To understand now, look back then.

 Oh, how things have changed. 

Things have changed in every way they can change. And I find myself playing a character in a life story that I don't understand, or altogether enjoy. 

There is so much I want to accomplish with this blog, and on my journey. In my daily life, I run into the same problem. I have so much I need to get done, so much I WANT to do- but I look at the big picture and I get overwhelmed. There's too much to do, and not enough time to do it in. So instead of tackling it one day at a time, I let it sit there and let it fester-doing NOTHING, but wishing I was different. 

Today, though, I stepped on the scale for the first time since last October. I knew it was bad, I knew I had gained a lot of the weight that I lost back. Trauma, depression, stress, and comfort eating will do that to a person. I guess I didn't realize HOW bad. I could see it, the weight. I can ALWAYS see it. But I watched it collect under my chin, hang off my arms, droop my stomach further and further, and knew that all of the progress I made a year ago was gone. I didn't want to believe it, so I procrastinated when it came to weighing myself. Until today, I bit the bullet and stepped on. And I swear, I thought the scale was malfunctioning.

How. How had I gained 60 pounds in 6 months? I mean, I know how. We talked about that. But...SIXTY??? 

Every pound I lost, plus some. 

So, back and bigger than ever, I start the blog. I want to blog to hold myself accountable this time, and also to tell my story. Addressing an audience that doesn't exist. But that part doesn't matter. It just makes telling the story easier for me. I want you to know about everything. More than just the weight loss journey- ALL of it. How I coped with the death of my parents, how my marriage crumbled after a decade, how my kids were taken from me, how I sought comfort in the wrong places, and how I am struggling to get myself out of the darkest point my life has ever been in. 

Why Does It Feel Like The World Is Ending?

I remember some of my very first panic attacks. Surprisingly enough, it started in elementary school. I remember walking to school in either 5th or 6th grade, thinking of the day to come, and realizing that it was getting very hard to breathe. It progressed so quickly, that I barely had time to register the sensations, until my vision went black and all I could hear around me was my own raspy breath and my heart pounding. I stayed where I was, until my vision cleared and my hearing returned to normal. I finished my walk to school, and hoped that I'd never feel what I had just felt ever again.
Spoiler alert- I felt it again. I felt it, a lot.

Anxiety and Depression. They are best friends. BFFs! Mine go everywhere together. When I was a kid, they followed me to school, to soccer practice, to my...many counselor appointments. Only, when I went to those appointments, they would hide in the waiting room, and I lied. I told the therapists only just enough, for them to try another depression medication that ultimately didn't work. I was always scared to tell the whole truth about the things going on in my head because I knew, even at 12, that I shouldn't be thinking the things I was thinking. What 12 year old has vivid thoughts of death, and dying, and blood? I wasn't even able to watch PG-13 movies yet, why did I even have knowledge of these things?

I was in Junior High when I started to self harm. Pill after pill, nothing helped the thoughts in my head and the crushing weight in my chest. I couldn't take it anymore, I needed a release from it. So, I cut myself. It started off small, I would use things like the edge of a protractor. A toothpick. A jagged piece of plastic. It was never about suicide. I didn't want to die. It was about the release. The rush that I felt when my skin would tear, and the buzzing numbness that came after. I would hide the scrapes and cuts, and go about my days. As I progressed into high school, the cutting became more frequent, and more...dangerous. Still, it was never about death. But I was playing a scary game, and even then I knew that if I progressed down the road I was headed down, things would get bad.
One day after PE, I cut myself in the school's locker room. My friend saw, and got scared. She told the office, and the office came and got me. My memory of this day is hazy, but I remember being so scared that my parents were finally going to know what I had been doing, and I hated knowing I was going to hurt them. My parents came to the school, and took me immediately to a hospital. From then on, it was weekly doctor's appointments, more pills that didn't work, and more hiding how I really felt to appear "normal".

