$153C and No Sugar

So, I got a receipt from WordPress in my email this morning. Turns out I am paying $153 CANADIAN dollars to have this blog I don’t use. So here I am. I posted almost exactly a year ago today so I am guessing that the same thing happened last year. I am so bad with money. My parents raised me wrong.

I actually made a list of like 200 topics at some point that I wanted to write about but really get in my head about this stuff.  I do all of this planning, overthinking, doubting, and never doing. It’s 65% run of the mill fear (my analytics tell me that exactly one person reads my blog so whoever you are, know that you apparently scare the crap out of me) and 35% pure laziness.

Today I am going to write about the most immediate shitty situation I am dealing with – my “Sugar Free February” pact with a friend.  I want to be clear, my friend is not shitty in any way. She is a straight up sunflower.

This is what happened. Situations converged.

Situation 1: I went to the doctor with pretty bad hip pain and she informed me that I have arthritis and get this – will likely need a HIP REPLACEMENT – I am 45 years old FUCK OFF.  She gave me a prescription that costs $100 a month and told me that if I lost weight the pain might diminish. I am about 25-30 pounds heavier than I should be. Almost all of this extra baggage is sitting on my hips, thighs and ass – so I can see the logic. Whenever I have tried to lose weight in the past it all comes off of my boobs and face – resulting in a very pronounced pear shape with two sad saggy triangles, sad saggy jowls and a transition from my “fine lines” to straight up wrinkles. So here is what I have done – sized up my wardrobe and settled in. This body is fine by me.

Fine until HIP REPLACEMENT landed on the table. I learned that I had arthritis in my hip exactly 14 years ago. When I quit eating gluten about 7 years ago all of my hip pain went away so I figured the arthritis diagnosis was straight up bullshit…now that it is back I have been wondering if there is another culprit in my diet that I can target.

Situation 2: My friend and I were hanging out a couple of weeks ago and while drinking pints of hard cider, snacking on various candy, chocolate and cookies, we discussed our respective middle aged lady problems and sheepishly realized that perhaps cutting sugar might help us both out. In our semi tipsy state we made a pact to quit sugar for Feb.

We have one rule and it is pretty loose – do your best. We got off to a slow start. First we both “forgot” that wine had sugar in it and obviously when you have an open bottle you have to finish it (this is also when I realized that I was essentially giving up drinking for February as well…I mean…). So we really got things going around the 3rd or so.  We cut out everything but the wine for those first couple of days and now we are in it to win it.

HOLY SHIT – Sugar is really truly brutally addictive. I think about it constantly but I am generally okay until after dinner when I am suddenly crawling out of my skin with cravings so strong I have to rely on my wonderful sunny sunflower friend to talk me down and use all of the will power I have. She is SO GOOD at this. She should be a professional. I am doing things like smelling someone’s abandoned glass of apple juice. Like deeply inhaling it.  (she did the same with banana bread so I know it’s part of the process). Her most genius advice was drink tea. I am drinking so much tea… it helps. I am chewing sugar free gum (even though I think the alternatives are worse!) I am eating all of the chips. I have had a headache for 4 days now and my tongue is coated in gross white I-don’t-know-what. I woke up one day with 9 pimples, one of which was a monster that is still lingering. I have lost my will to live. think it is from detoxing.  This is definitely TMI but I am constipated too. Even though I am now eating 10000’s of grapes a day because fruit is not off limits in this little experiment. Also, I am a straight up bitch. I think I am controlling how I present myself ok, but my internal dialogue… let’s just say I hate everyone and everything right now.

I have come to realize just how much sugar I was consuming… a shocking amount. Full disclosure, I still eat my sugary gummy vitamin every day and I LIVE for it. I am not exaggerating. It is my lifeline. I am a person who would literally drink a shot of maple syrup if the mood strikes. The gas station is a landmine! I walk in to pay for my gas and all of the chocolate and candy taunts me. I feel it actually laughing maniacally. It can’t be true but it must be true that I ate some form of chocolate every single day.  No more granola or protein bars on the run. Do you know how much added sugar is in packaged food?! Reading labels has been a revelation.  No booze – I mean, I have definitely googled sugar free cocktails but that is a slippery slope. The last thing I need to do is expand my casual drinking repertoire beyond a glass of wine or cider here and there.

I feel like garbage but in a good way. Like I know as bad as I feel now, in a few days or weeks, I will feel exponentially better. My skin is going to start to improve. It has to with all of this extra desperation hydration. I have already lost at least a pound…maybe even more…even though I am overcompensating with chips and cheese (hmmm…could there be a constipation connection?) and sourdough! My hip … I think it’s better than it was? I’m committed to seeing this through to the end of February. Even though I will be on vacation for part of that time. I am not going through this hell of detoxing and managing cravings just to go back to status quo in a couple of weeks. I quit smoking cold turkey exactly 6,666 days ago – I can damn well do this!

