I Cannot Be Broken

All of the things I've experienced have built the ground upon which I stand at this time.

I am deeply rooted, like an old pecan tree—my roots spanning wide and plunging far beneath the surface towards the core of the earth.

My branches have been broken by trauma, my leaves beaten by the wind and rain of difficulty and strife, my bark stripped by the unrelenting skies of life—leaving me standing here before you, naked—exposed.

How mightily my roots have grown—stronger. My bark has returned, and new branches are growing. At the tips of those branches, tiny leaves are sprouting in the shape of hope.

With my roots so firmly planted in the ground, I have become more flexible—almost fluid.

I cannot be broken.

My arms sway in the wind. My hair whips wildly around my head. I feel the deep-bone chill of cold and the blistering heat of the sun. My skin takes in only what it needs—the rest falls away.

The stronger my roots,

The stronger my soul.

The chaos around me continues.

Inside is silence. Inside is calm.

I cannot be broken.

It is here—in this earth, in this moment—where my home lies.

Here—within me.

Here—in my heart.

I have existed many times, and I will exist many more times.

And yet, I have never before been more present than I am in this moment.

I turn and look at the landscape behind me, and I grieve for all I have lost.

And, I stand in shock—in awe, marveling at the beauty that is my life, the fullness with which I love, and the faith carrying me through darkness I never knew the human spirit could endure.

I am here.

I am now.

I am.

Shedding More Than Just Weight

In searching for the best “before” photo I could find, I discovered this one from June of 2007.

I can’t quite describe what exactly is significant about four years, but I will try.

Maybe it’s that four years ago, I was the heaviest I’ve ever been. Maybe it’s that four years ago, I was almost completely sedentary. Maybe it’s that four years ago, I was making a ton of money but also incredibly unhappy—and I couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

Four years ago, I had no real clue how to fulfill my own needs. I still relied on others to do it for me, which meant that the majority of the time, I felt more empty than full.

(Do I even need to mention that I tried filling that void with food?)

And of course, four years ago, I had no clue how I was going to begin changing my life—one step at a time, and sometimes, one giant leap at a time.

I didn’t yet know that I would take the trip of a lifetime to Murano, Italy in March of 2008. A trip that would re-awaken the artist within me, a trip that would remind me what happiness feels like, a trip that reminded me just how unhappy I was in my day to day life, a trip that ended up becoming a huge magnifying glass. When I came back home to Texas, I finally realized just how much I didn’t like my life. The life I had chosen, the life I had committed to, the life I had vowed to uphold.

I didn’t realize what a black hole my own home had become, until I came back from Italy in April 2008.

Up until that point, I had refused to acknowledge that my marriage was not in a good place. What’s worse—it hadn’t been, for years.

2008 began the confrontation of all that wasn’t working in my life, starting with why my marriage wasn’t working. He went to Pathways, and we did a little bit of work together to repair the deeply traversed ditches of damage, but after he finished the program, things pretty much went back to the well-established bad habits and patterns that we had practiced as a couple for the entirety of our relationship.

I held out hope that things would get better.

But in 2010… I finally realized that I was continuing to grow and change, and at that point in time, he really wasn’t. We had been moving in different directions, and we really began wanting different things.

But 2010 also marked the beginning of the major transformation that is so evident in me today.

If you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, you can probably recall at least a few of the changes. The most obvious is my weight loss. The next obvious is my divorce. Then, there are the less obvious things… grieving for losses from my past that I’d never grieved; allowing God into my life and then in April of this year, becoming a believer; and one of the most important changes of all… finally learning how to fulfill my own needs.

The biggest changes I’ve experienced in 2011 have been:

• Stepping out of the P-R-V (Persecutor – Rescuer – Victim) triangle in all of my relationships. I always played the Victim role, by the way.
• Recognizing that I still had codependent relationships, and working very hard to step out of codependency.
• Finally learning how to fulfill my own needs and fill myself up, without having to rely on someone or something else to do it for me.

These are significant and important changes, and I am proud of the work I’ve done. I’ve come a long, long way… and looking at those two photos side by side brings up so many emotions—of all that I’ve been through, of all the things I’ve willingly faced, of the accountability I’ve finally taken on, of letting go of old baggage and grieving losses so that they no longer weigh me down… and learning how to live on my own without feeling constantly lonely…

It’s so much more than “just” weight loss.

As my friend Carla said, I’ve spent the last year and a half shedding the person who pretended to be me.

It’s so true. I am no longer fighting so hard to maintain some image of perfection, or the life I thought I was supposed to live. I am no longer trying to live a life that was not right for me. I am no longer pretending to be real.

I am real.

