A trip to Target

Most of my life I have lived ashamed. I was ashamed of my fatness. Ashamed of the way I looked. It took a long time to get me there of course. Whether it was an unintentional comment from someone who meant well or if it was praise if I did lose weight, I always thought of fat as something bad. So living that way had been exhausting. I did countless things to get rid of the accumulated pounds. One year I started a diet that I felt was made just for me. I lost some weight. Then I got really sick and lost some more weight and really fast. Once I got a bit better the doctors had to give me meds to hold down food. Once the food was held down ALL THE WEIGHT CAME BACK (and then some).

Another year I basically starved myself and went on a crazy diet (during that time I didn't see it as starving myself of course).

Another year I started paying about $100 a month to see a doctor who gave me a good meal plan (didn't exclude anything and was well balanced) along with some medicinal help. I lost weight the first few months then could no longer afford to go so the weight loss stopped. Upon this happening I decided to really really watch what I put in my body. I maintained for some time. When the weight began creeping up I did some more dieting. Mainly because I wanted to sky dive and had to be a certain weight or I wouldn't be able to. This was 2 years ago.

Then some time last year (around this time I think) I started to notice some things. My shoes were tighter; it was difficult to tie my laces, bending over for anything left me breathless. Walking was painful; sitting was painful, even lying in bed hurt. During this time, I wasn't eating any differently than I had during the time past year. I was going to the gym regularly, drinking butt loads of water, drinking green smoothies made with no sugar added, the sweetness came from the green apple. I couldn't understand what was happening. I started to get extremely depressed over my circumstance. I got on the scale and realized that I weighed the most I had ever weighed in my life. A whole 60 lbs. more than just under a year before. I didn't have medical insurance so I couldn't really go to the doctor to see what was going on.

I then made a big change in my life. I left my job of almost 9 years. I started working somewhere where I would have medical insurance at no cost to me. But I still had to wait until December. December 2015 when I went to the doctor, I weighed 15 lbs more than I had during the summer. Once again, my eating hadn’t changed. I was actually eating less because I had to eat at work. And holy shit did it scare me. The words insulin resistant and PCOS were exchanged. I was put on metformin, which didn't have the typical effect on me. Then I was put on Januvia, which had a much better effect, but not quite what we wanted. Then my doctor put me on a shot. Once a week. I took it in stride. I watched my eating. Ate at home as much as I could so that I wouldn't be having anything that came from some lab or somewhere unknown. Then another change happened around February. A series of events took place that left me emotionally depleted. I was low, but wouldn’t put a name on it. I refused to believe it was anything other than sadness from the loss of people I cared about. Then another thing happened. I learned of a book by an author whom I had read before that dealt with weight changes (by the way it’s one of the only things I would ever consider trying because it ACTUALLY teaches you how to eat). I remember reading the book and being super inspired. I felt as though I could conquer the world. I planned on starting this plan and following it to the T. I had also started walking three times a week. And then as soon as it was time to start I felt nothing. I started the plan following the instructions on the food, but everything else I just shook off. I had no desire to see how much I weighed every day nor did I have the desire to measure myself. I realized for the first time that I was in this not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I actually felt I needed to as well as realizing for the first time ever that what I weighed didn’t bother me anymore. But somehow it didn’t feel like a triumph. It felt like apathy.

It wasn’t really until I finished my college course work for good (for now) that I couldn’t hold it off any longer. With some amazing words of encouragement from two amazing women (who I’m forever indebted to) I took the plunge and talked to my doctor again. This time not about my weight or my body, but about my mental health. I felt as if I had slipped into a void. There was no color. Everything was dim. Everything made me tired. I slept all of the time. Nothing sounded good nothing sounded bad. Even food wasn’t something I wanted, I ate because food was put in front of me. Though admittedly I had good days where eating wasn’t bad. Working with children was about the biggest highlight of my day, and sometimes even that seemed like a task I struggled with (thank the Lord for amazing Lead Teachers). Talking to my doctor and realizing what was going on with me was a huge help. I have felt so good this past month and a half. I’ve sang like a fool in my car, danced like a complete dork in my room, had real, honest, conversations with my friends without zoning out. I still sleep a lot, but less than I had been. What can I say? I love sleep. So why did I just bore you with that entire hubbub? Something happened.