Will I come back and update you? History says no.

Falling

Last night while I was leaving my book club meeting I fell.

It was a great meeting. It was Valentine’s Day and there was chocolate. Chuck and I went out for dinner together the night before, and this year for the first time there is this quiet security and connection between us that simply shrugs it’s shoulders at Valentine’s Day. We have nothing to prove. It is as comforting a feeling as I have ever felt.

At the meeting we ate delicious food. The afore mentioned chocolate, heavenly blueberry scones fresh out of the oven, cheese and crispy crinkle chips. I had my regular one glass of red right on arrival – so that a few hours later when it was time to drive home I wouldn’t even feel the slightest warm tingle anymore. We hotly debated Patrick deWitt’s, Sisters Brothers. I personally loved it and was very surprised to learn that others did not. Especially two woman in particular who generally feel exactly the same way I do about books. It was paradoxically disorienting and grounding.  I confidently dug in on my assessment and in the back of my mind observed that this was growth.  I knew my mind, I spoke it loud and clear and I didn’t doubt myself for a second.

The last couple of years I have been very focused on getting to know myself, and even more specifically, on learning to love myself. Growing up you often hear tell of this magical time in your life when you are finally comfortable in your own skin. Ladies and gentleman… it is not a myth. It is middle f*cking age, and I have arrived in this wonderful place. I think I am maybe still standing in the foyer with my coat and boots on, but I am here and the party and I know it is going to be a good one.  I feel strong.

Or at least I did until I fell. Just like that.

There were three stairs ahead of my and on the first step my foot slid on some ice and down I went. Hard. I hit my ass, my elbow, and worst of all my head cracked down hard on the top step. I stayed still, splayed out on the cold cement stairs. It was so shocking! So much for feeling grounded. What was that worth now?

I scanned my body. Didn’t black out, didn’t feel broken bones. Sat up slowly. My hosts asked if I needed an ambulance. I thought about it. No. I didn’t. I went back in the house and had a glass of water and checked my elbow. I was suddenly concerned about bleeding on my cashmere sweater (an extravagant purchase!) – no blood. Sweater in tact. Bruise emerging. Felt my head. No blood. Carefully considered my feelings. Was I dizzy? No. Disoriented? Yes. But I think only because I fell. I waited a few more minutes in case I was going to black out or have a seizure or get blurred vision. Nothing bad happened. I was escorted to my car, I backed out and started on my way home.

I immediately called Chuck.  No answer. I called again. No answer. I thought about becoming hysterical and instead called my eldest son and asked him to find his Dad and have him call. Seconds later he did.  I instantly felt like crying, but didn’t. I told him I fell. I made him do several google searches about head injuries. I didn’t tell him I was deeply paranoid about hitting my head because that is how Liam Neeson’s wife Natasha Richardson died (when she was my age!!!).  He quizzed me through a couple of symptom checkers and I felt better about my head. But my elbow throbbed on. I thought about stopping at the ER for an x-ray, but decided against it. I got home and stripped down and examined my body in the mirror. Bruises. Angry bruises on my butt and elbow. I crawled into bed. Everything hurt.

Chuck rolled towards me. I asked him if he remembered being a kid and falling. I don’t remember it, but I remember my own kids falling ALL THE TIME. Constantly. We would immediately say “You’re okay!” in a cheerful voice. They almost always were, they got up and carried on. We talked about that, and how scary falling as an adult is and how breakable we are now and that no one cheerfully tells you are okay (!), instead they earnestly ask if you need an ambulance. It’s bullshit.

Middle f*cking age. Stronger in so many ways, yet more physically breakable. And it goes downhill from here. How unfair!

Today, I am painfully aware of my body. My foot mysteriously hurts. My ribs ache. My head throbs. My bruises are just plain violent. I am grateful for once for the extra padding I have accumulated on my backside. I keep thinking about the fall. The surprise and horror and helplessness of falling, and how lucky I am (I mean, I just binged Russian Dolls on Netflix so…).  I am thinking about how important it is to have healthy body as you age and how I have taken mine for granted.   I want to be strong in EVERY way.

I have a lot of work ahead.

 

Harmony

For many years, and even in this blog post here from a couple of years ago, I absolutely obsessed over balance. Work/life balance, mental balance, balanced diet, balance, balance, balance. I don’t know why on earth we place so much value on being balanced! Balancing anything is really f*cking hard!  It is a constant push and pull between competing and presumably equal forces.  It takes so much concentration, so much practice, tremendous energy, and it can be really damn scary.  I mean depending where it happens and at what height, losing your balance can literally break you…forever.