It’s taken years to get to this place, and I feel like I’m brand new.

I recently saw this message:

Anyone can give up. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.

I disagree.

Whole heartedly.

To me, falling apart isn’t about giving up. Falling apart is about dropping the mask, dropping the pretense, and letting go of the ever-important “image” of perfection.

It is only because I finally allowed myself to completely fall apart that I realized just how strong I am, how many amazing people love me, and how worthy I am of that love.

It is only because I finally dropped the façade that I was “ok” and I was truly vulnerable that I discovered what realness and authenticity feel like.

It was in those moments when people saw the real me, and much to my own surprise, they rushed towards me—not away. I witnessed true grace, love, and redemption when I finally allowed myself to fall apart and let people in.

I was taken care of, every step of the way.

And today, I stand before you as my real, imperfect self.

And when I look at that photo on the right—for the first time in my life—the first things I see are the positives.

I see a beautiful and happy woman. I see a woman who is secure, confident, and who feels worthy.

I am all of those things, and more…

Paradigm Shift

Perspective comes in its own time. You can’t rush it, or it won’t be real.

After all of the soul stretching over the last week, a few things occurred to me. I realized that while I’ve been thrown a couple of big things to work on at once, I also have a much faster “recovery time” than I used to. Recovery time meaning, the time after I have the epiphany, to the time when I’m applying tools (new, borrowed, or old) to address the issue.

My “recovery time” used to be months… then weeks, and now—days. Sometimes I can even turn it around within a day.

After realizing that I didn’t know how to receive love, I thought about some tools I gained through a pretty amazing self-improvement course I took last fall. I knew exactly which one would work best, too. I recognized that if I started practicing what I should do (in other words—taking action), I would create a new habit of responding better. And then, I would actually feel better.

Here’s an example…

When someone gives me a compliment, my first instinct is to shrug it off. Sometimes I pretend not to hear it, or I just nod and say thanks—but in my mind, I have already dismissed the compliment with an assumption that the giver didn’t mean it, or he or she has an ulterior motive.

When I started dropping weight, I learned pretty quickly that I needed to get used to receiving compliments. Something was still missing, though. I figured that because I was in transition, and I had lost so much weight, it instantly gave people something nice to say as a way to open a conversation.

I still couldn’t receive kind words at face value.

So, I’m practicing. This goes right back to the value of living in the moment.

I am practicing acknowledging when I have received the gift of a compliment or kind sentiment… and I am practicing really hearing what that person is saying, so that I can actually receive it and accept it as real.

One step at a time—but what’s interesting is that since I have chosen to shift my attitude, I have been inundated with compliments over the last few days.

I have to wonder… how many compliments have I been given, that I never actually received? It’s possible I’ve been inundated with compliments over the last 36 years, but I’ve only truly heard the last handful.

One thing is certain.

In truly hearing those kind words spoken to me, I understand that I am worthy of those words.

And that... is a pretty damn big step.

My Exhausted Soul, Unfolding...

This is setting out to be the most personal blog post I’ve made to date. I have to think, though, that I’m not the only one who feels this way or has this particular struggle. So I thought I’d throw it out there and see if anyone can weigh in with their experiences. And if you don’t want to talk about it publicly, feel free to email me at lindaleetritton [at] gmail [dot] com.

I’ll ask that you “put your filters on” for what I’m about to share… to draw whatever meaning you can out of it.

My soul is so exhausted… to the core.

I just want to be.

God seems to have other plans.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had several significant “light bulb” moments that I’d never quite put together before. Truths about me that have struck me all the way to my core.

Are other people so much more together, or well-adjusted? Am I really that—I don’t know… deficient, maybe—emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, etc? It feels like I struggle so much more than others do with the universal, eternal truths of this life, while others seem to have it so much more figured out than I do.

Or is it that everyone else is just faking it a lot better than I can?

I can’t seem to fake anything, anymore. I’m mostly thankful for that, because it’s exhausting to fake being okay all the time. It’s exhausting to try and shove myself into a box I clearly don’t fit in.

I’m realizing that no one can ever be as hard on me as I am, and that I am so practiced in the act of punishing myself that it’s proving to be a very difficult habit to break.

I’ll go way out on a limb and share one of the truths I learned about myself, just this morning.

Last night I was up late finishing some jewelry, and as I fell to sleep, a thought popped into my mind. I’ve been feeling somewhat disconnected from God and from my spiritual path in general, and I wasn’t sure why. I also wasn’t sure how to remedy that… but the thought popped to mind that I should try and get up in time to go to a place where I love the music… Bent Tree Bible Fellowship.

Sure enough, my alarm went off and I managed to get up and out the door in time for the service.

