Pounds of Shame

7 Jun

bmifunnyOn 4/28/2017 I made the conscious decision to make a change in my life. I weighed 283 lbs and struggled with the most basic of activities. I didn’t wear sneakers because I couldn’t bend down to tie them. I didn’t wear tShirts because the sleeve would be too tight around the fat of my arms. I never wore shorts because my thighs ate them.

What’s amazing about this is that I don’t have a self esteem problem. I can strut around naked and have no qualms what so ever, walking around in a bathing suit on a crowded beach. The two did not correlate in my mind. If my fat rolls bothered someone else, it spoke more to their character than mine.

It’s been almost six weeks since I joined WW and I will state that its effective. I’ll even say that 85% of the time I follow it. Especially at work. Weekends are hit or miss because I’m usually out and about with my boyfriend or my children. This usually means that we’ll go out to eat, and most of their favorite restaurants are buffet. An expression I learned in WW was to make sure that it was ‘worthy of my love.’

Pretty sure everything at #1 China is worthy of my love. I’m just saying.

Last night I ventured into the weight room of the gym. I stared at myself in the mirror as I worked on my upper body. I can see the muscle in my arms, and hanging below them was about six inches of hanging skin and fat. It was the first time I’ve ever looked at myself in the mirror and felt something other than comfort. I wanted to cringe, or to hide from it, but really how do you hide from your own body?

I know I’m losing weight because the scale would never dream of lying in a positive manner. (I even checked the scale at the gym, just so both weren’t making up a lighter, fabricated number.) It’s weird because at the end of the day, I’m the one who will make or break this decision.

I bet it’s easier to put on 14 lbs than lose it. Would take less time too.

And for all the memes out there talking about salad is $7 and a burger is $1. Stop buying premade. I made 5 salads out of 1 bundle of spinach, 1 container of strawberries, 1 container of goat cheese, and 1 bottle of raspberry vinaigrette. Total cost: $5, or $1 a salad.

For breakfast I have a protein shake. It’s 1 c. coffee, 3/4 c. Unsweetened Vanilla Almond Milk, 1 med. banana, 1 scoop chocolate protein, and 1 c. ice. (Since i need sweet in my life, I add 2 splenda. )

Snacks throughout the day include celery and hummus, tangerines, unsweetened apple sauce, and Tuna Creations (Packets of tuna with flavors like lemon pepper, and ranch).

Dinner I’m still working on a balance. If I go to the gym that day, I’m pretty sure I can eat half a cow afterwards. Yesterday I stopped at Checkers and had a burger and a diet coke. The burger was 22 points.

That’s over half my day’s points.

For a burger.

But it was totally worth my love.




It’s not just a name.

22 Apr
wife beat·er

noun: wife beater; plural noun: wife beaters; noun: wifebeater; plural noun: wifebeaters
  1. 1.
    a man who regularly or habitually hits his wife or female partner.
    “my second husband turned out to be a wife beater”
  2. 2.
    US informal
    a sleeveless undershirt.
    “I put on some shorts and a wife beater”

Let’s review this a moment. So it’s either a sadistic bully who puts his hands on the person he’s supposed to love, or a fucking t-Shirt.

It’s not just a name, or a nick name, it’s a slap in the face to every woman who has ever been hit. Did you know, that in some states, it is still legal to take your wife to the courthouse and beat her on the steps, as long as you use an appropriate sized belt or stick?

Abusers don’t take advantage of this though, no they beat the shit out of their wives in the privacy of their homes, and destroy her mind, body, and soul.

But, by all means, keep calling the shirt a wife beater. Would you wear the shift if it was called an child molester? I’m merely curious at this point because we are so completely and utterly desensitization to the world around us that we’ve lost our human connection.

I know this blog won’t change anything, but silence is our enemy.

Please respect one another.



Mistakes and Forgiveness

29 Jan

A Pardon.

Exoneration from crimes committed. Is that truly what became the entire crux of my relationship status? In my head, if he would have accidentally backed my brand new car into a phone pole, that would be a mistake. An act that had not been his intention, but the outcome was still a big ass dent in my shiny new car.

The part I struggled with, beyond the shockingly tawdry images in my head that I will be stuck with for eternity, was the repetition of the ‘mistake’. If you continue to do something, you no you shouldn’t be doing, is it still really a mistake? These questions kept me up for days. I could go on and on… and on and on.

For what? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve made some mistakes in my life. I’m damn sure I’ve hurt people. This hurt begs to be different. To stand out more. It’s so much more personal, because it is an affront to your sense of self. What did she have that I didn’t give? Even after forgiveness is rendered, questions remain.