I recall a debate that took place in my workplace several years ago. Concerns were brought forward to the boss that many of the staff felt that they didn’t have enough work/life balance. His response was literally “So what? It is not my responsibility to bring balance to anyone. That is a personal matter”. It might have been harsh, but he was right. I heard him. If I was working late, that was my choice. If I was was eating crap, my choice. If I didn’t have time for a yoga class, that was not his fault. I had a contract that stated I would spend 37.5 hours a week doing my job, and he would pay me for that. It didn’t bind me to working late night after night or to losing sleep worrying about clients or projects. It didn’t state anywhere that I agreed to remain in a state of constant distraction/panic related to my deliverable’s, my staff, or company politics.  Nothing he could have done would have changed that. No amount of ping pong tables or espresso machines or work-at-home days would fix it.  I mean, there are lots of great perks that employers can provide that make life a little easier, more enjoyable and productive, but balance is not something you can just install in the break room. Balance was on me and me alone, and by god, it was stressful! It was one more thing I needed to achieve in addition to excelling in my career, being a good mom, a good wife, sister, friend, daughter…on and on.

And you know what? Our whole family completely changed our lives, for the better, for more balance. Everything changed. Jobs, houses, towns, schools, schedules, you name it. Without a doubt, the whole balancing act became easier but it didn’t go away.

It is only recently that I have come to want something that seems entirely different than balance for myself. I don’t know where I heard the concept, or I would give all the credit to the source… maybe in a podcast, maybe overheard at a cafe or even experienced in a dream, but it shifted my perspective. It was the radical idea of abandoning balance in favour of HARMONY. A harmonious life, a life that sings.
Harmony

Doesn’t that just SOUND and FEEL better? A state of being where all of the parts of life flow together seamlessly, although in varying degrees. Where volumes, notes, instruments, etc.  can be adjusted and re-tuned…

What an absolute relief to look at life this way!

Someone I’m friends with on Facebook posts videos of her daughter doing gymnastics. Watching her on the balance beam stresses me the f*ck out. She never falls (or videos of her falling never get posted) but every second I feel she might. I always regret watching, even though the kid is amazing and will prob end up in the Olympics. Like, I DID NOT NEED THAT ANXIETY! Contrast that with the videos like this one that my beautiful niece Sophia posts, singing songs she wrote at her piano. The ones that make my hair stand up and tears stream and heart swell… you know what I mean? Can you relate? I’ll always take the song!

Honestly, at the end of the day, it might be a meaningless shift in perspective for most people, semantics really, but words have power and for me it changed my whole approach to living. To how, where, when and with whom I spend my time, how I direct my thinking, and how I make all of my choices large and small.  I feel more empowered to make choices that are in service to harmony. Don’t get me wrong,  I feel totally out of tune on the regular, I still have anxiety and wish for more hours in the day, but I never feel unbalanced  – and that is a HUGE win in my books.

 

THIRTEEN

My first-born son is now a teenager. This has both he and I spinning. I HAVE A TEENAGE SON. How this happened I don’t know because I still feel like a teenager myself.

My sweet boy has resisted growing older every step of the way. He has always told us he does not want to grow up – even as young as 3 years old he knew that childhood was the best of times. I guess maybe his father and I have not made adulthood seem like much fun.

In his observation at skate parks and out in the world, teenagers have been both extremely annoying and also terrifying to him. He did not want to become a teenager. He was truly sad about the inevitability of it. Did I mention that neither of us can believe it actually happened? Here we are. With the growth spurts and puberty and cracking voice and big feet and interest in girls and changing vocabulary and eye rolling and everything.

I asked him on his birthday if he felt any different and he actually sat and contemplated this for a few minutes and finally told me the he did feel different. He said he feels SAFER.

SAFER! I mean…WOW. And obviously I asked him why and he told me that he is not a child any more so he is safer. He is a teenager. More responsible and equipped to take care of himself.

God, I could just cry my face off. Why does this seem so profound to me? This recognition that he has reached a new level of independence and it is so real to him? It has always been my job to keep him safe, and of course still is, but he also feels that he has a role to play in is own safety and he is up for the task.

How can he be so self-aware?

And why don’t I ever feel safer? I mean, safer because of my own self and not external forces like a police officer is standing nearby or I have a life jacket on.  If anything I feel less safe as time goes on. More vulnerable. More fragile. More mortal.

