When traveling somewhere new, it’s important to leave the resort in order to say you’ve been there. I loved my time at Secrets Cap Cana in the Dominican Republic, but my desire to leave the comfort of the resort in order to see something unique was powerful. With limited money due to our unexpectedly extended vacation, and Mike’s desire to not be gone from the resort too long, we agreed on the Hoyo Azul (blue hole) cenote. A cenote is a natural pit, or sinkhole, resulting from the collapse of limestone bedrock that exposes groundwater underneath. The photos I had browsed online were of gorgeous turquoise clear water. But a friend warned me it was “crowded and cold.” Nevertheless, on the second to last day of our vacation, Mike and I ventured outside of our resort to Scape Park in order to visit Hoyo Azul and see for ourselves.

Scape Park

Scape Park Cap Cana is a natural theme park with several attractions including a waterfall expedition, ziplining, cave tour, and its most popular, Hoyo Azul eco tour. Upon arriving at Scape Park I was immediately turned off by the tourist trap that lay before me. Cafe, gift shop, professional photographers snapping photos they hope you’ll purchase later, and lots of people waiting around. I was not impressed.

Ticket costs vary depending on the attraction and there is a discount for multiples. Our tickets for the blue hole were $69 each and included transportation. Once you identify your guide for the attraction for which you purchased tickets (they have signs) you wait for more people to arrive. Tours leave twice daily at scheduled times, but you don’t have much control over how early you arrive since you rely on Scape Park’s shuttle service from your resort. I am certain they intentionally get you there earlier than necessary in hopes you’ll patron the shops.  Fortunately, there are some animals to look at and we enjoyed the monkeys in particular. I also found myself draped in an enormous python. I have no photo to share, though since the photographer shouted at Mike when he tried to take a picture.

Mike and I waited nearly 45 minutes until we finally set off for the mile or so “hike” to the cenote. I say “hike” because it was really more of a leisurely stroll through the jungle with more stops than are necessary: water break, bathroom break, and photo break. What should have taken no more than twenty minutes took more like forty. As far as “eco tour,” that is also a bit of a stretch. It’s a walk through the woods with a few orchids crudely attached to trees with wire.

After the space and exclusivity of the resort, I found myself annoyed to be in a large group of people, at the mercy of the tour guide. I didn’t need breaks on a short walk and was fully capable of following the trail myself. So far, I had found the entire experience a waste of time. But I kept my hopes up that the blue hole would be worth it.

Hoyo Azul

The trail to the blue hole winds up some steps and onto what is more or less a wooden deck. Around us was an enormous cavern. Below us was a natural pool filled with the most beautiful turquoise water I have ever seen. All my frustration melted away. I realized Scape Park was simply the gateway to something magnificent, and worth the minor annoyances.

We descended a flight of wooden steps onto another large deck, much like a dock at a bay, where you could stand against the railing and look directly down into the blue hole. It was conical shaped. Shallow and rocky along the perimeter, but plunging downward to depths unknown to me in the center. A few more stairs on the left lead down to the water’s edge. On the right was a 14 foot high ledge for jumping. I was overjoyed to see it, but more than anything I wanted to feel that water against my skin.

“What are they waiting for?” I asked Mike. I looked around at the forty or so people in our tour; everyone busy taking selfies and gazing upon the blue hole through the lenses of their cameras and phones.

“I’m going in.”

I slipped out of my skirt and pulled my tank top over my head and walked in only my bathing suit down the staircase to the wooden landing beside the water. Lowering my feet onto a wooden board submerged in the water, I felt the cool freshness against my skin. I lowered my eyes and inhaled deeply, taking it in.

This. This is what was missing on our trip to the Dominican so far. I had so badly wanted to see something new, something natural, something besides our beautiful resort to make me feel as if I had the right to say I had been to the Dominican Republic. And for a blessed moment, it was all mine. I was inspired by the magnificence of my surroundings.

“Is it cold?” Remembering I was not alone in this beautiful space, I looked up and saw dozens of pairs of eyes gazing down at me. Me, in only my swimsuit. Them, hanging over railings awaiting my response.

“Not really,” I said. And then, with all eyes on me, I dove off the little step into the cool water the shade of blue like nothing I had ever seen. And for several more wonderful minutes, Hoyo Azul was all mine.

Jumping In

Diving in from the ledge was one thing, but jumping from fourteen feet was quite another. I jumped from a twenty-five foot high ledge when I was a tween, but my fear of heights has grown in intensity as I have grown in inches. As I stood at the ledge of the blue hole, fourteen feet up, fear gripped me. I took a step forward, then back, forward, then back. And finally, shook my hands in frustration, fists balled, and stepped aside, encouraging someone to go ahead of me. I know this so well because Mike recorded my first attempt. He also recorded my second attempt when I chickened out again.

By the third time, I was frustrated with myself. I knew I had to jump, but every time I tried, fear held me back as if ropes had emerged from the cavern and knotted themselves around my arms and legs. A few people shouted that I could do it. And I believed them. So I stood at the edge and waved my arms in such a way to universally signal the need for applause. Everyone cheered and whistled. And there I stood, self-conscious in my bathing suit, but not just the heavy woman afraid to jump. I was the woman who created her own cheering squad and knew how to overcome her fear. It was time.

And so I took one small step forward… then back… then forward once more and off the ledge into the blue depths below.

Applause erupted as I emerged from the surface. My body was shaky and flooded with adrenaline. My smile was brighter than the sun. I could watch the video all day of that brave woman taking a leap in spite of her tremendous fear.

Not jumping was never an option. Letting people go in front of me was one thing, but never once did it even occur to me to exit the line. The energy of the crowd inspired me and gave me courage. Jumping cemented the image of the Hoyo Azul in my mind. It is no longer just a gorgeous cenote in the Dominican where I went swimming, but a place where I encountered a fear, and beat it back.