Yesterday while school shopping with the little bro I saw a sign at Target. It said: $10 off coupon if you try on jeans (maybe the wording isn’t exact, but you get the idea). So I went to their plus size section and picked out three jeans in three different sizes. I tried on the jeans that were a size bigger than the jeans I was wearing that day and they fit just snug enough. Now, last year I would have ripped the jeans off and put them back refusing to buy a size bigger than what I was used to wearing (even if from a different store and brand). What happened instead were two things: 1. My mom said (in that well intentioned motherly voice), “Those are a bit tight on you.” Gee thanks Mom, I didn’t notice… 2. I pulled those suckers off and I took them straight to the register and bought them. A moment passed in my head where I thought “Fuck if their a bigger size! They’re fucking cute! Who gives a shit about another number? It doesn’t define who you are.” I gave myself a mental high five because for the first time in a long time, I actually gave no fucks about my size or the number on the scale. It was a few years ago that I discovered this thing on the Internet where fat girls and boys were like IN LOVE with their bodies. They didn’t allow their bodies to stop them from doing the things they wanted. Wearing the things they wanted. Back then I decided I would work towards accepting my body the way it is and loving myself rather than being ashamed. If I lose weight awesome! If I don't, well my doctor and I will discuss that since it is more difficult for me to actually lose weight. It has been a tough fucking road. I’ve had moments where I’m high on life and love for myself, and I’ve had moments when absolutely nothing means anything. And I have yet to reach the point where I have complete acceptance. I mean not once in this post have I actually mentioned my weight or size (baby steps Naroba, baby steps). I still struggle. But I take what happened at target as a victory. And nothing could make me happier right now.

Repost: A request from your fat friend from UpWorthy

http://www.upworthy.com/a-request-from-your-fat-friend-what-i-need-when-we-talk-about-bodies

I have a lot to say about this. First of all it words so eloquently what I have trouble saying out loud sometimes. Most times. It shows the true feelings I have when I hear people I love hate themselves for being a fraction of the size that I am. I am big. I am fat. I don't say this in a self deprecating manner. I say it because it is my truth. I have grown up and lived in a world where fat=bad. So for a very VERY long time, I have lived in shame of my fatness. But I don't anymore. I can't say that everyday I wake up and love every inch of my curvaceous body. I can’t say that everyday I wake up and hate it either. I have come to a point in my life, where my fatness is just that. Fatness. It’s not bad. It doesn’t make me a bad person. It doesn’t make me less intelligent. Less aesthetic for the male eye. It doesn’t define the kind of love I can give nor my aspirations in life. It doesn’t mean that I have no confidence or no self control. My fatness is not a result of 100% poor choices and laziness. My fatness is a result of a plethora of things. Whether I decide to rid myself of my fatness is up to me and me only. Too long I’ve had to endure comments, advice, well intentioned words about what I should do with my body. Too long I have been in shame and dammit it’s EXHAUSTING. Only I get to decide how to feel about my body. So why have I gone so long allowing others to make that decision for me? Whether it was my mother berating me about my bag of Hott Cheetos or my father pinching my belly fat or my sister talking about how fat she is at 117 lbs or her husband giving me a disapproving look when I get a large breakfast with pancakes or my boss recommending a great diet or when it’s a friend who for the first time in their life they have been over weight and they’re just so in hate with their body; IT. FUCKING. HURTS. It’s always someone I love saying something with great intentions. It’s always someone pointing out that I’m beautiful even if I’m fat. DAMN. STRAIGHT. I. AM. I am a loving, caring machine. I have internal beauty that outshines external. I have the capacity to forgive, to love, to understand, to care; I am an amazing listener, I don’t judge, (99% of the time. I reserve the 1% for people like Drumpf or Mary Fallin) I am understanding, a hard worker, eager to always learn something. I am beautiful AND fat. And it’s okay to say that to me. It’s okay to acknowledge it. I would rather the truth be spoken than someone try to hide their disdain for my fatness by replacing fat with some pretty adjective they come up with instead. Goddammit I have goals. I have aspirations in life. I DO CARE that I’m fat. I am not 100% okay with my body, and I never will be if I know everyone around me isn’t okay with it too. I decide when and how I lose weight. I decide to lose weight or not to lose weight. I am sick of constantly hanging my head in shame and quite frankly I am sick of the self-deprecating manner in which my non fat friends and family behave. Please click on the link I’m sharing here and please for the love of God… Follow the advice. It’s a vicious cycle that needs to be broken.