Part of me wants to open the can of worms about gender – is feeling safe a right of passage for boys? A natural state? So many questions beg to be asked but I am tired. I am busy. I don’t have the capacity to got there right now and I also wonder if that is a fundamental issue in our society. All of us women are too tapped out to rail against a modern civilized world in which being a female is still considered a weakness. The older I get the clearer it is to me, the more I see it and hear it. This pervasive tone of sexism here in our own very progressive country. AND how to describe the outrage I feel on behalf of all women who are living under total oppression all around the world, and I would go so far as to say hated in their societies. Unable to drive, receive an education, have independence. Made to cover themselves. Made to feel shame. I am ashamed. Ashamed that I do nothing to fight it but feel pissed off and blow off steam in what is essentially a secret blog.

Well, not nothing. I am a Mother to boys. I have a very serious and real responsibility to raise them to understand and respect the differences between women and men, and to shatter every myth that exists in our society about women and their inferiority. It overwhelms me at times. Like now.

I guess what is sinking in for me is that I don’t have much time. Childhood is so FLEETING. Life is a blink of an eye. I feel very urgent right now about reorganizing my priorities and where I put my energy and thoughts and effort. I am working on it.

For now, I take every chance I get to hug that kid as hard as I can AND he lets me. He has never been a particularly huggy kid, but I think he knows our hugging days are numbered, or maybe he knows I need it right now, or maybe someone gave him a stern lecture but I get to hug him and I do not take that for granted.

Holy Shit. Thirteen.

 

 

 

 

Stigma

I am so sick right now. I think it might just be the worlds worst cold, or maybe the flu. I feel dreadful and could barely lift my head off my pillow all day. My eyes are puffy little slits. My nose is running like a tap. I have been using nose flowers (aka stuffing tissue up my nose to absorb the constant drip. The ends hanging our your nose look like the carnations you made in art class when you were 7. You’re welcome for both the imagery and the ingenious tip). My skin is chapped. I am alternating between shivering and sweating – casting off the duvet one minute, wrapping tightly around myself the next. I am sneezing everywhere. I cough.

I am throwing everything I’ve got at this cold. Vitamin C. Vit D. All of the B’s. Various drops and drinks and remedies. Advil and Tylenol and even Midol. I just want to be well. I am pissing and moaning to anyone who will listen to me about how crap I feel.

Because suffering with this cold or maybe flu for 3 days now is just not acceptable!!!!

I have a point here. I am getting to it. It feels hard – because, well, stigma. That is why.

There is a big push to end the stigma surrounding mental illness. For good reason! I’ve been basically just ignoring the campaign. Staying silent. Like a complete total chump. Until right now.

Me, a person who will do basically anything to rid myself of a cold, went about 27 years before I got help for bouts of depression that lasted for months on end, and more recently crushing anxiety.  I mean, I only just recognized about 6 months ago that there was help for me, because I only just recognized that I am not well and that it is not a personal failing.

It happened after I read an interview with Sarah Silverman – a comedian I adore. I don’t remember where I read it, or even specifically what she said. What I do remember is relating completely to her story. And learning that she takes a very low dose of meds everyday to stay well, and that it works. Shortly after that a dear friend told me that meds were the best thing to ever happen to her and she could not recommend them more. Two women I admire openly taking about how these pills saved them from so much misery. It was empowering for me.

The depression started in my teens. I believed that I somehow wasn’t holy enough, or good enough, or something enough and that is why I felt so bad. That it was my fault and that I alone could fix it. It came and went. Rolled in like a storm and would roll out sometimes just as fast. There were two or three episodes that are particularly difficult to look back on now, knowing what I know. That I didn’t have to suffer through it.

Through the six month stretch in my 20’s were I wept in the fetal position in the shower every day. Or the six month stretch in my 30’s were every morning I considered how hurt my family would be if I gave into the urge to jump in front of the Go Train. Or the horrible day last winter when on my drive to work traffic came to a stop because someone had jumped from an overpass. And I related to that person. My thought was just … yes, of course.

The anxiety though… that just came out of nowhere fast and furious. It started right after I had minor surgery 2 1/2 years ago. The anesthetic really fucked me up for days on end and the worst side effect was panic attacks. The first one was just awful and my husband rushed me to the hospital because I was sure, and so was he, that I was having a heart attack. Later, I came to recognize the early signs and do my best to breathe through them praying my pounding heart out, or sometimes taking an Ativan. The anxiety got worse and worse. Circumstances contributed – stressful situations amped it up, and up it would stay. My son had to have surgery… a family member died…I got in a car accident.  I was always so level headed and calm, but suddenly I was a disaster. On a 24/7 adrenaline rush – it was hell.  I went to a Naturopath, therapy, my doctor… we debated meds many times.