Cutting was put on the back-burner, while I attempted to fool my parents, friends, and counselors. I still had the same thoughts and feelings, and same desire for release, but I knew I needed to do better, or at least- hide it better. This went on for years. I would cut somewhere, keep it concealed, and hope no one saw it. One day, I was working at my job in the mall, and I had just found out that I was going to be moving to Nebraska. I was not a fan of the idea and the more real it became, the more I spiraled in my head. The thought of leaving my friends to go to a place where I knew no one was unbearable. So, I took a "bathroom break" at work, went to the backroom and found a pair of very sharp scissors. I underestimated how sharp they were. I sliced open my shin, and when I could see the muscle I knew I had gone too far. I tried to stop the blood and hide it, but there was no hiding this one. I quickly made up a story about falling in to a cardboard box, and the store made me call my mom. My mom came and saw how bad it was, and took me to the clinic where I had to get 50 stitches in my shin. She never found out that it was self-inflicted.

Going that far with cutting, and then having to keep it a secret from everyone about what really happened...I hated that feeling. When I finally moved to Nebraska, I was off of any pills, I was seeing one counselor who was certain that my anxiety was more of a problem than the depression was, and who didn't want to see me put on another antidepressant that didn't work for me anyway. Adjusting to life here was hard, but I did it without the medicine. I stopped cutting. I made some friends. The years flew by. I was growing up, and I was dealing with things. Mentally, I always struggled with self-worth and self-confidence. Struggled, yes, but I was able to function.

I met my husband, I started having kids. My depression, particularly postpartum depression, was severe with the changing hormones. I tried yet another antidepressant in the beginning of 2010 with terrible results. I stopped taking it in March of 2010. After having Jaxon at the end of 2010, I refused to let myself get bad again. I had too much going on, and I needed to rise above it. So, I went unmedicated and I am proud of the way I handled it. I got through some of the hardest moments of my life (up to that point, at least) without any medication. As more years went by, I started to notice that while my depression was still there, it was much more manageable. I had good days, and I had bad days. But, while that became more of the norm, my anxiety started to make up for lost time. Suddenly, I was afraid of driving on the interstate? If you knew me in my late teens, early 20's, you would understand the magnitude of this. I LOVED to drive. Road trips were my thing. Driving relieved stress....until it didn't. I started having panic "episodes", and I would call my mom and tell her about them. She told me that when she was my age, that's when HER panic attacks started getting more severe. I had panic attacks all the way through my pregnancy with the twins.

In the last 6 years, my attacks have only increased in severity. It started with the driving, and soon progressed to the fear of going into new public places. And then, to ANY public places. After the death of my parents, the constant fear of losing my loved ones is always there, just below the surface. I have to amp myself up to go anywhere, even to see my friends. And with how our current situation stands with COVID-19, I feel like I am CONSTANTLY on edge.

Before COVID really hit, I was shopping with my 2 older boys. And I was hit with an attack, out of no where. I had to duck into an aisle, and crouch down to catch my breath. I was trying so hard not to be hysterical, for my own sake, and for the sake of my kids who had not seen me have a panic attack quite like that before. Aiden, my oldest, immediately went into caretaker mode. He rubbed my back and breathed with me. On one hand, I am so, so proud of that boy. I could not be more overjoyed that he has such a sensitive and caring soul that he knew exactly what I needed in that moment. On the other hand, I am mortified that my own children have to comfort me like that, and see me so vulnerable.

This last week, though, things came to a peak that they have not come to before. I was made fun of while grocery shopping, and it affected much more intensely that it should have. I had to run to the bathroom and wait out a doozy of an attack, and I felt like I was dying.  Then a few days later, my husband tried to give me a hug from behind- and I ended up sobbing heavily because it put my instantly into an attack. Things have never, ever been this bad before.

I saw the doctor yesterday and he made the decision to put me on an antidepressant/anti-anxiety pill again for the first time in ten years. I have to say that rather than this feeling like a step forward, I feel like I have taken a hundred steps backward. I want to be happy, without the aid of a pill but at this time, I cannot. I feel like I always complain, and that is so frustrating. I hear the words coming out of my mouth, and I am ashamed to be feeling the way that I do.

