boredom induced snacking since I've been Thriving. I'll weight myself next week and report back on my progress.

And now, I need to find my big girl pants and get myself to the library. This paper clearly isn't going to finish itself and the sooner I get to work on it, the sooner I can call it done!
Thanks for the lessons, January! February – I'm ready for you. Show me what you've got.

© 2015 Princess D


 

No Shame in My Game

Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Denise, but I like to be called "Princess" – because in my world, I'm reigning over a kingdom and I rock the tiara. My head is perfectly shaped for tiaras and other blingy accessories. If it were socially acceptable, I'd wear one every single day. If I get a paper cut on my finger, you'll be able to hear me moaning in pain from at least four states away. If someone pisses me off . . . well, you'll be able to hear about that provided that you live on earth and possess ears. Bottom line? I have a penchant for the melodramatic, and when I get into a funk, I can host a pity party that would put any Real Housewife to shame.

My recent rant, titled Epic Fail, is a classic example of this. In fact, the very act of writing it was incredibly therapeutic, because I got to take all the voices inside my head and mock them on the interwebs. You may be relieved to hear that shortly after posting Epic Fail, I not only finished the first draft of my personal Moby Dick (the ten page paper I must do for work), but I also rectified my bathing situation and took a damn shower. There was lathering, rinsing, and repeating. I even used conditioner.

I want to be honest – yes, I do suffer from depression. Lots of people do. It's a real thing, and while many of us have found ways to live with it, not everyone is so fortunate. Thankfully, 80% of people who seek treatment for depression are treated successfully and yay, me, for being part of the 80%! But here's the caveat – you need to seek treatment in order to be counted in that statistic. And although we can at least talk about depression today, there is a stigma surrounding mental illness. I don't list clinical depression on my LinkedIn profile – because I am more than some lousy brain chemistry. I also have hypertension – so I am lousy brain chemistry combined with at a high risk for heart disease and stroke. But I'm a lot more than those labels, too.

Is there a point here? I'm getting there. 40,000 people will die by suicide this year. Most of them will die without having sought professional care. In the time it takes me to write this blog post, two people will commit suicide – and the world will lose out on the opportunity to let their light shine. Untreated depression is one of the leading causes of suicide. And suicide is permanent and forever. My dear friend Nate struggled and fought mental illness but ultimately, lost his fight when he took his life nearly 15 years ago. Guess what? The people who love him feel his absence every single day. Me included.

Here's my point. Yes – I'm a drama queen. Yes, I feel like an epic failure sometimes. I hear that's normal. Thank the good Lord above that I have friends and family and a pharmacist who all love me. (Ok, maybe not my pharmacist. He's an old guy at Walgreens). More importantly, I know that they will put up with my mood swings and my drama and my pity party and my eating cake for dinner. Some of them read my Epic Fail blog and had a good chuckle, while others (my nice friends), gave me pep talks. My husband, who knows exactly what he signed up for when he met me at the altar, provided me with wine and popcorn. He truly is a prince. He even has my dinner ready for me when I come home from work! Best guy ever!!!

Bottom line – I rock my anthem even when I'm not trying to. Because let me tell you this - I gave coping with my depression everything I had yesterday. And today, I feel better. If anyone is looking for me, I'll be at the gym.

Ps. If you feel so inclined and want to donate a couple of bucks to a great cause, may I recommend www.save.org? And if you really want to make my day, tell SAVE that you want to donate to the Nathan Corbett Named Memorial Fund.

 

© 2015 Princess D

Epic Fail

There is no other way to describe my current progress. Not only am I suffering from the world's most severe case of musterbation (aka "shoulding all over myself"), but I seem to also be suffering from some debilitating form of paralytic inertia, whereby the only part of me that moves at all is my mind. And the racing thoughts and negative self-talk won't quit.

I've fallen off every wagon I've encountered, and instead of getting back up, I've chosen to lay still and let the wagon (full of shame) roll over me again and again. I'm going through the motions, certainly, but I can't help but feel disconnected from myself, as if I'm watching my days unfold on what would have to be terribly boring television show. Is this what depression looks like? Did I forget to take my pills? Am I doomed?

I took one of those Facebook quizzes today – you know the kind I'm talking about. This one was designed to tell me my worst quality, so of course, I jumped all over it since what I need more than anything is more negative self-talk and for the flipping internet to trash-talk me on top of everything else. Was I surprised to learn that I'm lazy? Uh . . . no. Lazy is one of my favorite ways to insult myself.

Have I abandoned my anthem? No – but not out of any sense of loyalty or goal-orientation or resilience, but rather sheer laziness (thanks, internet). It feels like too much work to give up. And so, I keep on keeping on, but in the most half-assed, disappointing way possible. Don't believe me? Check out my progress report:

Give Up: While I am still religiously logging my food in MyFitnessPal, I have given up on even trying to stay within my daily fat, calorie, sugar, etc goals. I took down an entire Chinese takeout menu by myself the other night. If eating 2500 calories in one sitting is wrong, someone should alert my uterus because my PMS said it was So. Very. Right. A bottle of wine for dessert? Why not?

I also appear to have given up on basic hygiene, since I honestly can't remember the last shower I took, and the less said about my hair, the better. I've been wearing the same clothes day and night for the past 48 hours and I think my deodorant went on strike about 30 hours ago. I stink but I've also given up on spritzing my pits.

I made it to the gym once in the past week and although my dog is doing everything short of leashing me up to go for a walk, I can't be bothered with the idea of exercise. It's too exhausting to think about.

Give In: I've given in to my depression. Yes, I have a prescription to help regulate my blue moods and yes, I'm taking my blue pills when I remember (which is most of the time). But you know what? I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm a disappointment to myself. And I'm a giant pain in my own ass. If you've got a cure for that, I'm all over it.

The only thing that gives me any joy right now – beyond food, sleep, and not bathing – is re-reading my favorite Patricia Highsmith books. I cannot get enough of the antics of that sociopath, Tom Ripley, which is most certainly a testament to my current state of mental health.

And honestly, I've given in to the negative self-talk and the voices in my head and all the "you're not good enough" bullshit. Fabulous.

Giving it all I've Got: Yeah. I got nothing here. I'd love to tell you that I'm giving this paper I have to write for work all I've got, but that would be a lie. It's about 60% done and I need to finish it today, so whether I want to or not, I'll be spending the afternoon at the library trying to put a bow on this pile of suck.

Okay, I lied again. I have some moderate success at giving it all I've got in three areas. First, I've managed to not bite my nails and my recent manicure is holding up nicely. I may even get another one! Second, I'm still plugging along at my Thrive Eight Week Challenge, although I wisely stayed off the scale since that last unpleasant incident, so I can't really tell you if it's working or not. And last but not least, I hit a new personal record for consecutive days of food logging with MyFitnessPal. Today is day 26 and although I'm not particularly proud of what I'm shoving in my piehole (and subsequently confessing to MyFitnessPal), I'm not giving up on this yet.

Send some positive vibes – if I don't get this paper done soon, I may need to be committed.

© 2015 Princess D