Only, I stumbled into a service that was unlike any other I’ve ever attended. It was kind of an on-stage drama of what it might be like for the second coming of Jesus Christ.

It’s a little overwhelming to think about, mainly because I’m not entirely certain what my idea of heaven is, or who I think will or won’t be there, and what my thoughts are about “judgment day”, etc. My ideas of what heaven or judgment is really all about don’t fall into typical Christian beliefs, I guess. (A lot of what I believe doesn’t fall into “typical” Christian beliefs, but I’ll get to that in a minute.)

None of that really mattered. There was a special message for me this morning, and all it required was my presence in a building where the music tends to open my heart wide, and where I tend to allow that to happen.

I think you can open your heart at any time, in any place. But sometimes, you need a nudge. And this morning, I got much more than a nudge… I was pretty much shoved off a cliff.

I realized that the reason I’ve felt so distant from God lately is because I have rejected the love He has for me… because I don’t feel worthy of it.

Ouch.

Even worse… I realized I’ve been ashamed of my faith. Ashamed of becoming a Christian, trying to excuse myself from the bad name Christians have given themselves, instead of just striving to live by example.

Anytime I speak to anyone about my beliefs and my faith, I'm pretty apologetic. I say, “Well, I guess that since becoming a believer earlier this year, that makes me a Christian, but—”

But, what?

But, I believe gays and lesbians should be able to marry and adopt children.

But, I believe creationism has no place being taught in public schools. It’s a religious story that needs to be told within the structure of religion.

But, I believe each person has his or her own path to walk, and for me to assume or even wish that everyone ends up in the same place is not only pompous, but it defeats the purpose of spirituality, which, to me, is potentially the most personal, intimate relationship anyone can have with the divine—whatever you believe the divine to be.

But, I believe you’re not damned if you never accept Christ as your Savior. Actually, I don't know that I even believe in hell.

But, I believe developing kindness, nurturing love within yourself, giving your love to others, and recognizing how we are all connected is vitally important—far more important than how often you go to church, how involved you are in church, or how much money you give to your church.

But, I believe that humans, including (but certainly not limited to) Christians can crush others with their judgments. I think we judge out of fear, and out of what we’ve been taught, or out of limited knowledge, experience, and unexamined beliefs.

I think many of us place judgment first, and ask questions later—or worse—never ask questions at all.

In many places, judging is not only accepted, but it’s expected—even encouraged. I’ve witnessed this inside the walls of many churches, and it saddens me that judging is still so supported and even encouraged.

And I think I’ve fallen into this judgment trap, too.

Except, I’ve been judging myself and assuming that when I say the word “Christian”, I will immediately be judged by others.

Instead of surrendering, I’ve remained lost. What? I’ve actually chosen to be a victim in my own spiritual journey?

Ouch.

Instead of allowing God’s love to being me closer to Him, I’ve been rejecting that love—a way of trying to maintain control. Control of my own faith, control of my journey, control of my love.

What I’m getting at is… I don’t know how to allow someone to love me... I don't know how to receive that love without trying to do something to explain or excuse it away, because some part of me believes I don't deserve it.

Even if that someone (who is trying so hard to love me) is who I believe to be the most divine spiritual force in the universe.

Again… ouch.

Of course, awareness is the first step, and now, I am certainly aware…

my soul
it's dying to be free
i can't live the rest of my life
so guarded
it's up to me to choose..
what kind of life i lead.

cause i don't wanna go on living
being so afraid of showing
someone else my imperfections
even though my feet are trembling
and every word i say comes stumbling
i will bare it all... watch me unfold
unfold

i will allow someone to love me
i will allow someone to love me...
     - from “Unfold” by Marie Digby

There is something positive in all of this awakening. I recognize that this is really just another step in breaking free of all the confines, shackles, and chains I’ve kept myself bound in over the years. I know I’m in the process of breaking free. I know I’m in the process of unfolding.

That doesn’t mean some of those steps along the way aren’t painful…

But unlike before, I am now willing to share some of those moments. I’m not entirely certain what compelled me to share this one with you.

All I know is that we are all connected, and certainly I am not alone my thoughts here, or, if I am—then I simply offer you this piece of me, as another part of my journey, unfolding…

I’m in repair,
I’m not together but I’m getting there…
     - from “In Repair” by John Mayer

Happiness is a Habit

Just over a week ago, I posed a question in my blog. It was more a question for myself, rather than for you. I figured that at some point, the answer would come.

Because the answer is always there, if only your ears and heart are open enough to hear it.

Anyway… the question:

Why is pain so much more intense than joy?