I don't know what it's like to live without some sort of depression and anxiety. It's been there for as far back as I can remember. Sometimes, I am grateful for it. It makes me cautious. It makes me have a twisted sense of humor, that has surrounded me with awesome friends. But lately, it's really...really hard to find the good in the way I feel. It has affected every part of my life. I want to be better, for myself and for my kids. I want to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am hopeful, that maybe it's just around the corner.

Thank you, as always, for letting me vent and for reading about my life. If you have ever felt like this, if you can relate in any way....just know that I am here for you. I will always talk with you. I have your back.

Stay safe and healthy,
Jessica

Do You Feel Like I Do?

As long as I can remember, I have been consumed with the driving need to be loved and accepted. Not just by my family, or my peers. BY EVERYONE. Before I really get in to this, just know that I am aware that this is totally impossible, and unreasonable. I know that no matter what I do, there will be people that, for whatever reason, just. don't. care for me. And that's okay!

....or is it?

My self-confidence issues go back as far as elementary school. Even then, I was a bigger girl. Athletically built, as I started playing soccer when I was about 5 years old. Healthy. But, I always had a bigger tummy. Bigger thighs. A bigger chest. Broad shoulders.Taller than most of the girls. Just...big. The first time I got made fun of for my weight, it was by a little boy, maybe a year older than I was (making him about 8?) , who was a friend of a friend. I had brought my lunch from home (in my Little Mermaid lunchbox, with a thermos. I miss the 90's.) and was eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, minding my own business. My friend, and this other delightful (*eye roll*) boy came up to talk to me, and the boy says to me "Only FAT people eat sandwiches!!" He laughed, and walked away. Now, I am aware that little kids are MEAN, and this little boy was probably teasing me to get some laughs. He was 8, and he probably didn't realize what that comment would do to me.
From that moment on, though, it was almost impossible for me to eat in front of people- especially boys. All of my food, I had to rip and tear up into tiny little pieces. Once they were small enough, I could quickly pop the pieces in my mouth, barely chewing because suddenly I was aware how my cheeks jiggled when I opened and closed my mouth. I started hiding food in my room, to eat late at night where no one could watch me. My mom found half eaten tortillas, folded up in my jewelry box. Cheese wrappers under my bed. Candy in my sock drawer. Little hiding spots for food that I would eat in secret. I stopped hiding food as I got closer to preteen age, but my fear of eating in front of people continued. If anyone mentioned how I was eating, or drinking, I would be immediately mortified. One girl in high school mentioned that I took big sips of my soda, so I changed the way I sipped from bottles. If I went out to eat with anyone (other than my very close friends), I would ALWAYS order chicken strips and fries- easy to tear up and eat slowly. I started to binge eat at home, and purge in secret.

Food became an obsession, but for how preoccupied I was with it, I just kept eating more. I was lucky in my early high school years because I was so active. I was still bigger, always bigger, but I was able to keep my weight down around "acceptable" levels because I was playing soccer every day. But, if I am being honest, it wouldn't matter what my weight was. I was still desperately unhappy with the way I looked. I hated every single aspect of my body, I despised my face- there was something wrong with every. single. thing. And it seemed like the more I internalized feeling this way, the harder I tried to get people to love me. I needed their love to make up for the fact that I could not love myself.

I have hidden behind my humor for 31 years. I put a smile on my face, crack a joke, and suddenly I am the fat and funny girl. And I told myself I was okay with that. I won't win awards for my looks, ever. I am now the first, always, to put myself down before anyone else can do it. I hear myself doing it, I hear how it makes other people uncomfortable...but I can't stop it. It's not that I want someone to tell me I'm wrong. I am fiercely realistic in my thoughts of myself. I know what I look like, and I don't like it. I can't stand the thought of people assuming I say these things for attention, or for compliments or praise- because that it just not what is going on in my brain. I don't want to hear "Oh stop, you're beautiful." Compliments make me so uncomfortable that I want to crawl out of my skin.
It's just...I need to immediately make people know, especially in a social setting, that yes- I am aware that I am very large. Yes, I know what I look like. And once I get over the hurdle in my head, that driving NEED to announce my shortcomings before someone else does, THEN I can begin to win them over with my humor.