Then one day on my drive to work I felt the storm coming. As soon as I got to my desk I called my doctor. I cried while I told her that I could not handle both at the same time. Anxiety on it’s own…maybe. Depression on it’s own…maybe. Not both. She called in a prescription for me that day and that night I took my first Zoloft. It did not go well. I got violently ill. We tried again, this time Celexa. I joined an online forum and by reading literally every post I knew I was going to be up against a nasty few weeks of side effects until it started to work. Two weeks of basically hell. Extreme fatigue. Nausea. Heightened anxiety. This awful feeling that I had the major shakes, but I didn’t, I just felt like I did. Mental fog. I powered through because the internet told me that I was going to be ok. And guess what?

I am better than OK. I AM FRIGGING AWESOME. I had no idea how crushing my anxiety was – until it was gone. I had no idea how much lighter I would feel. I had no idea I could feel this well. I am not in a state of bliss or anything. I am not feeling any false happiness or flatness or otherness. I still get sad. I get mad. I feel like me. Me but without a mental head cold or flu. I feel relief. My quality of life has vastly improved. My husband and kids see it. People at work see it.

If there was no stigma, perhaps I would have taken action all those years ago. Recently we had family over, and I put my pills away in my bathroom. I have only told a few people that I am taking meds. I do not have secrets from anyone… except for this.

Today with this stupid cold I realized that I am part of the problem – I have zero shame about my physical sickness, I don’t blame myself for it. I don’t consider it a shortcoming that I have a cold and am looking for any relief I can get. I consider it perfectly normal and I doubt I could find a soul on this earth to disagree.

If more people were open and honest about their mental health experiences the stigma would not exist and no one would have to quietly suffer, questioning their strength, character, being. I am not saying that meds are for everyone. There are many ways to improve your mental health. Natural ways, therapy, diet, shit tons of options. Addressing inflammation, getting more sunlight. But the meds worked for me, and this is my story.

Now, you might be shaking your head at this point asking yourself why I am writing a blog about having a midlife crisis if I am doing so damn amazing…but the thing is, it is amazing that I am having a mid-life crisis. That I care about my future and how I spend my time and how I feel and that I feel I have something to contribute and have the energy to write about it and the will to make changes for myself and my family  and to really LIVE.

So today I say FUCK YOU MENTAL HEALTH STIGMA! (In my blog, which literally one person reads. Hey…one step at a time).

 

 

 

Life Plan

I have learned many things in the last 10 years of my career, but I think the most valuable lesson has been that setting goals and a making plan to achieve them works. Shit gets done. It is very simple. This is how our business runs.

This may be another one of those obvious truths that other people have always known, but for me it has been a revelation. I always kinda flew by the seat of my pants, living in the moment and taking life one day at a time. Working in show biz (the first 10 years of my career) is very deadline driven, but the deadlines are hours, days or maybe weeks away. Nothing is long-term. Truthfully, I was very happy to live that way. It was exciting and fresh and fun.

BUT… when you are ambitious, and you want to make progress, and living hand to mouth starts to get stressful because you have babies- you need something to work towards that is a bit more substantive than curtain up at 8.

I made my first five-year plan in 2007. Actually, it was more like a shadow of a hope of a plan, but still, it worked. It was simple. Buy a house, live there for 5 years, buy a better house. Somewhere into year two of this plan I went to a corporate offsite business strategy session where we were encouraged to envision what our life could look like in 5 years. It was a surprising exercise. I saw myself sitting in the sun on a dock. I had a nice manicure. We had to draw a picture. I did. We had to stand up and say it, I did. Then… I did nothing.

Flash forward to Jan of 2014. I am packing my bedroom because we are moving to a better house. I am going through my notebooks and binders and folders and purging all of the business documents I really don’t need. I find my drawing. My vision of the future… and my eyes almost pop out of my head as I look at the page clutched between my polished fingers. Because… our new better house is steps from the lake. And we have access to a private dock and beach. And we pretty much live in paradise (for 4 month of the year at least, fuck you every season but summer). My vision became reality…and I didn’t even make a plan. I just saw it and drew it and said it. I believe that subconsciously every choice I made after that point led me to today. To making my vision a reality.

And now I wonder to myself … what can I accomplish if I am consciously making choices to achieve a vision?

I kinda went here on a really surface level in my first blog post, but the other day I decided to do some real soul-searching… which sounds so heavy and labourious, but really all it took was to ask myself these questions: How do I want to spend my time? How do I want to feel? What do I want to see?