This story would be quite different had I ran out of time. Afterall, Scape Park didn’t give us much time – fifty minutes maybe. They need to get you back to the hub to sit around and spend more money on $12.00 photos. In my October post, Facing and Embracing Fear to Avoid Regret, I wrote: “Imagine if I had let my fear get the best of me that day on top of that cliff? This would not be a story of courage, but one of regret.”

I could say the same exact thing now. Once again, I wrote a story of courage.

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I had just gotten another drink and was settling in to a lounge chair when my friend Rudy approached.

“It’s official,” he said.

“What’s official?”

“Our flight was canceled.”

Despite our anticipation that this would happen due to what was said to be a colossal snow storm headed to the northeast, the official word caught me by surprise. My body flooded with a sense of excitement and relief (this would not be our last day in paradise after all), but also a twinge of anxiety (what now?).

Me, Mike and Rudy headed up to Rudy’s room to use the landline to call United and make other arrangements. After an hour on hold, the call disconnected. Annoyed, we headed down to the reception area to at least secure an additional night’s stay.

“So for one extra night, that will be $750 per room.”

My heart sank and my eyes widened.  I was grateful Mike had gone to the bathroom and wasn’t there to hear this.

I waited for the woman who assisted us to finish talking, then as calmly and kindly as possible told her that we had spoken to someone earlier who assured us they would work with us if our flights were canceled. “Or else we will need to sleep on your beach,” I added.

She got back on the phone. As I did my best to sit patiently, I used my tools to keep calm, think up alternative plans (we could share a room, take a cab over to Santo Domingo and stay in the city) and remind myself that it could be far worse. After all, we were momentarily stuck in Punta Cana; stranded in a brand new, luxury, all-inclusive resort on white sand beaches with turquoise water. Everyone was safe, including Cooper who was staying with his Gammy (my Mom.)

“What’s going on?” Mike asked when he returned.

“Why don’t you grab us a drink, hon? I will take care of this.” Mike had been worried about the storm since before we left. Despite his sun-kissed skin, he turned a shade paler when Rudy said the flight home was canceled. “No, I want to know.”

“Well, she’s currently trying to work with us on the rate.”

“What if—”

“Let’s just see what she can do,” I said, cutting him off gently. Although I had already been thinking up some “what-if” scenarios, I didn’t want to get ahead of ourselves by discussing them out loud. Besides, I knew how nervous Mike was. He was out of his comfort zone enough just being in another country. More than ever I needed to stay calm and help keep Mike at ease. I gave his hand a squeeze. “Everything is going to be fine.”

And just a few moments later, one problem was solved. The resort offered us an incredible rate that exceeded all expectation. They also assured us it would remain the same if we ended up needing additional nights.

“See,” I said to Mike with a reassuring smile as we headed to our room to get back on the phone. “Sometimes we just have to wait and see.”

“Yeah, but what about our flights?”

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

“I hate this.”

“I know you do. But the situation is entirely one hundred percent out of our control. We have no choice but to surrender to it, let go and trust that everything will work out. It could be far worse. Just think of all those people detained at airports, or people trying to get home for funerals.”

After an hour on hold, the call disconnected once more. Rudy was having no better luck. “Screw it, let’s go to dinner and deal with this later,” he suggested.

A cloud of uncertainty hung over dinner. Despite my gratitude for an extra day and the resort’s flexibility, I too was eager to know when we’d be going home. Mike was quiet, but I knew his mind was not. Work, the dog, the added expense… all these things flew through his brain and no encouragement I could offer would quiet them. Instead I simply promised to call again the second we returned to the room. “Maybe the hold times will be shorter the later it gets, anyway.”

Several hours later and after another two dropped calls, I handed Mike the phone so he could wait on hold as I dozed off, unsure if the next morning would be my last in Punta Cana…

“Jess, Jess!” I startled awake and took the phone from Mike.

After several minutes I thanked the woman who re-booked us and turned to an anxious Mike.

“The best they could do for us is Saturday.”

It was only Monday. Mike’s face sank and for a moment I thought he might cry.

“Let’s get some rest,” I said. “I promise to try again in the morning. Maybe someone else can find something different. In the meantime, at least we have a flight.”

First thing the following morning I was back on the phone. As much as I didn’t mind staying until Saturday and knew work had no choice but to understand, my heart ached for Mike who didn’t have the same tools as me. He’d had a restless night.

I asked the helpful man on the line to hold a moment while I explained to Mike he could get us to Philadelphia on Thursday, but we’d have a layover. Mike knew I was in heaven in Punta Cana so his eyes pleaded with me to agree as he answered, “let’s do that.”

And with our flight changed yet again, Mike was flooded with relief.

“Now, can we please enjoy our last couple days here?”

Not long ago I think I would have been just as anxious as Mike in this situation. I’d have wasted time and energy tracking the storm and checking flight information ahead of the cancellations. I’d have allowed my anxiety to keep me from sleep or enjoyment. I’d have conjured up every possible “what-if” scenario and filled my head with stories not remotely based on evidence or fact. (I’ll be fired!) I’d worry about not packing Cooper enough food for Gammy’s house. I’d worry (like Mike) about the lack of clean clothes left in our suitcases. I’d worry about the added expense… worry, worry, worry.

But I did none of this. That’s because I knew full well that I had zero control over the situation and that everything works out. I spent my vacation in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic living in the moment. I swam, I ate, I laughed, I practiced yoga, I danced, I played loads of pool volleyball, I laid in the sun, I drank, and I hung out with Mike and our friends. Me AND my mind stayed in Punta Cana. I didn’t worry about what might happen. And once it did happen, I still didn’t worry because I knew there were solutions. “So we’ll pay to have some clothes laundered if we have to,” I told Mike.