And I need them to like me. I crave the validation of having people enjoy me, having people want me around. I should not seek approval as much as I do, but the complete and total lack of self confidence makes me anxious all the time. Do they not like me? Are they just saying that they like me, and then talking about me behind my back? JUST TODAY, I pulled up the the gas station pump to get gas. Shortly after I arrived, a woman pulled up beside me to get gas in her car. As she got out of her car, we made direct eye contact. I smiled. She did not. And INSTANTLY I am hyper-aware of every single thing I could be doing wrong. Did I smile weird? Am I in her way? WHY ARE YOU MAD AT ME?!

The paranoia that the people in my life who say they love, might not ACTUALLY love me is something I have struggled with for a very long time. Recently, I have been actively trying to refrain from those thoughts. Especially as I try to lose weight and become healthier, both physically and mentally. I have lost a small chunk of weight, and while the results are not astronomical by any means, people are starting to notice that my body looks different. With that comes questions, comments, and sometimes compliments. I am FORCING myself to accept them, as gracefully as I possibly can- even if I don't believe them (yet). The BIGGEST thing I am trying to change is my mental health. I notice that when I go to the gym, my self-talk is changing. When I first started, it was constant LOUD voices, who all sound like me, telling me, "They are laughing at you", "They are watching you", "You're going to break this treadmill, walk softer", "Don't sweat, you're nasty and you're barely freakin' moving, you cow"....
These things are not new, they aren't shocking to me. The voices are like old, familiar friends of mine. Hello, Darkness. It's been a while! 2 hours, it's been 2 hours.
But, lately I have noticed that if I put just a little bit more effort in, if I turn my music up just a little bit louder, my self talk starts to be much more encouraging. By the end of my workout last night, I was constantly reminding myself (in my head) that I belonged there. I can make it just a little bit longer. I can go a little further. I can push harder. By summer, I will be able to do do the things I want to do, go the places I want to go, without my size hindering my ability. It is refreshing to have positive reinforcement regarding myself, even if it's only caused by the endorphins.

When it comes down to it, my ultimate goal is to be a beautiful person. I strive to be beautiful, but not in the way you might expect. I am losing weight, not because I want to be skinny. That's not going to happen. I am losing weight because I want to be healthier, and because I want to FEEL good. I strive to be beautiful...but not outside. I want to be beautiful INSIDE-regardless of what I might look like outside. That includes eliminating these horrendously negative voices in my head that live there every day. I want to be a person that spreads positivity and light. I care so much for people. I love SO hard, I have so much of it to give. I want to be able to give it freely, without sabotaging it for myself. Without expecting anything in return. I want to be beautiful...inside.

I still struggle every day with self-confidence. It is a battle that is easier one day, and nearly impossible the next. I still have that feeling of needing people to like me. But hopefully on this journey of self-improvement, I will find a healthy balance. Maybe I will start believing people, taking them at face value. Maybe I will be able to go to a social gathering without looking over my shoulder, watching for people who may be whispering about me. And just maybe, even if they are, it won't bother me. I want to be enough for ME. I want to feel secure. I want to be enough for me. I want to be beautiful.

Thank you for reading. Until next time-

Love Always, 

Jessica

An Introduction

Hi there!
If you've stumbled across this, chances are you probably know me personally. If not, welcome new friend! My name is Jessica.

That's me!

I am 31, with a complex life.

This is not my first venture into the world of blogging. I have had several since...well...the internet started 👀

My previous one started off as an attempt to keep track of my last pregnancy, which was my third and final...and happened to be twins. I updated pretty frequently through that pregnancy, and into the year following the birth of my twins. I became very busy, being a mom of four boys. Speaking of my boys...

From left to right, Jaxon, Christian, Gavin, Aiden

All things progressed in a normal way, with occasion blog posts- until September of 2017. My mom- my best friend- passed away completely unexpectedly. My world was rocked, my heart was broken. To get some of the all-consuming grief off of my  chest, I returned to the same blog I had before.I updated on a fairly regular basis, while I figured how to do life without my mom. 