Who kisses better? Is she better in bed? When you close your eyes, are you still thinking about her? How do I turn off these thoughts? I’m now jealous of a ghost. How do you fight a memory that isn’t yours? That probably isn’t even real? At what point do you just throw your hands up in the air and admit you have gone off the fucking deep end?

This is my new normal since I’ve made the choice to love him more than the pain he caused. As tragic as it sounds, I will just hope that its out of his system, and that he knows me enough to know that if it happened again, he’d be right up there next to the kids’ father on my christmas card list. Meaning – I’d rip him from my life as if he never existed.

Maybe now I can stop crying in my sleep. I refused to cry after that first day, it was a conscious decision that I made because I’m not some petulant child in need of their mommy. Yet almost every morning, I woke up with hot heavy eyes and tear stains on my pillow. Perhaps now I can sleep for longer than 2 hours at a time.

Perhaps now I can fucking function as an adult, for all the other crazy dramatic things that keep happening in my life.

Perhaps now I can breathe.

Or not, and I will just live in the imbalance of forgiving but not forgetting.

Choose to not choose.

26 Jan

When you let the world into your relationship, you tend to get a whole lot of advice. I learned so much over the past week, but mostly I learned about people. Every single person who I spoke with, had gone through this in some form or fashion. On one hand, it made me feel sad for the human race that monogamy doesn’t even seem to be a thing. I had to ask myself some hard truths. That in reality, it came down to just one question.

Could I forgive him?

That of course opens up other questions like; Did I even want to forgive him? Do I choose to forgive, but not forget? Do I want to end this relationship that we spent this much time building? I know that I can’t stop texting him even though he continues to disappoint me. Perhaps in my mind I didn’t mean to test his strengths and weaknesses, but I seem to be doing it anyway and he continues to be lower than my expectations. Is this just me being a spiteful asshole who wants to condemn him because he’s a flawed human?

My immediate knee jerk reaction, believe it or not, was I love this man, and I want to make this work, no matter what. Then I thought about what truly mattered to me.

I’m fucking exhausted. I’m exhausted every day of my life. I want someone I can share burdens with, not someone who adds more. I want someone who respects me and I respect them, the choices they make. I want someone who looks at me as if I’m their whole world, but you know, with sincerity. I want someone who understands that I will never ask for help, because I can’t. It’s not because I don’t want someone to walk shoulder to shoulder with me, it’s because I literally fucking can’t. You don’t think I needed someone? You obviously weren’t listening.

It is hardwired, in my soul to do what needs to be done and survive. I will always walk away with my shoulders squared  and my head up. Do I love this man enough to forgive, but not forget? Do I let go of the fact that our relationship was so second in his mind that I actually broke up with him in November because I felt neglected? Or that I felt like his appendage missed me more than the man did?

Or that he’s lied just so damn much, I am completely incapable of knowing fact from fiction? Fuck I need therapy. I need a vacation, from my life. I’m not afraid to be alone. I’ve been single for so long that ending this relationship is easier than continuing it. It’s because of that I fear I’m reaching for the easier straw. Being single is my comfort zone. Doing everything on my own is how I do things. Hell, he let me do things all on my own when we were together. What difference does it make anyway?

Financially, Spiritually, Physically, and emotionally, I can take care of myself. I did that in, and out of a relationship. Today I question, what the fuck was I getting out of this relationship that has me so tore up? Why can’t I just walk away? Why do I sent him messages at 4am? Is it because I truly love this man? Or did I love the man in my head?

The one who contributed with parenting. The one who contributed financially. The one who contributed emotionally. The one who listened to my spiritual shortcomings and led. The one who encouraged me to be the best version of myself I can be.

It is not weak, or anti-feminist to want an equal partner because I can say with absolute certainty that I would do all of those things in a relationship. So I guess in the end, I don’t have to answer the question about can I forgive but not forget, because what I had seemed to be mostly in my head.

So perhaps I’ll just get out of my own way. I’ll get out of my own head. I’ll see what’s really there. Something inside me wants to reach out to him. Perhaps that is worth exploring, perhaps not. For now I choose not to choose, because what I had I don’t want. I don’t want to feel neglected. Like I’m single but you know with a boyfriend who comes around once a week. I want to feel like I matter.

Until  I feel that way, I choose not to choose.

Silent Rage

21 Jan

Betrayal is suffocating. Betrayed by a coward who hides from the deserved repercussions only fuels an inadequacy that anger cannot contain. You plaster a smile on your lips and pray that everyone stops looking at you like you will crumble at their feet. As if a betrayed spirit could ever be fragile enough to shatter. No, gentle reader, know that empires have fallen because a betrayed heart sought vengeance. Enemies have been vanquished in the name of an unquenchable thirst to rebuild the sense of self stolen. 

