Day one is in the books. I ate clean and logged all my food, AND went to a workout.
My fitness level is so far from what it used to be, and like my nutrition, I keep starting and stopping. I'm tired of being winded at the top of stairs though. This momma needs to get her strength back.
In other news, I had my follow up OB appointment- she's pushing a biopsy since she really is at a loss as to what the hell is going on with my nether region. Took more cultures- hoping something pops up. For now, a treatment for yeast, just in case, and a slightly less potent steroid.
Logan seemed fine today after his head bang, but then when I went to put him to bed, he had dried blood in his left nostril. I asked him about it and he said it happened while flying kites. Mike agreed- but said it was not actually dripping from his nose, just inside. Possibly he's been picking at it? But of course, my anxiety, which had literally just dropped to a manageable level, spiked back up. It always seems like something is happening to keep me on edge.
Just a quick check in-
Monday, April 09, 2018
Sunday, April 08, 2018
Losing
I don't know where to begin. I decided last night that I needed to start journaling again- if for no other reason than to get the thoughts out of my head.
I have so much swirling through my brain, and I don't let it out anywhere.
Construction, money, adulting, parenting, anxiety, weight gain, jobs, opportunities, choices, success, PCOS, lichen sclerosus, the future in general, being present in the moment, being a good mom, not screwing up my kids, appreciating what I have, yearning for more, wondering who I am, worrying about screen time, plastic, terrorism, and at this exact moment, concussions. Just to name a few that come to mind.
I catastrophize. My sister in law pointed it out a few weeks back, and my new therapist agreed. When anything happens, I automatically rush to the worst possible outcome. It's scary. It's lonely.
I sat down to write about how I need to lose weight, and now here we are. I'm out of practice when it comes to writing.
In the past 6 years I have lost a ton of weight, gotten pregnant naturally, competed in 2 bikini competitions, ran Spartan races, and felt better about my body and self than I ever had. I've also regained all of the weight (plus some) to the tune of 70 extra pounds, and beaten myself up over it for the last 2 years. I know what to do. I plan it out, I pump myself up, I buy the right food...and then I fall. Time and time again.
I've spent some time wondering why. The question is always why. Am I afraid to succeed again? Do I believe I really deserve to succeed? What am I hiding from? I get lost in the questions, they scare me- so I seek solace in something tasty, and we're back at square one.
I read an article recently that essentially said "Fuck Why". You can figure out why as you go. But for now, just do. Not doing is a sickness. It's an excuse. It's a fear of failure. I research, and read, and plan, and write lists, but I stop short at execution.
So as of tomorrow, I begin "Project Execution". I have a plan. I will execute it, and I will succeed this time.
1) I will NOT eat sugar for 12 weeks.
2) I will practice gratitude and intention by being still for at least 5 minutes a day
3) I will install an app and block Facebook except for the hours of 10am-12pm and 8-9pm
4) I will exercise three times a week
That is my plan. Here goes nothing!
I have so much swirling through my brain, and I don't let it out anywhere.
Construction, money, adulting, parenting, anxiety, weight gain, jobs, opportunities, choices, success, PCOS, lichen sclerosus, the future in general, being present in the moment, being a good mom, not screwing up my kids, appreciating what I have, yearning for more, wondering who I am, worrying about screen time, plastic, terrorism, and at this exact moment, concussions. Just to name a few that come to mind.
I catastrophize. My sister in law pointed it out a few weeks back, and my new therapist agreed. When anything happens, I automatically rush to the worst possible outcome. It's scary. It's lonely.
I sat down to write about how I need to lose weight, and now here we are. I'm out of practice when it comes to writing.
In the past 6 years I have lost a ton of weight, gotten pregnant naturally, competed in 2 bikini competitions, ran Spartan races, and felt better about my body and self than I ever had. I've also regained all of the weight (plus some) to the tune of 70 extra pounds, and beaten myself up over it for the last 2 years. I know what to do. I plan it out, I pump myself up, I buy the right food...and then I fall. Time and time again.
I've spent some time wondering why. The question is always why. Am I afraid to succeed again? Do I believe I really deserve to succeed? What am I hiding from? I get lost in the questions, they scare me- so I seek solace in something tasty, and we're back at square one.
I read an article recently that essentially said "Fuck Why". You can figure out why as you go. But for now, just do. Not doing is a sickness. It's an excuse. It's a fear of failure. I research, and read, and plan, and write lists, but I stop short at execution.
So as of tomorrow, I begin "Project Execution". I have a plan. I will execute it, and I will succeed this time.
1) I will NOT eat sugar for 12 weeks.
2) I will practice gratitude and intention by being still for at least 5 minutes a day
3) I will install an app and block Facebook except for the hours of 10am-12pm and 8-9pm
4) I will exercise three times a week
That is my plan. Here goes nothing!
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