I rode the wave of travel inconvenience and viewed the entire experience as a blessing in disguise. Rather than leave Tuesday morning, we left Thursday afternoon. It was a good test for me. Like an exam. I got to put my tools to use and I passed. As for Mike, now that he has this experience under his belt, I’m confident he will not be so uneasy if anything like this should happen again. Although he did say it will be a while before he leaves the country again.

“That’s okay,” I said. “Hawaii is technically part of the country.”

Somewhere along the course of my life, I became convinced I didn’t deserve to feel good about myself. Well-manicured nails, nice clothes, special treatments… these things were exclusively reserved for thin, healthy women. They deserved them, not me. I’d have to earn them. And the only way I could earn them was to quit smoking and be thin. Since I almost always fell short in that department, I have deprived myself of that which would make me feel better. I didn’t realize this until quite recently…

The Revelation

I was sitting with my counselor chatting about my progress and how great I’ve been feeling. “And although I’m not at the weight I hoped I’d be by now, I went ahead and made all my appointments anyway for waxing, mani/pedi, etc. I’m going shopping for a new swimsuit and a few new pieces of clothing. I’ve been applying self-tanner,” I said with a laugh.  “I want to do whatever I can to look as good as I feel. I never did that in the past and I always regretted not trying harder before a special event.”

“Why do you think that is?” she asked.

I had to think about it. Why didn’t I buy new clothes or splurge on new make-up, pedicures or waxing before special events in the past? The truth emerged.

“I suppose it’s because I was never who I wanted to be for the occasion. And so I guess I never felt I deserved those things. I was a fat smoker. I didn’t earn a new swimsuit or clothes, or special treatment. And so I’d go to the thing or the place, and I’d feel self conscious about my clothes and my nails and my hair and my smoking. Feeling like shit was what I deserved.”

No sooner than the harsh reality left my lips did my eyes start to well with this sad revelation. I never understood this was my thought progress and why I made the decisions I did. It hurt to learn this is how I treated myself… that in yet another way, I was my own worst enemy.

“And why is it different now?” she asked.

“I feel good. I know I don’t look much different yet, but I feel different. I’ve quit smoking, have worked so hard and have made so much progress. I don’t want to punish myself anymore. I want to reward myself. I deserve to go to Punta Cana next week and feel as good about myself as possible. So many times I have done things as if I’d get a re-do when I was ready.”

“Like those things didn’t quite count because you weren’t the version of yourself in your head?”

“Exactly. But I’ve learned that there are seldom opportunities for re-dos. I may never go to Punta Cana again. It may be years before I get to to the Caribbean again, if ever. I don’t want to go in an old swimsuit that barely fits or with ugly feet. I don’t want to look at pictures and wish I’d tried harder. I don’t want to feel self-conscious and cry in my room before gaining the courage to go down to the pool.”

Clearly, somewhere over the past few months, a miraculous shift in my thought process occurred.

I deserve to feel good about myself. 

The Preparation

And so I went shopping. Twice. My arms laden with hangers I entered the dressing rooms at various stores prepared for war and experienced countless emotions throughout the process. But with patience, forgiveness, diligence, discernment, and a little help from my friends (Kathy reminded me to tap into my inner Goddess and that I deserve a beautiful swimsuit I feel great in), I emerged victorious. I found two great swimsuits, two gorgeous cover-ups that make me feel confident and sexy, and a few other pieces that fit great and make me feel good.

I will get my nails and toes done, my hair cut, and some waxing. I’ll replace some overdue make-up. I will put care and effort into packing (minimally, of course).

The Conclusion

I have let my fears and a sense that I didn’t deserve things hold me back for a long time. I want to travel! I want to see and experience new things! I want to feel good about myself! I want to achieve my goals! I have shifted my thinking from a place of fear to a place of love and I have witnessed my life finally begin to change. I’ve worked very hard to rid myself of destructive and sabotaging thought processes. It was only once I started to do that that I finally began to see change. I now see this idea that I don’t deserve to feel good about myself for what it truly is: another story concocted by my fear-mind to keep me from living my life and pursuing my dreams. This idea was never motivating, only debilitating.

And now that I know I deserve to feel good about myself, the sky is my limit.

Weight loss is all about figuring out what works for you. Unfortunately, it often takes a long time to figure out what that is. In the meantime, we need to try out a whole lot of what doesn’t work. ‘Count calories’ is an extremely common piece of advice said to help us lose weight, along with ‘exercise more.’ Well, I did count calories. For years. And for years I saw zero results (in fact, I gained weight) and just kept on counting anyway. Finally, I realized it just wasn’t working for me. Here are 7 reasons why I stopped counting calories.

1. I stopped looking at food as FOOD, and only as calories.

Food is fuel, but when you become obsessed with calories you lose sight of what fuels you. Instead, you often focus on what you can have for X amount of calories, regardless of whether it’s nutritious or not. I have consumed countless “diet” and “100-calorie” snacks laden with chemicals and ingredients I can’t pronounce all in the name of quantity. “But I can have seventeen of these!” Sound familiar?

Sure, you can have sugar-free “chocolate” or seventeen paper thin mini “Oreos,” but what you don’t get is any nutrition. I was left hungry and unsatisfied constantly (and often returned for more in search of satiation, which resulted in increased calorie intake.) Now I know I could have just had an apple and a tablespoon of peanut butter or heaven forbid, some actual real dark chocolate and been done with it. More calories, sometimes, but also long lasting fiber, protein, and vitamins. Best of all, the wonderful feeling of knowing I gave myself something nutritious and didn’t need to keep rummaging for sustenance.

I’ve since adopted Michael Pollan’s philosophy on food. “Eat real food. Mostly vegetables. Not too much.”

2. Calorie counting made me obsessive.

I am a stickler for accuracy, which became an obsession when counting calories. I weighed and measured all my food, adding and subtracting chips and dry pasta until I had the perfect one or two ounces allowed. When I didn’t know precise measurements I agonized over my estimates. My husband mistakenly taking my perfectly portioned lunch and leaving me his was enough to make me cry with fear and uncertainty. I became inflexible and rigid and loss of total control over my food made me nervous.