In less than 20 minutes  I got this:

Short Term (next 18 months)

  1. Spend more quality time with my husband
  2. Spend more quality time with my children
  3. Space to decompress, re-energize and truly consider my career aspirations in an unbiased and objective manner
  4. Healthy and fit body, mind and soul
  5. Comfortable attire at all times!! Make up for special occasions only!
  6. Cultivate my creativity
  7. Have more sex
  8. Travel with the kids as much as humanely possible while they still will.
Medium term (2-5 years)
  1. Location independent career, or in a location I love, accountable to self.
  2. Find my tribe – live surrounded by people I love where friendship is a priority
  3. Continue to live in a beautiful home on or near water. (In a forest with a pool is ok too)
  4. Flexibility with schedule to allow for Doula work
  5. Kids continue to get a good education and have meaningful friendships
  6. Give a Ted Talk (I know, super weird right?!)
  7. Drive a Tesla or other equally awesome maching
  8. Date night once a week at a min (double or group dates are acceptable)
  9. Travel! 2 trips a year at least

Long term (5 years and beyond)

  1. Retire!
  2. Overwinter or live somewhere warm
  3. Expend energy making a positive difference for people
  4. Travel!
  5. Own and operate a retirement community for my friends and loved ones
These might all change, or they might stay the same. Who knows. What I do know is that when I am making choices I can ask myself…is this in service of my goals? What choice gets me closer to my personal truth? Am I saying yes or no to achieving my vision?
I asked my husband to make a list of his goals for me. He hasn’t done it. He is a musician, and I think when I bug him to do this stuff he feels like I am boxing him in. Maybe I am. I just want to make sure that our goals are aligned, and if they aren’t, reevaluate and adjust our expectations. So far, he has just said that his goal is that I achieve my goals.
Well look out baby because now I plan!!
OR, maybe he will get lucky and I will completely forget that I made this list. Maybe in 5 years I will look back on my early blog posts and see this and be amazed.

 

Calories, Calories

None of my pants fit. NOT EVEN MY FAT PANTS. I am chunking out pretty fast. I recently told my husband “It is like my body WANTS to be fat”.  As soon as I said it I felt this big UH OH and rushed to buy a pregnancy test.  It was negative so I have no idea what is going on.

Actually…I have a small idea about what might be going on.

The other week some of the folks on my team invited me for Poutine. Which after pizza, is my favourite food. But get this… I said ” I would love to, but I can’t. I have a salad in the fridge. I went to yoga last night so I don’t want to spoil my hard work with junk food”.  To which my coworker responded “No, it’s BECAUSE you went to yoga, that you can eat Poutine”, to which I responded, “Ok, let’s go!”.

I have no willpower when it comes to food so I completely embraced this new thought that I can actually eat shittier because I am exercising.

And then there are the car snacks. I have a long commute…and somewhere near the start of it I get this crazy snack attack because it is the end of the day and I am ready for dinner, but I still have to drive for an hour or more, which is boring…and I eat when I am bored so…. So I basically feel ravenous at all times in the car.

If I don’t have healthy car snacks ready to go (aka I have literally never had a healthy car snack ready to go), I stop at a gas station and buy Zesty Cheese Doritos and a Crunchie bar. Then I need a drink, and because I have a fundamental issue with the bottled water industry (But yet never remember my reusable bottle, ever), I can’t get water so I get ginger ale or apple juice or coconut water. When I have PMS  I get really smart and actually stock up on car snacks and my PMS tells me that the best snacks are at Bulk Barn, in bulk, and you see where this is going. My centre console is filled with dozens of those flimsy film bags with holes ripped in them. My glove compartment should be renamed ‘salty snack world’.

I recently took action and reactivated my My Fitness Pal account to count my calories, and it was pretty shocking. I was going over my daily allotment by 50%, 60%…70%. But I mean, really red wine? 450 calories a glass? WTF. And who knew how many calories there are in a burrito bowl! Like come on, it is not even wrapped in bread!

In all seriousness, I really do find tracking calories to be a very useful tool to control my eating habits. I am super competitive and sticking within my calories feels like a game I have to win. It also motivates me to exercise more to win back calories.  I have to WIN. I have to end right on the number.

Over the last three days I have eaten 300% more veggies and stocked my car up with snacks that are healthier. Like these puffed quinoa cubes that are super gross but hey, they fill the void, are low cal, and have protien.

Also, I am learning a lot of new things … here are some samples from my internet search history:

  • What foods have negative calories? (Celery! Black coffee!)
  • What are the most low cal cocktails? (Gin Gimlet! EW)
  • What causes sudden weight gain? (Cancer, inhaling food)
  • How many calories do you burn doing yoga? (hardly any, is it even real exercise?)
  • How many calories do you burn during sex? (well…depends on how long you go and wild you are. (None of your business!))
  • How many calories do you burn jumping on a trampoline? (doesn’t matter, it’s too cold out and I haven’t been doing my kegels)
  • How many calories do you burn walking up stairs? (THIS IS A COP OUT)
  • How many calories are in a shot of maple syrup? (less than you think! WHOOP)
  • Why am I always hungry?