In the Quest for Love

When you love a person, it should be no matter what right? I mean.. not if they’re a serial rapist or eat dogs or something… but if they are and you love them then you get them help no? I mean that is ideal.. if someone loves you then you would expect to be loved in any circumstance you are facing. Including mental illness, physical illness, no illness, richness, poorness, etc.

 In the quest for love I have discovered a lot of variations of it. There is the kind of love only a mother can give; nurturing, nagging, this-is-for-your-own-good-ing, blinding, etc. There is the kind of love you get from a dad; this one is similar to that of a mom, but with some detachment I guess (depending on the dad and all that shit.) There is the kind of love you get from a sibling; the kind where they feel like you’re either the bane of their existence or the best thing to ever happen to them. You fight, you laugh, you’re mean, you destroy your relationship and then you build it back up. Sister/Brother love is different because of age, personality, sometimes even distance and sometimes it can be a long time in order to get it “just right.”

There’s the love of a friend. This one is a special one. See, friends are sort of the chosen brothers or sisters. They don’t take away from your biological siblings, but they have a special place. While your older sister is out on dates with her boyfriend or out hanging with HER friends, your friends are there to hold that place. While your younger brother is being a sulky silly teenager, your friend is there to remind you of that time when you too, were a sulky silly teenager. Friends love in the most amazing complex way. They make you laugh, cry, smile, angry, happy, sad. They hold your hand through scary medical procedures, or walking through a crown when they can tell you’re a bit apprehensive, or they come see you when you’re dog sitting out in bum-fuck-egypt. They stop speaking to you and even block you on social media, but they still want to know if someone has done you wrong so that they can retaliate. They get shit face drunk with you and let you sleep off the ever-clear jello-shots and the moonshine (even if it’s in the middle of a fucking game at the table.) They make you do things you never thought you would and support your stupid or awesome ideas. The most important thing though, is that they love you no matter what. NO MATTER WHAT. In the midst of chaos, in the worst of times, in the best of times. They forgive petty shit and serious shit as well. They don’t drop you over a stupid ass disagreement. They just don’t. I learned the meaning of friendship a long time ago. And then this year, just within the last four months, I have re-learned it.

                                 

I have maintained friendships with a very small group of people from school. I see them as much as I can. Right now, it’s not a lot. But they’re my tribe. They’re my people. I have made some amazing friendships within the book and online community. And I have lost some. And that is okay. Because the ones that have remained? They’re the ones that I will think about in my darkest of times. They are the ones that I will share my best moments with. It’s not a lot of skill to be a good friend. It doesn’t take a lot of skill to love someone. I love my tribe. All of them. My old friends, my new ones. I love my family. I love so whole-heartedly it’s stupid and ugly sometimes. Especially in those dark moments when I forget that they love me too.

I have been dealing with some personal shit. And the love of my family, and the love from my friends has helped me tremendously. But it has also hurt. Because in those dark moments, in those weak moments filled with dread and constant doubt, I have learned that love is not always reciprocated. And that it is often said to leisurely. But that’s okay. Because in my quest for love, I am finding it easier and easier to love myself most of all.

Happy International Women's Day!

#OneDayIWill run a successful blog detailing my life and love for all things from books to animals to education to infinity and beyond. 

One day I will live in a world where a woman's right to her body is no longer an item of debate amongst men and politicians.  

One day I will live in a world where no woman ever has to fear for her life while walking to her car in the dark. 

One day I will live in a world where discussions about equality are only in text books because it's finally completely come for women of all colors and backgrounds.

One day I will live in a world where ALL women are celebrated no matter their accomplishments. One day I will live in a world where difference of opinion, culture, and background will not clash with respect. 

One day I will live in a world where internationally women are celebrated EVERY DAY.

First entry for 2016!

In the span of 8-12 months (rough estimate), I gained 75 lbs. (also rough estimation). I'm not ashamed to admit this. I'm past shame. I have lived in shame for far too long when it comes to my obesity and body issues. Too long I have wondered what was wrong with me for not being able to lose weight and keep it off. Why did I have to be fat? Why couldn’t I just have a “normal” body? Why couldn't I just buckle down and eat healthy? Why was it so hard to get to the gym and work out for 2 hours to shed some fat? I have been trying to answer these questions for such a long time. 