3. Calorie counting is an enormous time suck.

Food-shopping, cooking and eating all took longer. The comparing, the weighing, the measuring, the counting, the adding, dictating nutrition facts and entering them into the app I used… it had become such a chore! Many times I ate the same things or bought the same brands, even if a comparable one was on sale, for the sole reason that I didn’t feel like entering new information into the app. Which leads me to my next point…

4. Calorie counting made me hesitant to try new things.

After so many years of calorie counting I know roughly how many calories are in most anything. But when faced with something new that wasn’t accompanied by a package or had a lot of components, I was hesitant to try it because I couldn’t account accurately for the calories. I hated not knowing and didn’t trust guessing. Even if it did come with a package, sometimes I still avoided things if I wasn’t in the mood to list all the nutrition facts into the app. Better to stick with what I was certain about. For someone who loves trying new things as much as I do, this was a huge deterrent.

5. I wanted to minimize my obligations.

If something you do to HELP yourself becomes a stressful burden that you dread, then it’s time to rethink it.

6. I learned enough to get by without counting calories.

This is where I will say that I am grateful for some of the time I spent counting calories. Counting calories taught me portion sizes and how many calories are in most foods, as well as how to calculate calories of most things in my head. But if you’re reading this, then you most likely know these things by now, too. Cutting the chord isn’t easy. But if counting calories has you obsessing or stressed out, and you know the basics, then try striking it out on your own. Chances are, like me, you know what and how much you should be eating.

7. I want to live my life fully, freely and BALANCED.

I don’t have the time, energy or desire to obsess and worry over every single thing I put in my mouth. What I want is to achieve balance. My friend, Amanda, said something to me last week that makes me believe I’m getting there. I had lost my first ten pounds for the year and she said, “And you’re doing it right. Don’t forget you went out for restaurant week and had fried chicken!”

Yes, I most certainly did! I also had several drinks, two huge biscuits that accompanied the chicken, and some of my dessert (I would have eaten all of it if I wasn’t so full.) I don’t want weight loss to mean I can never go out for restaurant week again, or drink with my friends, or have dessert. It is possible to find balance. I have witnessed it, not only in my first ten pounds, but in others.

I have been inspired for years by a random woman I saw leaving the gourmet Italian deli and bakery next to my office. She was in her running clothes, all sweaty, and she had a huge hot drink and a cinnamon roll the size of her head! I thought to myself, “That! That is what I want!” Not necessarily the cinnamon roll (although it looked phenomenal) but the BALANCE. Here was a fit woman who clearly just went running and then got herself what she wanted.

I don’t believe I can achieve balance while counting every calorie. Some people can, and I say good for them! But it’s not for me.

I have felt liberated since I stopped counting calories at the start of 2016. I still remember saying to my coach, “I don’t want to do this anymore. Is that okay?” I was worried she’d say I had to keep doing it, but it was just so clear it wasn’t working for me. She agreed and gave me the permission I was looking for.

I got my time back, became more relaxed with food, and saved myself $9.00/month from canceling the subscription to the app I used. Once again, I made new recipes, tried new things, and enjoyed my renewed food freedom.

I also found that everything I learned had stuck. I didn’t all of a sudden forget how to check nutrition facts or serving sizes or how many calories are in a banana. And I still sometimes weigh out an ounce of tortilla chips with my chili or 2 ounces of pasta for my lunch, just to keep from accidentally over-eating. And I actually do write down everything I eat in my planner every day – just little notes to jog my memory and help me keep track of things. I don’t include specific details like quantity or portion sizes. Just enough information to help me figure out what works, what doesn’t, and how certain foods make me feel.

That’s what works for me. Calorie counting didn’t. Remember, it’s all about what works for YOU.

I stood before Kathy, frozen, as big fat tears welled in my eyes. She asked me the tough questions in her gentle, loving and non-judgemental way. I was “emoting,” as she says. All the complex emotions I often contain were intensified and spilling out of me.

“I’m stuck,” I choked.

“Okay,” she said. “Then let’s just sit with what you’re feeling.”

“I can do that?” I asked, seeking reassurance and permission to not take action; to not do anything. To stay stuck, where it was sorrowful but safe.

“Yes. Sometimes we need to simply lean into the uncomfortable.”

Kathy and I had this conversation two weeks ago. After having become a bit stagnant, the Universe saw fit to give me a good shake. It got my attention.

The New Moon was the very next day. Each new moon I write down a set of intentions for the cycle. Among those intentions I scribbled: Lean into the uncomfortable. 

Leaning

There’s something about the word ‘lean’ that is safe. In yoga we are constantly leaning into the uncomfortable, knowing full well we can pull back when the discomfort becomes too great. It is a way of challenging ourselves, yet listening to our bodies. Until Kathy suggested I lean into my emotional discomfort, I didn’t connect the two. I am often frozen in place, terrified to step into the unknown, the uncertain. I despise the discomfort. It has been my way to run from it, numb it, or viciously attack it. Like so many others, I, too have numbed my discomfort with drugs, alcohol, sex and food. I have hid from it with sleep. I have attacked it by making others feel as uncomfortable as I did.

But now, equipped with new vocabulary I intended to begin to “lean” ever so gently into that which makes me feel uncomfortable. I started small, experiencing my hunger and sitting with it, rather than rushing to satiate it. Every time I felt uncomfortable for whatever reason, I reminded myself to lean into it. I was like a child dipping a toe into water to test the temperature.

This was a start.

Earlier this week, I suffered tremendous emotional discomfort. From the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep I felt it. My first instinct was to call out of work, drink Nyquil and sleep the day away. In times of discomfort we so often resort back to our old patterns of behavior. But after all this work I was able to identify it as that; a pattern. So instead I said to myself, “This is uncomfortable. But we’re gonna lean into it. We’re gonna show up for life anyway.”