In that moment, I truly didn’t understand, but I get it now. The answer hit me while I was sitting at my kitchen table at home on Friday, entering some data for work.

It’s because I used to be in a constant state of sadness, depression, pain, and misery. The moments of joy I experienced were just that—moments. They faded quickly, which made me feel even more miserable, even sadder, even more depressed.

It’s when I used to write stuff like this… which is on my original website. Yes. I was “blogging” back in 1998, long before it was ever called blogging:

03/21/99
nobody knows me.
sometimes i really feel that way. i really honestly truly feel alone.
and then there are the times when i feel like everyone can see right through me, right through to the bone. and i wonder if they like what they see...
nobody knows that i secretly want to be the president of the united states.
nobody knows that i have read entries in my first diary that i started keeping when i was nine and i remember how my parents used to fight, and i always thought they were going to get a divorce and so i cried... and those diary entries still make me cry.
nobody knows that my sister always stole any money that i had so she could buy drugs, so to get back at her i stole her lip gloss and tampons. it makes sense in an 8-yr-old way.
nobody knows that sometimes when i see people on the street and observe how they look at me, i secretly wonder if inside their minds they're thinking the same terrible things that owen b. used to call me when i was in fourth grade... things like fatso, hippo, ugly...
nobody knows that even though i am very independent and strong, all i really want is for a man to love me as much as i love him. someday it will happen, but there are short spurts of time when i feel miserably unwanted. and then i kick myself because i know better.
nobody knows that not a single day goes by when i don't have at least one negative thought about myself bouncing around in my mind. it's usually something along the lines of looking fat or not being good enough to deserve something, but still, it's there...
nobody knows that i think so many other negative thoughts but i keep them all inside or i write them in secret places because nobody really wants to look at these ugly pictures i paint...
nobody knows that i value others' opinions about me way too much, that it's an everyday battle for me to have self confidence about anything because i have never had self-esteem, especially not when i was growing up.
nobody knows that i always have music going through my head.
nobody knows...

Wow.

How sad is that? Can you feel how utterly miserable I was? I feel sad, just reading that… which is one reason why, even though I keep all of my old journals, but I don’t necessarily go back and read them very often. It’s just… depressing as hell.

But that’s the constant state of being in which I used to live. That’s where I was, all the time, and when I felt joy, I often sucked the life out of whatever the source of that joy was, because I knew the joy was temporary—because the source was always exterior. It never came from within. Happiness felt like something I grasped at desperately, like dry sand slipping through my fingers.

These days, it’s completely different. Joy, happiness, openness, authenticity—these are now constants in my life. These are feelings and ways of being that I choose to nurture.

It’s because I live in a state of calm and warm happiness… and yes—I experience moments of joy, just like anyone, but because joy isn’t nearly so elevated from the state of being where I actually live all the time now… it doesn’t feel as intense.

So, because I’m not living in a constant state of depression, pain, and sadness, it feels more intense when I do experience those feelings.

The pain and sadness are insanely intense.

But—they're also temporary.

When I feel the pain, and work through it, and let it be, to the point of completely emptying it out—I can make the choice (like I did last week) to then fill myself up with all the good things I want, like love for myself, and even love for my body, my mind, and my life.

And today, realizing that I have completely 180’d… completely flip-flopped my attitude and outlook on life is hugely powerful and absolutely empowering. Truly! It reminds me of a part of the Pathways training, where there’s discussion about what makes people who are top performers become top performers in their companies.

It has nothing to do with exterior motivators, or incentives, or spousal support, or any other factors you might think.

The only thing differentiating top performers from average or even low performers was… the top performers were happy.

And they found real, profound ways to nurture that happiness.

I get it now… because now I know that no matter what comes my way, even if it’s a total train wreck, I will return to happiness, because that is my choice. Because at the core of who I am, I am actually a happy person. And if I make that choice consistently, every time… then I will continue to be happy.

The power rests in my mind and in my heart. And I’ve always known that—it’s just that when I look back, I was so confused and clueless about how to achieve that happiness in the first place. I knew it was possible—I just didn’t have the tools.

And then I went to Pathways and got some of the basic tools… and I started TAing and got more tools. I did the PrimeSelfPlus (PSP) class and got even more amazing tools.

And now, I am honing my happiness skills, one choice at a time, one day at a time, and it feels like something has finally clicked. It feels like I’ve finally picked up the clue and tucked it beside my heart.

I’m excited, and recharged, and empowered, and—

Happy.

And happiness is more than a feeling. It’s a state of being—a habit, even, that I am choosing to nurture… one choice at a time. 

The Scale Fiasco

A few months ago, I had a humiliating experience with my bathroom scale.