Life changed dramatically. My dad tried to pick up the pieces, we talked every day after my mom passed.  He was so heartbroken. We tried to lean on each other as best as we could. Life never really returned to normal, but we were starting to become accustomed to living our lives without her...

Until February of 2019. My dad passed away suddenly. 17 months after my mom. As you can imagine, I was beyond devastated. I still am. I am still healing. 

It has taken me a year to get to the point to be able to speak about my dad. For some reason, his death hit me in ways I was not expecting. My mom's death was incredibly difficult...It still is. But almost right away, I was able to speak about her, and vocalize my feelings about her being gone. After my dad died, any mention of him was a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. I would cry, almost instantly. I sought out therapy for a while, which did help...but I had this wall up. I couldn't look at pictures, I couldn't watch videos without totally and completely breaking down. I felt stuck. 

Luckily I have a lot of support. My husband of (almost) 10 years stepped up to the plate and helped keep my thoughts in order. He was, and continues to be, my rock. 

Phillip and I on Valentine's Day 2020

I also had so many friends hold me up, especially directly after the death of both of my parents. I am very lucky to have so many friends care about me, that check in on me, and genuinely want to see me do well. Crippling self-confidence issues sometimes make it difficult to see and accept that those people love me, but I am working on that.

These girls have helped me more than they even know. 

Working on myself brings me to my real, driving factor for creating a new blog. January 1st 2020, I started the keto diet (again). I had done it for a short while in the beginning of 2018, with a loss of about 40 pounds. Unfortunately, after a trip to Michigan for a yearly music festival that I attend (more on that in upcoming posts!), I "fell off the wagon", and gained all of that weight, plus more back. My weight has always been an issue for me. I have always been a bigger girl. Even in high school, when I was most active- playing soccer basically every day, I was always bigger than most of my peers. It has a huge role in how damaged my self confidence is, as I have always attributed beauty to being thin. My logical brain knows this information to be false, but...I don't listen to that logical side very well. 😉

In October 2019, I took myself to the local clinic with what I thought was a cold. My kids and my husband all had the sniffles and a cough/congestion and I assumed that's exactly what was going on with me. Hoping for antibiotics, I went in. What I didn't know, was that my shortness of breath was actually the start of congestive heart failure. I drove myself (!!!) to the emergency room after the clinic found my blood pressure to be off the charts. Upon arrival, in addition to the incredibly high blood pressure, which prompted the heart failure, I also had fluid in my lungs. And then, my kidneys started to shut down. It was...a pretty dire situation. To the doctor's credit, no one ever told me that it was a direct cause of years of obesity. Although, it was pretty clear that it was. That, and years of my blood pressure being untreated. I was admitted to the ICU, and then transferred to a normal room once my blood pressure was somewhat under control. We managed to find a cocktail of medications that helped keep it down to an acceptable level, and I was discharged. I got through the holidays with my new medicines, and I knew that my New Year's resolution was to do something to lose weight and become healthier. 

So, I started up on keto again- and for some reason, this time around, I am incredibly motivated. As of today, February 21st 2020, I am down just under 20 pounds. I am down a full pant size and a full shirt size, as well. I have been going to the gym consistently (the front desk worker remembers who I am now!), and I see no end in sight for me when it comes to this new way of life. 

My intentions for this blog are to be able to write about my weight loss journey, so maybe I can stop pestering my coworkers and my friends with whining about missing the foods I used to eat. 😂 I also want to be able to come here and write down whatever random little thoughts I have throughout my days, to reminisce about my parents, to brag about my kids, to gush about how excited I am for Electric Forest (that yearly festival I mentioned), and anything else that may need to get out of my headspace and onto the internet for all of my friends, family, and total strangers to read. 😁

Thanks for sticking around this long. I'm excited to start this adventure, and I hope you enjoy reading about my life! 

Love Always, 

Jessica