And so I went to work.

Throughout the day my thoughts waged war on themselves. In a desperate attempt to quiet them, I focused on my work. I knew the night would be torturous without a distraction and I couldn’t allow it to be food. So in an act of Herculean emotional effort, I signed up for a yoga class after work and promised myself I’d go. During yoga, I continued to ease into the uncomfortable, pushing my body deeper into poses, combating the thoughts that wrestled around in my mind. One of the thoughts was fear over what I would do after yoga…

I know this may seem vague, since I haven’t gone into why I was so upset. But the truth is that it’s irrelevant. If it’s not one struggle, it’s another. Life is full of them. And I need to learn how to lean into them without resorting to destructive and avoidance behaviors.

After yoga, my urge was to crawl into bed. The leaning I was doing was far from restful, and I was exhausted. But instead, I had a good cry in an effort to release some of what I was feeling – another way of experiencing my discomfort. Afterward, I took a hot shower since I knew it would do me good. I dressed comfortably and put on thick, warm socks, a healthy way of easing some discomfort. And since I have learned that life doesn’t stop when we have a hard day (as much as we wish it would), I started making the turkey chili for my work holiday pot luck.

For me, skipping the occasional meal is not an act of destruction, but one of self-care. So I did not eat dinner. I feared that once food entered my mouth, I’d ramsack my kitchen hunting for more like a shark on the scent of blood. I couldn’t risk doing this in an effort to numb my discomfort. And so I allowed myself to feel it. And in order to feel it, I couldn’t eat.

At last, I could go to sleep. I leaned into my discomfort for an entire day without resorting to old patterns of destructive behavior. As upset and exhausted as I was, I couldn’t help feeling an inkling of pride. I had dipped my toe into unfamiliar waters, and survived to tell the tale.

Unfortunately, the discomfort has not passed since. It has shifted. Once again this morning I debated calling out of work. And once again I made the decision to show up for life, fearful that staying home would enable me to wallow in my discomfort and exacerbate a lingering anxiety. I am proud of my choice and grateful for my decision.

It wasn’t until I wrote this post that I’ve realized how much most people lean into the uncomfortable on a daily basis. It amazes me, since my pattern has always been to give in or numb. Every day people with broken hearts, sadness, anger, and tremendous worries get up and show up and continue on with their lives despite their tremendous discomfort. I find it brave and I am in awe of their strength to do this.

I’m working on my leaning muscles so that I may be stronger and better at facing my problems and fears, rather than avoiding them. I will continue leaning into the uncomfortable. And when I’m ready, I will walk. But for now, it is enough simply to lean into the discomfort.

I’m tired. Sure, it’s the most wonderful time of the year to be stressed and overwhelmed after all. But that’s not only why I’m tired. I’m tired because I have three events over the next three days all centered around food. The thought of navigating said events without overindulging exhausts me. The holidays are a particularly difficult time of the year for people with weight and food issues. But on top of the usual food anxiety, I have added pressure this year. You see, I’m participating in a clinical study and there is a weight requirement. A requirement I didn’t quite make…

But let me back up.

On the first of December I began enrollment for the clinical study. If you haven’t participated in one before, trust me that there is a lot involved. A twenty plus page consent form to review, physical, blood testing, other examinations… I was two hours in to my appointment when the doctor asked if I knew what my BMI (body mass index) was. “I believe it’s thirty-four,” I said. “Oh, good,” she said. “Thirty-five or higher is an automatic exclusion in the study.”

It was time for me to undress and prepare for the examination portion of this lengthy enrollment process. I sat on the edge of the examination table holding my thin pink gown closed around my naked body when the doctor returned looking forlorn. My heart sank.

“What is it?” I asked.

She placed her hands on my knees, a kind gesture. “I am so sorry, but I just calculated your BMI and you don’t qualify.”

Stunned, my mind kicked into overdrive. “I lost weight since my last visit!” I exclaimed hopefully. “Weigh me again,” I demanded, sliding off the table.

My attitude energized the doctor. “Let’s do this!” she said. “Take off your necklace, take off your earrings.” It would have been funny if it wasn’t so desperate. “I won’t ask you to take off your robe.”

“Oh God, please don’t.” Even though this women would eventually perform a breast exam and place her fingers inside of me, I have my limits. They include standing naked on a scale in front of an audience.

Just as I had known, I lost weight since my last appointment. Not too shabby for a week after Thanksgiving, if I do say so myself. The doctor punched the numbers into her BMI calculator. She looked up at me, sadly.

“Thirty-five POINT three.”

“POINT three?” I asked in disbelief.

She nodded.

Tears welled in my eyes. For the first time in my life I wouldn’t be able to do something solely because of my weight. And that is an incredibly harsh reality.

She placed a sympathetic arm around my shoulders as I apologized profusely.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she said. “That BMI is too low. Nearly half my patients have a BMI higher than 35.”

“How much weight does the point three amount to?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

“Two pounds.”

“I can lose two pounds.”

“I know you can. But unfortunately we can’t continue with the examination at this point. But we can reschedule for a month from now.”

“Will we have to do everything over?”

“Yes, but don’t you worry about that.”

She gave me another compassionate squeeze and left me to get dressed. I was mortified. And full of self-loathing.

After a short while she returned looking much more positive than when she departed.

“Don’t kill me,” she started. “But I re-read through all the guidelines and it turns out we can continue with the examination and record your weight at your second visit next week!”

“So I just have to lose two pounds in a week and we can stay on schedule?”

“Yep!”

“I can do that!”

“Great! I have to ask you to get undressed again.”

This was turning into one hell of an emotional rollercoaster…

So let’s fast forward to yesterday, December 7, the day before my appointment. I weighed myself in the morning and I had succeeded in losing the two pounds plus a little extra for wiggle room (pun intended). I felt accomplished and relieved. The pressure would soon be off.