I bought my new scale in March, when I moved into my apartment. My bathroom has hand-laid yet slightly uneven tiles. You can see, already, where this is going...

I had thought I got it on just the right spot of the floor, but I had noticed that every time I stepped on it, it was incredibly sensitive and I could see the number going up or down by as much as 6 pounds just by me shifting my stance only slightly. That *should* have told me that it wasn't level, but for whatever reason, I ignored it. And then I started to tell myself, "Well, I'm still losing, so I guess I really CAN eat whatever I want!"

Oh, look—a new tape.

I think it got bumped on a Saturday in late May, when I had my combination birthday/housewarming party, because on Sunday the reading was way off. So, I reset it a couple of times and tried to find a level spot a couple of times... and I didn't think much of it.

Monday came around, and the reading was a whopping 15 pounds more than it was Saturday. I reset the damn scale at least 10 times that morning: moved it around, put it on the wood floor, etc. I tried desperately to get it to read what it had been reading before.

But this time, the scale didn’t easily fluctuate by 6 or so pounds just by the way I stood on it. This time, the scale instantly popped up a number and stayed steady as soon as I set foot on it.

And that reading was 15 pounds more than what I had gotten before.

The reality is that when I didn't watch the scale and actually shift my weight in order to manipulate it to a lower number (oh god I hate admitting that)... I was weighing in at around 71 pounds below my starting weight... not the 74-76 I had been telling myself (and of course, telling others).

So, I had not only been thinking that I really could just eat whatever I wanted to eat and not worry about it… but now that the lie was officially dispelled, it meant I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

A few days after all this, I put on a pair of pants and noticed they felt really tight in the waist. They hadn't before. That was the bottom of the barrel for my real reality check. It hit me that I actually did gain some pounds back.

I had to look at why, and how. I realized that I've been stress-eating at work. Quite literally stuffing my face all day long. Oh, look, an 8-hour-a-day excuse to eat unconsciously… and I took full advantage of it.

So after realizing that I've been stress-eating at work, and eating far too much... I decided to scale back and go back to paying really close attention to what I'm eating, how much I'm eating, and how often I'm eating.

Back to square one with Intuitive Eating, in other words.

It sucks. And I was so down about it that I couldn’t write about it here until I came to some realizations about it. But, like everything... this is a learning experience. I've been trying to lie to myself, and I could only do that for so long before calling my own ass out.

So, what I’ve learned from this experience:

• It’s extremely easy to slip into a comfort zone, and stay there for however long it’s comfortable.
• Lying to myself makes it easier to stay in that comfort zone. I can make up any number of effective excuses to keep myself down.
• I used the scale as my crutch. For the first time, I wasn’t using it as an ally to help me keep track of what my body is doing, and how my body is doing. I was trying to manipulate a tiny machine that I had put in place to help me. How is that a mirror to my life? (Ouch.)
• And, finally… once again driving home the fact that no one is as hard on me as I am.

The reality is that I probably gained about 6 or 8 pounds back from the progress I had reached in March. It felt overwhelming at the time, but really, it was a manageable amount.

So, how about some good news?

Since recovering from the emotional depth of the scale fiasco, I’ve been doing very well, and now—I’m back to where I was before, weight-wise.

Those 6 or 8 (or 10? I don't know at this point) pounds are long gone. Only the lesson remains.

What I didn’t expect, though, is that I came to a whole new appreciation and love for my body. I put myself through emotional torture, but I somehow managed to not turn my frustration and disappointment into hate towards my body. That’s a huge step for me.

I have not lost weight in a smooth, even way. I still have strange places on my body that don’t seem to want to cooperate as well as other parts of my body have. They’re places where I am working to build some muscle tone, but it’s proving to be an uphill battle.

In the meantime, though, I have learned to accept all parts of my body. There’s this part of my mid-section that comes in and cinches… and it accentuates my hips. I am so thankful and excited to have hips! I’d always looked at hippy women with a bit of envy, because I didn’t really have hips until I had lost a significant amount of weight and I had started working out.

And my chest doesn’t seem as small as it did when I was so much heavier, either. It looks more proportionate to the rest of me.

As for the other parts that don’t quite make sense (my tummy, for example, and the very top part of my arms), it’ll get there. I’m working on it. I am, as always, a work in progress.

My attitude now is that my body is the only one I’ll have in this lifetime, and it’s up to me to take care of it in the best way I know how. And while this scale fiasco was something I initially saw as a set-back, what I feel now is that it was truly a valuable lesson that I needed to learn.

So, where do I go from here?

Sure—I would still like to lose more pounds, but at this point, it’s about getting my body to the point where I feel comfortable wearing a bathing suit in public. I’ll probably never have a bikini body, but I also don’t want to put limitations on myself.