I started out 2015 on a mission to find body positivity. I had been inspired by blog after blog talking about it. I had read countless posts, articles, etc from my favorite Feminist sites explaining to me that Body Positivity was the way to go; that regulating fat and the way people think about fat was the thing to do. I failed. It didn't help that as the months went on in this year 2015 I was slowly ascending into madness as I noticed small things like my feet and legs in general aching at wake up time, or the fact that my shoe laces were somehow shrinking, and that bending over made it difficult to breathe. So as 2015 happened I grew in size and shame. I retreated into myself by taking less pictures, and worrying more about what the outside world saw when they saw me. What I saw was a sad overweight girl that was never going to find happiness within herself. 

What ended up happening was that other things began happening as well. My skin began developing acne in places that had been clean before. I noticed pimples and zits on my face during my menstrual cycle, then just randomly popping up. I felt and saw sebaceous cysts popping up on my arms, on my legs, more often than I had experienced in the past. Bumps with no opening, but painful as if they were full of poison on the inside, yet when I squeezed and squeezed nothing would come out and the bumps would remain. My menstrual cycles became painful beyond anything before and heavier than a waterfall; they also became random starting later and later each month. I was also very afraid that in the gain I had developed diabetes. My mom is a diabetic, her parents were diabetic, so here I thought “Fuck. I must be a diabetic now.” I figured a visit to the doctor was in order. Thankfully a change in employment had also came with medical insurance so I made an appointment and took myself to the doctor. I planned on recounting my shameful occurrences with hopes of finding an underlying cause for the extreme weight gain. So the doctor listens to my retelling of events. She tells me (and I was so thankful for this) “What can I do for you? How can I help you lose the weight you have gained?” Nothing felt better than this person asking me how SHE could HELP ME. I was so afraid she would make me feel guilty for the weight gain. I was so afraid she would make me feel worse than I had already made myself feel for being even more overweight. Instead she was willing to try and find reasons why and solutions.

I don’t know if I’ve lost any weight so far. I refused to see what I weighed on that doctor’s visit. I’ve been too obsessed with my weight in the past. I don’t think it’s heaelthy to weigh every day. And given the last time I did weigh (I broke down horribly) I didn’t want to put myself through that again. Tests were run and as far as I know there is nothing wrong with me. I am I guess one could say, healthy. Overweight? Oh yes. Diabetic? I am taking the optimistic route and guessing if the Doctor didn’t call me to say I am that I am in fact, NOT diabetic. There are still menstrual issues, which I plan on getting to the bottom of as soon as possible.

2016 started differently than 2015. I didn’t make resolutions. I didn’t plan to do the newest diet to see how much I could lose in 2 weeks. I didn’t get a gym membership. I didn’t get new workout shoes and clothes. I didn’t promise to find body positivity. I decided to stress over something so trivial as my weight. It’s a working process let me add. Of course I still stress. When my jeans get that tear in the thigh from my thighs hanging out so much I silently start to wonder “what can I do to fix this tomorrow?” And of course so far there have only been 16 days in the year 2016. Tomorrow I could go find some new weight loss pill with “all natural ingredients!” and then 2 weeks from that I could decide to say “fuck it! Pleasantly plump I’ll be!” I’ve said this before, I’m a fickle human. I don’t commit well.

However, I HAVE decided to commit to one thing. I have decided to commit to living carelessly. And to be able to do that I have to stop thinking ahead, I have to stop thinking about how I can be skinny. I have to stop thinking about where to go to find a boyfriend (not that I’m actively searching). I have to wake up in the morning, do my morning routine, and put sustenance into my body throughout the day (even if sometimes this is a “unhealthy” snack or even meal *GASP*. Play with my students. Come home and nap (SLEEP IS BAE). Go to school. Get my associates degree finally. Travel as much as I can afford on the salary of a head start teacher. Visit my book friends. Meet more authors. Read more books. Blog. Don’t blog (fickle and forever doing something). Review books (and subsequently enter said reviews into book blog). Don’t review books (some get way too much hype already and honestly, fickle is my middle name haha). Argue with people when I have a different opinion. Find a common ground when arguing gets heated (the pacifist in me sometimes takes over). Oh there are countless things I am going to do.