But then I received a phone call in the evening. All my test results hadn’t come in yet so my appointment would have to be postponed after all. Now, after all that, I have to maintain this weight twelve more days… and right in the midst of a jam packed holiday social calendar. FUN! It will be my twelve days of Christmas indeed. On the first day of Christmas, I’ll forego bread and pasta, on the second, dessert, on the third, cheese… oh God, help me.

The pressure is on. Willpower is not infinite. Like a fuel tank, it runs low. Too much use and you’ll find yourself on empty. I don’t expect everyone to understand this struggle. But there are those of you whom I know full well do understand. And also understand that one dinner out can add three pounds and the Christmas weight struggle is real. When food is a trigger, three nights of festivities and dinners (two of which are at Italian restaurants) is daunting. I am nervous and anxious.

But then again, I have the tools and I know I can do this. I am looking at these twelve days as an opportunity. An opportunity to test myself, practice tools, and shift my focus from the food to the people I will be spending time with. I am intrigued by the possibility of going through a holiday season not feeling bloated and indulgent, but instead feeling healthy and balanced. It will certainly make picking out my outfits easier… and give me added confidence especially with visiting friends and family I haven’t seen in a while.

I’m up to the challenge. Will I make my goal? Stay tuned to find out…

If, like me, you are feeling profoundly disappointed over the results of our election, please know that you are not alone. It is natural in the wake of this tragedy to feel afraid, angry, confused, and deeply saddened. But these are the negative emotions that allowed such a result to occur in the first place. It is our job now to find peace in the aftermath of what has been a deeply dividing, hostile and hideous race for the presidency. All I can do is share with you what I plan to do to find peace after the election, and hope that you will join me in choosing positive emotions over negative ones. These are the six things I intend to try in order to begin to heal from this madness.

1. Unplug from social media.

The news crushed me in the early hours of this morning. It felt as if a sinkhole opened in my chest and had been filled with concrete. I scrolled through my Facebook feed and the weight of everyone’s disappointment felt like sandbags piled on top. A gloating post felt like a knife in my side, and made me think more judgemental thoughts. Aware of what was happening inside of me, I logged off. It is my intention to avoid all social media until things settle down and most of all, until my feelings settle down.

We don’t need to read our feeds to know what is going on. Here’s a spoiler alert: many people are profoundly hurt and angry, and many people are gloating. Take my word for it and avoid it.

2. Practice metta meditation/send loving kindness into the world

Many of the people who allowed Trump to win this election did so because they are afraid and angry and have been feeling threatened. They acted out of fear. The people who fought to prevent this atrocity are now feeling just as afraid, angry and threatened. That is A LOT of pain and suffering. Our country is crying today. I will be practicing metta meditation and sending loving kindness out into the universe to my loved ones, but also to my enemies, so that love may enter their hearts and guide their actions.

3. Be the voice of kindness and compassion

Never before have I felt so much lesser for the simple fact that I am a woman. I have tried to imagine what it might feel like today to not only be black, not only to be a black woman, but to be a black homosexual woman. I can’t imagine. I have tried to imagine what it might feel like to have been assaulted by Trump and to have come forward and for my assaulter to be elected the most powerful job in America anyway. I can’t. I have tried to imagine what it might feel like to be a Muslim and to fear for my family’s safety. I can’t.

What I can do is be kind and demonstrate through my actions that I support woman, the LGBT community, and that I do not live in fear of Muslims or anyone that appears to be of Middle Eastern descent. I can demonstrate that my ideals do not align with those who have elected this bigoted, racist, sexist man to the Presidency.

4. Try to forgive

On Thanksgiving day I will be at a table surrounded by people who voted for Trump. This thought makes me lose my appetite. I cannot make excuses for my friends and family members. In this election, it means something if you supported this man. But I refuse to disown friends and family members over this like I have seen some people say on Facebook.

I cannot justify the behaviors or actions of people who aligned with this man, but I can remind myself of their ignorance and fears. I can attempt to convince myself that they simply did not know any better and/or acted from fear, not intelligence. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier, and it is our responsibility to be informed citizens, but the simple truth is that some people have deep rooted resentments and fears, some that they inherited from their parents, and are incapable of seeing around it. I cannot control what they do, but I can control what I do. And I will practice compassion and attempt to understand.

5. Remember that laws won’t change overnight

Yes, things are uncertain and scary. But the simple reality is that Trump can’t single handedly reverse laws overnight. We won’t wake up in January and learn that marriage equality has been reversed, that abortion is now illegal in all 50 states, and that Muslims are being rounded up and put in prison. Have faith in democracy, the process, and our other elected officials.

6. Focus on the positive and what we can control

Life is going to go on. We can dwell and allow our anger and disappointment to consume us, or we can make the best of a shitty situation. I can control my response and so I am choosing to practice these six things, and focus on my journey to lose weight, live a happier and more peaceful life, and work toward my goals. Trump can’t take that away from me. People who voted for him can’t take that away from me. Only I can take that away from me by allowing negative emotions to distract me. I choose not to allow that.

Writing this post was a difficult decision because I am risking alienating or offending some of my readers. I hope you’ll understand why I chose to write this anyway, like I am choosing to attempt to understand why some people voted for Trump. This journey is one to wellness and compassion. Many of us are wounded today. I felt a personal responsibility to face this fact and to share tools for how to find peace after the election. There is a lot of hurt out there in the world today. And if I can make one single person hurt a little less, then I have succeeeded. THAT is why I chose to write this post today.

It is my deep hope that we can all move on from this and heal our wounds. We can achieve that through practicing kindness and compassion, the only cure for for our gravely ill world. If this post resonated with you at all, I ask that you PLEASE share it far and wide, so that others may be comforted by it. We all need some peace today.

I send my love to you ALL.