The focus is no longer on watching the number on the scale get smaller.

My focus now is much broader. It’s about living my life in a way that works the best for me. And the beauty of feeling that way is that it removes expectations, limitations, and the confines of the chains I had once so securely wrapped myself in.

With each day, I learn more about what it means for me to be free.

A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime

It has been said that people enter your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

Whatever the case, I am learning that it's really all about love.

Right now I’m reading a book called In the Meantime, by Iyanla Vanzant.

In the book, she talks about a woman named Luanne Bellarts, who was born with cerebral palsy. She was a living illustration of love. Over the span of her lifetime, she taught others about the real meaning of love, faith, and trust by writing Bird with a Broken Wing—which is her life story.

She wrote it with her big toe, which was her only working appendage.

What is it about people born with certain “handicaps” seem to have a much firmer grasp on what faith is really about? Why does it work that way?

A Reason

In pondering these questions, my mind immediately flooded back to my time as a teacher for autistic kids. I taught in a special autism school that had build residences in differing neighborhoods near the school, so the kids transitioned from home to school, and back again at the end of the day.

My case student was named Greg.

Greg

I’ve never spoken of him in this blog before, but I still think about Greg and some of the other students often.

Special kids like Greg have a way of seeing right through bullshit.

Below, I’ve included an exerpt of the biography I wrote on a webpage I created for him back in 2000:

Gregory Dean McKinnon – April 30, 1982-July 10, 2000  

Gregory Dean McKinnon was born on April 30, 1982. He grew up in a small town in New Hampshire called Goffstown amongst a large network of family and friends.
 In his 18 short years Greg managed to touch the lives of so many people. Even with complications such as Cerebral Palsy, mental retardation, and behavior problems, Greg faced challenges with his head held high in the air—often we'd forget he even had disabilities because that kid could make you laugh without saying a word.
 Gregory grew up in a warm and incredible family—Mom, Dad, and 3 brothers (Ben, Chris, and Adam). Members of his family touch the lives of everyone they meet with their unconditional love. They have great respect for each other and those around them, and that showed every day in Greg. Greg made you feel special when you walked in the room—he’d glance up, see you, and instantly start laughing. Often he'd get up and walk over to you to get a hug or touch your arm—anything just to say hello.
 Greg was a very social young man.  He loved to stop and chat with friends in the hallway, and he liked making new friends too.  Even though Greg couldn't speak—he could convey so much with his gestures, his smile, and his contagious laugh.
  Greg really knew how to get what he wanted, using humor and persistence!  He was very good at reading people and figuring them out—and subsequently finding just the right persuasive tactics to get what he wanted (in other words... he had us wrapped around his little finger!).
  Everyone who was at all acquainted with Greg consistently noted his contagious laughter, his warm smile, social nature, and big welcoming brown eyes... but especially his laugh and his intrinsic ability to make other people laugh.  He was more talented than any stand-up comedian at drawing genuine laughter out of someone who likely needed a good guffaw.
  Greg passed away on Sunday evening, July 10, 2000, while he was sleeping at his school's sponsored residence on West Hill Road.  His body is gone, and those who knew his challenges walking believe he can now run and jump in the clouds—but I believe he watches over his loved ones and his soul lives within everyone's life he touched (that's a lot of people).  He's got his place among the stars, and I'm sure it's a front row seat, with an endless supply of Auto Hunter magazines, chocolate bars, hot dogs, and soda.
  We miss him.

(As a side note: it does strike me as strange that I would think about Greg, and talk about him in this blog, on the 11th anniversary of his passing.)

I was technically Greg’s teacher, but he was placed in my life for a reason:

He taught me the true meaning of unconditional love.

Teaching severe special needs children is one of the most difficult jobs out there.  If it's in your blood, you just do it and you're happy doing it.  If it's not in your blood—you find out quickly, you burn out, you leave the field.  I realized at one point that severe special needs was not quite the place I needed to be.  But, until I came to terms with that realization and I started to act on it by seeking another line of work—I did the best I could.  And Greg really helped me "keep it real."  His smile, his laugh, his silly and loving nature really helped me.  Every single day.  Even with the challenges that he presented to staff and family, he knew when I needed a good laugh and he could always make me smile.  Greg had so many gifts and he gave so much love.  That is why it was so hard to lose him.

I did everything I could do to hide back in those days. I wore mens clothes that were too big, I didn’t take care of myself, I wasn’t good with eye contact, and I rarely talked about feelings, or anything real or meaningful.