That is what I never understood before. We do not have strength borne from daily battles of hardship and strive. Strength comes from turning the other cheek. To know that your heart was obliterated by the man you entrusted it with in the most heinous of fashions. To know he hides because he chooses not to bear witness to the deserved retaliations. This suffocating, crippling, debilitating black hole of rage colors every sense you have, because in truth you are mourning. 

And yet, you still must wake up. You must put one foot in front of the other. Every waking breath, shadowed by a fractured heartbeat, nothing more than an echoed reminder that the fucking world still turns. That everyone else has already moved on from your paltry melodrama. They don’t care that breathing is no longer involuntary, that you have to drag that breath up from the bowels of hell just to fucking make it to your lungs.

But by now you’ve gotten quite good at pretending to feel normal. A wise woman told me it was okay to allow yourself to feel however the fuck you want. (She didn’t say fuck, I took creative liberties with that.) That simple piece of advice is now my new mantra. 

So tomorrow, I will get up. I will wash my face and brush my teeth. I will smile and kiss my children good morning. Perhaps I’ll even swim and hold on to the hope that my next smile will be real. That my next laugh isn’t hallow. That my next thought won’t be about how badly I want to hurt him. 

It will have to be tomorrow because today I still want to reign chaos upon his world that would shock the very fabric of our society. 

Today I will fucking enjoy my rage. 

Prison of Fears

18 Oct

Every day millions of people go about their day, each wrapped in their own little bubble of life, without ever straying from the paths we create for ourselves. We call this our comfort zone. In reality it’s our prison. Now, I do not have an anxiety disorder, I can pretty much find alternative routes all the time when something makes me nervous or anxious. I am pretty good at working under pressure, and I like a challenge. 

If I got paid to lose weight, I’d be a size two. If I had a boss, who held me accountable to my diet, and my exercise regimine, they would run like clockwork. I cannot hold myself accountable.

If I had a boss for writing, I’d write 5k words a day and not even think about it. Even if I had a partner, someone to write with that didn’t need praise because I’m really bad at atta-girl conversations. Someone to hold me accountable, and keep me in line because at 37 years, I’ve learned my fears hold me back.

I won’t start a diet because I’m afraid it will fail. I won’t consistently go to any exercise program because it might be too hard. I can’t afford it – etc.I’m very good at making excuses. 

So now I’m on this path to buy a house. It terrifies me to think of my own lack of will power. I need to come up with about $8,000. This is for the down payment, and for closing. Now feasibly, I can get the seller to pay closing, and that takes me to about $4500. Now if I wait and set aside $450 a month, I could have that in ten months. 

But then – Thanksgiving

and Christmas

And I want this

And someone needs that. 

I want to own a home, more than anything else in the world. I grew up without stability, as the sole parent to four children, I want this for them. Being this close to having it, its beautiful. Knowing I am preventing myself from getting it – its depressing in every single way. I look back at what i’ve done. I cleared away over $6000 in debt in the last year. I got credit cards to help build credit. I got a brand new car (Which I love but wish I’d of waited). I’m financially able to pay all of my bills. 

But I can’t save money.

Like I can’t write with consistency.

Like I can’t eat healthy and work out. 

Because I suck at #Adulting.

Now I’ve gone and depressed myself. 

xoxo ~Kristy

Fathers of Feminists

29 Sep

Here’s a shocker for you, I wasn’t born a card carrying member of the Feminist club. I didn’t even know there was a need for a Feminist club until I was an adult and learned what sexual division was all about. In my house, as we grew up, seperation of sexes just wasn’t a thing. My father had four daughters, and he is the original feminist in my life. Our self worth was never something that came into question because we always had it. This concept might be a shock for some people, but we had it simply because we survived our birth.

The theory of true equality wasn’t just an expression in my world as a teenager, it was practiced in every thing. My father believed his daughters could do anything they put their mind to. Trust me, on Saturday morning when he wanted a ditch or a garden dug in the back yard, at no point ever would having a vagine been an excuse to get out of work. 

My sister and I were talking on the phone yesterday about this very thing. How surprised we both were, as adults, the first time we’ve really seen discrimination or differences due to sex. Now, I can’t speak for all of my siblings, as I have three, but even if only 50% of his daughters rock a wicked self worth – he did a tremedous thing. (I don’t want to short-change my mother either, she taught me how to share this entitlement to being human with other impressionable women who may not be too sure of where they stand in the universe.)

So there you have it, I learned that I am human, and I belong in the human race as an equal from my father, and I learned to make sure every person I meet has the same sense of self and belonging from my mother. 

I’ve taught my daughters how to use their voice and demand equality for all. I am taking my daughter to Washington D.C. where I’m hoping she will fall in love with the United States government in action. I want her to be the President of the United States one day. 

All because of fathers who believe in their daughters, and mothers who teach.

xoxo – Kristy