The wind picked up and the temperature dropped as we climbed in elevation. I gripped the lap bar, my sleeves pulled tightly over white knuckles. We swayed forward every time the chair lift came to a stop, causing my stomach to drop. I glanced below my dangling feet at the craggy mountain slope and calculated my chances of survival should our chair snap free from its steel cable. I don’t have a fear of heights so much as I have a fear of faulty engineering. But it was my friend, Amy’s birthday, and taking a chairlift to the top of Mount Snow in Vermont was what she wanted to do. So I faced my fear and anxiously awaited my prize of solid ground, breathtaking views, and an alcoholic beverage in the lodge to calm my nerves. I am grateful I didn’t give in to my fear. The reward of a new life experience sitting atop that mountain overlooking the valley was worth the discomfort.

Acknowledging Fear

When was the last time you did something that scared you?

I could rattle you off a list of things I’ve done that scared the hell out of me. Highlights include slipping down sliding rock in Pisgah National Forest into frigid water. Holding a tarantula in Colorado. Being a passenger along Mount Evans Road, the highest paved road in North America, which dropped off to certain death at 14,000 feet.

I recall these moments specifically because the experience of facing and embracing fear is so memorable. Knotted stomach, tight back, clenched jaw, rapid breathing, increased adrenaline… the mind races with one ultimate decision: give in to the fear or face the fear. When you decide to go for it, a nervous courage joins the party leaving you feeling emboldened and rebellious. Then you do the thing that scares you and exhilaration floods through you like a tsunami and you’re no longer who you were a moment before. You’re changed: stronger, braver and more experienced.

The Cost of Fear

There is nothing to gain by giving in to fear, but there is so much to lose. Had I allowed myself to be held back by fear over the years, I would have sacrificed so many incredible life experiences. All those memories and stories… gone. All those instances when I demonstrated bravery that have boosted my confidence… gone. All that exhilaration… gone.

Fear grips us when we think we may fail, get hurt, or worse, die. This is not an easy thing to overcome. We give in to it in order to prevent risk of injury or death, but the truth is that the joke’s on us. That’s because fear does not stop death, it stops life. Fear stops us from living.

Adrenaline is what makes us feel alive! Taking risks and chances, being afraid, increasing life experiences – THAT’S living.

We don’t regret the things we do that scared us, we regret not doing them. Twenty plus years later, I am still grateful I quite literally took a leap and jumped off a 25 foot cliff. To this day, it remains one my proudest moments; one that helped shape who I am as a person.

I was no younger than ten or older than twelve. Forever trying to keep up with my big brothers, I found myself at the edge of a cliff at Action Park. I desperately tried to will myself to take that last tiny step before chickening out, stepping aside and letting people go ahead of me.

My fearless brother, Joey jumped and climbed the hill back to the cliff several times while I stood there becoming increasingly worn down by my fear. My eyes welled with tears as my resolve slipped away. Joey came back again. “Ready?” he asked. I stood at the edge and crossed my arms over my chest as instructed. Finally, desperate, I uttered two words through frozen lips. “Push me.”

Without hesitation Joey nudged my back and down I went. The fall seemed to last a lifetime before I plunged deeply into the cold water. I emerged a different person; someone bolder, someone braver, someone more experienced.

Imagine if I had let my fear get the best of me that day on top of that cliff? This would not be a story of courage, but one of regret.

Facing and Embracing Fear

When you are faced with the opportunity to do something that scares you, take it! These are what some of life’s most defining and memorable experiences are made of!

What scares you? What do you regret not doing because you gave in to your fear?

Jump off cliffs, hold a snake, ask the girl out, travel alone to a foreign country… DO WHAT SCARES YOU! You may think these experiences aren’t that memorable, but believe me, they are! The adrenaline surges and sense of empowerment alone are enough to make you feel more alive. It’s a total bonus that facing and embracing fear boosts confidence.

Believe me, these are the stories you’ll tell. You will live to see another day, and will get to enjoy a life that has more… well, LIFE.

P.S. In writing this post I realized that my brother, Joey, who really is fearless, was present at nearly every single one of my scariest moments, even those that didn’t make the final draft of this post. Truth be told, on Mount Evans Road I was so terrified I begged him to let me out of the car. He wouldn’t let me because it wasn’t safe. If it wasn’t for him nudging me off the cliff, I may never have taken the step myself. If it wasn’t for him not letting me out of the car, I wouldn’t have ever been 14,000 feet high into the clouds. Thanks, Joey. xoxo

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My legs are currently covered in scars, bug bites, scabs, and peeling skin. Aside from their size, they look like the legs of a rambunctious 8-year old boy. This sort of thing never really bothered me before. But it does now, so I purchased a high quality vitamin E oil. Every morning I lovingly rub it into my skin in order to help it heal. What changed? Not my sense of vanity. But my sense of appreciation for my body and the skin I’m in. And that’s thanks to Lesson 7 from Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Weight Loss.

It’s been over ten months since I’ve written about one of the lessons in this book. That’s not because I stopped reading it, but because I got stuck. Lesson 7 is titled “Love Your Body.” It took many months and two attempts to complete this lesson… I don’t love my body, but I’m trying to.

Hating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 attempts to get to the root of not just why we hate our bodies, but what we’re hating our bodies for. But the truth is that our bodies have done absolutely nothing to us but endure and adjust, and we’ve done everything to them. We fail to support our bodies and yet our bodies continue to do their very best to support us.

“Your body has not done anything to you; it has merely reflected the raging battlefield in your mind.” – Williamson

Is it our bodies we hate? Or their size or imperfections or scars or other ways in which they don’t live up to our expectations? Do we hate our bodies because we are afraid of something? Sexual trauma victims often gain weight or self mutilate in an attempt to be less desirable. Do we hate our bodies truly or did we learn to hate them as a result of ridicule?

In our lives there is an incredible time when we are young and innocent and know we are wonderful and perfect… and it lasts until someone tells us we aren’t.