Greg didn’t care. He could see right through me, from the moment we met. And he really could make me feel special. When I walked into a room he was in, he stood up, started laughing and smiling, and inevitably walked over to give me a hug.

There were times when I confided in him, when no one else was around to listen. I told him when I was having a bad day. A lot of the time, if he was in a bad mood, and I told him that I was feeling sad, or having a hard day… he would actually turn his behavior around and do whatever he could to make me laugh.

That kid loved me. Unconditionally. He was a beautiful, pure illustration of unconditional love. He understood what I needed, and he did the best he could do to help me feel better.

By the same token, he taught me something I never expected: tough love.

He was a difficult kid when it came to shaving his face. He had a lot of very thick hair, so he had to be shaved pretty often. And, of course, it was his caseworker’s job.

Greg would do whatever he could to try and manipulate me so that he could get out of shaving. It never worked, of course, because I knew that if I didn’t get it done one day, I would be stuck with the task the very next day.

I had to stand up to him, but in a loving way—not a cruel or mean way. I had never done that before, with anyone… and he taught me how to do it, without either of us realizing what was going on.

I also learned what it means to give unconditional love. Greg could feel when I wasn’t being genuine, or when I was trying to manipulate him, and he never once fell for it.

That kid knew me better than many of the people I had called friends in my past ever had. At the time, he even knew me better than my own family knew me.

I think about Greg anytime I need to remember what unconditional love should feel like.

And then, I look at myself, and ask myself how I can better love myself unconditionally, because as I now know… love begins with me.

A Season

I spent some time with a man recently who I now realize was in my life for a reason, yes—but during this strange season of my life.

The gift he gave me was tenderness.

And I realized that over the years, I have looked everywhere for tenderness, intimacy, and deep connection. (Everywhere but within, of course.)

What I’ve learned is that when I am seeking something from another person, it is something I am really searching for within me.

And that man reminded me of what tenderness felt like, and sometimes, that’s all we need—a reminder.

I was in a funk most of yesterday, and I didn’t understand why until late last night. All it took was a very simple yet profound phrase in an email I got earlier in the evening, about inner light attracting someone on the same frequency, to make me realize that I’ve been seeking nothing from others, but also nothing from myself.

In other words—in some pretty significant ways, I’ve been coasting.

While I haven’t been looking for others to fill me up, or fill my needs—I also haven’t been looking within. I’ve allowed myself to get so caught up in work and meeting new people that I haven’t slowed down long enough to be still and see what’s really there.

In the past, I was afraid of the stillness, because it often meant I sank into depression.

And while I have embraced my fearlessness in almost all realms, I think some of that fear still lingers in the quiet crevices of my mind and heart…

But the interesting thing is that despite the walls I’ve recently hit with meeting new people, I am standing strong with who I am. It’s nothing against me or my self-worth if someone chooses not to hang out with me, and I am choosing, time and time again, to remain open.

A Lifetime

I am here for me

And while there are certain folks who I know are in my heart for a lifetime—a few very close friends, my family, and God—there’s one person I am only just now starting to really count on... She comes through for me, every time, through thick and thin. She’s been here for me time and time again, even when I didn’t think it possible… even when I didn’t think she was looking.

And she’s here for me now. All I have to do is stop shutting her out in my time of need, which is the time she wants to be here for me the most.

Just like God, all I have to do is let her in... let her be here. 

All I have to do is let my light shine, even when I can't define exactly what that means. Maybe even especially when I can't define exactly what that means.

And she is someone I need, and will continue to need, for the rest of my life.

I am thankful to finally be here, present and in the moment… just for me.

Truly, I am learning to lead with love...

And that love begins with me.

A Post About Love

I just finished watching the movie Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I’ve watched it more times than I can count. And, yes, it’s essentially a teen movie, but the themes are universal and for someone like me, who didn’t have the blessing of friends from birth, I realized something while I sat there, crying during one of the pivotal moments of the movie.

I am lucky to have friends like that, now.

Lena’s story is compelling to me. This monologue of hers is a favorite:

Lena: [in her letter, after Kostas accuses her of being afraid to love him] He's right, Car. I am afraid. There's a part of me that wants to let him in but then I feel myself put this wall up and I don't understand why. Maybe that's what strikes me most about Kostas: that despite everything he's suffered he can still look at life in the most uncomplicated way. I've never known that kind of faith. It makes me so sad that people like Kostas and Bridget who have lost everything can still be open to love... while I, who have lost nothing, am not. 

It occurred to me that I used to be that way. I used to be so afraid to be open, and to be open to the possibility of love. I used to walk around, a collection a walls, and wonder why no one bothered to try and get to know me. I used to wonder why, when I was really in need, I had no one to call.