A friend of mine told me to get a step counter that syncs to my fitness pal because it will automatically roll back the calories for you. Since she got hers she has been going up and down the stairs 10x a day. Sounds like fun.

I feel like having a step counter would actually destroy my life.

Did I mention this thing I have where I have to win? Winning at steps means doing 10,000 a day. I am willing to bet my next paycheck that I currently clock about 800 steps a day. I walk from the house to the car, the car to my desk, my desk back to the car and then home where I sit or sleep. Very grim. Fucking yoga won’t get me steps.. too much flow. I think I need to switch to Zumba.

If I had a step counter I would go crazy trying to get those steps to the point where everything and everyone in my life would be completely neglected. Sure, I would be skinny and fit, but also prob get fired and divorced. Where do people find the time for 10,000 steps?!

This whole clothes that don’t fit, car snacks, steps situation … SIGH.  I know my middle-aged body doesn’t rock the same metabolism I had when I was younger. That is an issue. My lack of self-control, also an issue. Poor food choices…all on me. But the thing is…this is a symptom of a greater problem.

I need a complete lifestyle overhaul.

 

Balancing Act

Wrinkles

I have been a pretty intense control freak for the last 13 years. Prob my whole life actually, but the last 13 years freakish in a way that I am acutely aware of and in a way that I find personally distressing, because there is no way I can claim to be the one thing I want to be:

A fun and easy-going free spirit.

#easygoingfreespirit would have been the hashtag on all of my selfies if we had instagram in the 90’s (vs. #glorioussunset which is my current default).

#easygoingfreespirit might have been how others described me even. I sort of did whatever the heck I felt like, I was spontaneous, carefree, going where the wind blew me. I was also a chronic pothead, drank too much, and made some crap choices that were inconsiderate to others. I guess somewhere along the lines I decided all of these attributes must be intertwined.

When I found out I was pregnant with my oldest son, I was forced to confess to my midwife that he was conceived while on a bender that lasted about 22 days (it ended the day I peed on the stick and saw 2 lines, he turned out just fine, better than fine), and that I had not only been drinking  but smoking pot and possibly had taken mushrooms (couldn’t quite remember the timing). I know it sounds bad, but it wasn’t a dark time – I was just partying. My husbands music career was on the rapid rise, we spent all of our time in bars and clubs and going to places like  NYC to meet with fancy industry people in fancy places, and it was really fun and exciting and all came screeching to a halt because I got knocked up and got a grip.

When I say I got a grip, I really, really, mean it. Like an iron grip. I went into full on control mode which manifested in a multitude of ways.

~ Yes, obviously I want everyone to conform to my will, but I have always been like that and I don’t see that changing – and, um, don’t we all want that? ~? Right?

But there was more to it. There was the almost exploding if I was going to be late for anything, including my self-imposed deadline of being 15 min early for everything. There was my need to iron and lay out all of my clothes the night before work, including accessories and makeup – or forget sleeping. The socks having to match no matter what.

There was and is so much control to wield over my job itself. Somehow I got a really good one, in an extremely respectable industry, doing very worthwhile work, with very well-educated and very smart people. PRESSURE (My previous job had been at Second City where I hung out with very funny people all day, drank wine and pretty much just laughed my ass off). There is a lot to deliver on. I’ve got some serious strategy and scheduling and to do listing and work back planning and risk mitigation going on. For myself AND for my team.

My husband can likely give you a million other examples of how much fun I am these days … like how when company is coming I go psycho and shriek at everyone until the house is spotless, or another thing that he wishes were a little different was how I have rejected the weed and my immense irritation that he did not also reject it.  But I mean, what if we suddenly became serious drug addicts? Everyone knows pot is a gateway drug (I don’t actually believe this… but hmm, do I?).

Addiction runs in both of our families (someday there will be a whole other post about my fears for my children related to this and my recent panic attack after hearing my 9 year old call something trippy (and be right about it)). What if I succumb to some predestined biological impulse and wind up losing my job and abandoning my family and living on the streets? I have two other humans to keep alive and raise right and mold into good citizens who are also happy people.

I have been pretty tense for a decade or so as a result of all of my making sure our life is a success. I mean, total strangers have come up behind me and massaged my shoulders level of tense. I can’t watch full genres of tv and movies because it is too stressful. I am basically limited to rom coms and Friends re-runs.