Do you remember the first time someone made fun of your moles or freckles, said you were fat or teased you about your height? Do you remember the moment you looked at your body and made a quick decision to cover it up? I remember all of it and more. I was one of the first girls in my class to hit puberty. The boys called me daddy long legs and made jokes about my breasts. I never thought twice about the hair on my legs until my mom called me into the bathroom one day to show me how to shave. Seemingly overnight there was so much shame and confusion about my body.

When I was fourteen or so I went to second base with a boy. After we “broke up,” I found out he called me P.N. behind my back. Finally a friend told me what it stood for. Pepperoni nipple. (I swear I can’t make this shit up.) I was devastated. At home I examined my nipples looking for any resemblance whatsoever to pepperoni. For years I was self conscious about my nipples. My nipples! Like we don’t have enough to be self conscious about. Anyway, after having seen many a topless woman in my life I have deduced that my nipples are no more irregular than any one else’s. Teenage boys can be mean and stupid.

Dumb shit like this combined with how women are portrayed in media combined with rejection, ridicule, and trauma is a recipe for body issues. We don’t start out hating our bodies. We are taught to hate our bodies. Sure my weight is my biggest issue, but I’m also too hairy, have too many scars, a big nose, etc. Everyone seems to hate something about their bodies. A beautiful woman I know recently lamented her sausage fingers. I swear to you her fingers are perfectly normal and pretty.

Appreciating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 called for buying an oil to rub into my skin while examining it, expressing gratitude for it, acknowledging what I’ve done to it, and most of all, forgiving it for what it did not do. The goal of the lesson is to repair and restore the relationship between us and our physical selves.

Naked, I was to begin by making an apology to myself for having mistreated such a magnificent gift as my physical body. From the bottoms of my feet to the tips of my fingers, I was to emotionally lean into my body, not recoil from it. I was to rub the oil into my body with acceptance, with love if I could, with grief if necessary. I was to take my time, paying attention to each limb, each curve, each scar, each joint. “Do not rush,” the book instructed. “Accept, affirm, apologize, and forgive.”

I bought the oil, an organic apricot kernel oil, soon after reading the lesson. But then it sat unopened as I waited for the appropriate time.

Last autumn I slipped off the plush robe provided to me in the spa-like bathroom of the gorgeous four star hotel where I was staying. I had packed the oil, thinking my surroundings would be ideal for such a ritual. Hands wet with oil, I began to massage it into my skin.

I felt nothing – no appreciation, no forgiveness, no love, no patience. My legs were pasty and purply and my skin was puckered and scarred. I poured more and more oil into my hands impatiently as my dry skin quickly absorbed it. “For fucks sake, you’re so fat you should have gotten two bottles,” I thought.  The lighting was wrong and it was too quiet. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to hide inside my luxurious and bulky robe, eat cheese, drink wine and watch movies.

“Fuck this,” I said aloud as I wiped my hands on a dry washcloth. I slipped my robe back on, cinched it tight and turned my back on appreciating my body.

I wouldn’t try to do so again until a snowy day a few months later.

Please click here to read Part 2, Ending An Abusive Relationship With My Body

All my life I’ve not started things because I didn’t feel prepared or qualified. If I did start, I often grew bored or frustrated and eventually gave up. Now, after 100 blog posts, I feel proud, accomplished and even more energized to continue my journey. I’m so grateful I started when I did and didn’t let sabotaging thoughts postpone my plans. Nothing is ever perfect at the start, and I love being able to look back on 100 blog posts and not only see my personal growth, but the growth of this blog and my writing as well.

Procrastination & Preparation:

You may recall I almost didn’t start this blog back in November, 2014. I wanted professional photos taken, but thought I was too fat. 100 blog posts later I’m no thinner than I was then. Imagine if I had waited? I’d still be waiting! But I didn’t wait because although I didn’t feel my body was ready, I was. My journey had begun and I literally could not wait to write about and share it. It was that excitement that compelled me to begin despite not having my ideal photo and some other minor concerns.

I don’t think we’re ever fully prepared for anything. Planning can be just another form of procrastination. Sometimes we have to bite the bullet and go for it with what we have and what we know at the time. So I had the photos taken anyway, and I’ve come to really appreciate them. And I started on Blogger because I was familiar with the platform and it was easy to use. I knew I could always move later (even if I had no idea at the time how to go about the transition).

With any new project, nothing will be ever be perfect at the start, no matter how much planning and prep we do. Imagine if it were!? How BORING. We’d all quit six months in if there weren’t changes and improvements to make and goals to strive for. With nearly anything, we learn by doing. We can read every book and watch every video, but I guarantee you there’s nothing quite like figuring it out for yourself and doing it.

Start Somewhere:

Everyone starts somewhere. No, actually, not everyone starts somewhere. Because a lot of people don’t start at all. Those who have the courage and drive to start do start somewhere. But we rarely get to see their starting line because by the time we know who they are they’re often much closer to the finish. We can’t start at the finish.

But we can all start somewhere. What are you waiting for?

As I’ve worked on myself, I’ve worked on this blog, eventually learned WordPress and designed this website. I can’t even begin to quantify how much I have learned and grown as a result of having a place to document my journey. This blog keeps me motivated on what is oftentimes an arduous process of healing and growth. I am so incredibly grateful I didn’t allow something as trivial as photos keep me from writing. My journey would have stalled and I wouldn’t have everything I’ve written to share with you, especially my weight loss struggles. So even if it takes another 100 blog posts (my God, I hope not) I will have another photo shoot. And when I post all those photos, you’ll know how hard I worked to make it happen and how important they are to me.

Whether you’ve read one post or all one hundred, thank you for being a part of my journey.

Ask yourself:

Is there something holding me back from starting a project or working toward a goal?

Is it a good reason or a trivial one?

Am I planning? Or procrastinating?

Do I have the bare minimum to get started?

I bet you do…