My point is, motherhood changed me. I suddenly had a whole universe to hold together. I could not be care-free, I had to be care-full. Very, very careful.

When I pray there is always one thing I ask for help with. BALANCE. If I was going to have a mantra or set an intention for myself it would be BALANCE. If I was going to create one of those collages (are they called mood boards? Is that a thing?) of all you aspire to, it would just be pictures of people balancing on things, and scales in balance.

I am working on it. Hard.

I wouldn’t dream of missing a work deadline, but I have allowed myself to be just on time or even a few minutes late for other engagements – and I have managed to stay pretty chill about it. I already told you about the pot laced lollipops.

There is more.

I have stopped laying out my clothes at night. Now I just think about it for a minute or two and mentally decide…or sometimes I don’t! I scramble around in a ball of stress in the morning freaking out until I pull an outfit together. But guess what? Our whole world does not fall apart!

Just the other day  I almost didn’t iron my shirt in the morning. I took it out of my drawer, observed that it was a little crumpled, and put it on feeling smug and accomplished. Of course, I immediately ripped it off and ironed it, but still. A year ago I would not even have tried to do something like that.

And then I walked out of my bedroom and took a good look at my oldest son. We had this conversation:

Me: Honey, your shirt is really wrinkly. It’s bad. Let me iron it.

Him: Nah, I don’t care. It’s fine.

Me: It’s not fine, it looks horrible, and I care. The iron is still hot, it will only take a second.

Him: No. I don’t care.

Me: Ok. If you don’t care, I don’t care (a lie).

And there you have it. I let his wrinkles go. Progress! I managed to be #kindaeasygoing and #slightlymorebalanced

 

 

Yes or No, or, Yes and No?

I have been going to Yoga for a few weeks now. Over the years I have gone off and on but mostly off. The main reason for this is laziness, followed closely by the secondary issue of just not having the time. To have the time means taking the time away from other things – like lying around with a book and tea.

The thing about lying around with a book, or my phone, or watching TV  is that I am present at home and available for the kids. They are older now and have their own thing going on in the evenings. Mostly revolving around Minecraft and Skyping with buddies. They don’t much need me, but when I am not present at home I am missed, I know this. Missed my them, missed by my husband.  I hear about it.

So I go to Yoga in fits and starts because eventually a combination of guilt and laziness sets in and I just give up. Those weeks when I have work obligations in the evening, or coffee with a friend or a new episode of Brooklyn 99… exercising falls off the to do list.

Why don’t I get up early and go in the morning you ask? ARE YOU JOKING?! DON’T YOU KNOW ME AT ALL? (If you are reading this and you are not my sister, you prob don’t, since I have only told like 3 people I am writing this blog, but trust me, I would never).

Back to Yoga. The instructor I had last night is my fave (Normally I do not abbreviate words but spell check objects to the Canadian spelling and I object to US spelling so it is my way of keeping the peace).

Back to the teacher. She is totally into the workout, which is what I like about Yoga. It is totally my speed, and as far as any of the working out I have ever done (stop laughing people who know me!), it is what my body likes the most (All of that great stretching and balancing and lying around setting intentions (which I suck at btw).

Another reason I like this particular instructor is that she never talks in that soft airy yoga voice, or says anything about chakras, or makes us chant or any of that other shit that makes me uncomfortable in other classes. (UPDATE: I have grown to embrace the “woo woo”)

She is pretty hardcore about the moves, her set list rocks, and I am sweating my ass off at the end of class (yes, it it HOT yoga, shut up).

Last night though, she got kinda philosophical and what she said was this:

Saying yes always means you are saying no to something, and saying no always means you are saying yes to something.

Maybe I was delirious from being dehydrated and doing a hundred cobra to downward dogs (I have low blood pressure, it makes me light headed) but in the moment, and still today, I find this obvious truth to be so profound.

I feel like I have a new framework for decision-making that is more holistic and thoughtful, with the potential, just like my pin #, to bring more positivity into my day.

It came at a good time. I have been asking myself a lot of really intense questions lately, and my husband too. I have been impatient for us to make some pretty massive life decisions so there is a lot of conflict going on right now (i.e. he is being passive aggressive and I am shrieking and swearing). It’s not great. I know I am stressing him out big time.

I can see now, one of the problems is that I am very much YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. We need to do this amazing thing that I want to do because it is amazing!!

And he is kinda like… well, maybe, but no, ok fine yes, actually no, but why? It might amazing or maybe what we are doing now is more amazing…

What we really need to do, together, is determine if we say yes to this amazing idea (or bad idea depending on who you ask), what are we saying no to? And if we say no, what are we then saying yes to?

Am I right?