Fake Smile Me (as college senior)

I did it to myself.

Realizing that—and how far I’ve come since those days, it’s no mystery as to why I’ve settled for so much in my life, including in the realm of love. I didn’t even know myself well enough to know what I wanted in love—let alone what I could give to someone else, let alone what I was worthy and deserving of having.

I even settled with the way I loved my family. Back in 2002 when I was looking to move in with the man I would end up marrying, my mother had some not-so-nice things to say to me when I announced the move-in. It hit me that she didn’t really know me, at all. She was reacting out of her own uncertainty, frustration, and confusion. She had no idea what I’d been through when I lived in Massachusetts. She had no idea the experiences I had, the life I’d lived, or the ways I had struggled.

She didn’t know, because I didn’t tell her.

I tried to protect my family from needing to worry about me by keeping them in the dark. I tried to hold up that illusion of living a perfect life and handling everything perfectly, because as long as I did that (so I thought), they wouldn’t worry. And a part of me acted that way because I thought it was the only way to really get through life.

 If I could just hang on another day and pretend it was all perfect, then maybe someday it would be. It’s the “fake it till you make it” attitude to the extreme.

My parents are good people. Wonderful people, actually, who have been there for me, even when they were confused and frustrated. And so, of course—no matter how in-the-dark I kept them about the reality of my life… they worried about me anyway.

Keeping them in the dark about who I was didn’t serve anyone, but it especially didn’t serve me.

Last year, when I sat down with my parents to tell them about the divorce, I felt myself utterly falling apart before their eyes. And for the first time… I let it happen. I opened up to them and told them how I really felt, what I was really going through, and what I was really facing. I explained what led up to this point, and how unhappy I had been—for years.

And when my heart opened up… so did theirs.

Through the last year of my life, I have witnessed incredible grace, love, and caring from people I didn’t even know loved me. And part of that is because I surround myself with people who are loving, caring, and full of grace… but I think an even bigger part of that has to do with me and the way I have changed.

The Real Me

I’m more open than I’ve ever been. I’m more willing to admit when I’ve screwed up, and I am quick to ask for feedback, so I can do better next time around. I am willing to let my ugly pieces and shameful parts show, where before, I spent so much energy trying to hide the less-than-perfect parts of me that I was constantly exhausted. Even better, I don’t always view the less-than-perfect parts of me as ugly or even shameful. It’s all just part of who I am. I am no longer selective, because I’ve learned that you can’t be selectively numb. You really can’t filter out the feelings that hurt, because that means you’re also numbing yourself to joy and happiness, too.

And by trying to filter out what I presented to the world, I ended up showing only a faint image of my real self. That’s incredibly difficult to maintain, and a lot of the time, my less mature parts would come out sideways at the most inappropriate moments.

I have witnessed the futility of that first-hand. In trying to filter out the “bad” stuff, I ended up showing the world someone who was not really me at all. And, still, I wondered why so few people knew the real me.

Over the last year, I’ve grown in so many ways that most people in my world have said I am almost a completely different person. In the last year, I have allowed myself to feel whatever feelings I have, even if it was extremely painful. I’ve dropped 75 pounds. I’ve sought feedback and taken it to heart. I’ve grown my village so that I have more people to turn to when I’m in need. I’ve learned how to fulfill my own needs. I’ve learned that if I am vulnerable and I let people in… I am deeply loved. And perhaps most important of all: I love myself.

I am more authentic, real, and just… me… than I’ve ever been.

It feels good. Really good.

Feeling Lost, Directionless, and Confused

In the book Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott talks about a book she spent years writing, only for her editor to reject it not once, but twice.

On Thursday, I came upon this passage:

“I tried not to make any big decisions about how to salvage the book or my writing life, because the one thing I knew for sure was that if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans.”

And then, this morning, I read my horoscope app and, get this:

“It’s been said that when human beings make plans, God laughs. No matter what deity you believe in, if any, you know very well that we are not in complete control of our own lives. You may now be working through a carefully constructed and highly structured plan. But you may run into an obstacle that will require a revamping of your strategy. Don’t stick with your plan out of stubbornness, for you will only be doing yourself a disservice. Be flexible and be open to new ideas and a new way of doing things—you can achieve success if you can bend.”

And from another message…

“Your inner soul-searching might lead to some nervousness. You won’t be able to solve everything at once.”

These messages hit me hard, because in all the transition I’ve been going through in my life (here, let me list it for you, because if I am having trouble keeping track, which I assure you—I am, I can only imagine that someone who isn’t living it can’t keep track either): grieving a lot of things from my past that I'd never grieved, getting divorced, living alone and learning how to take care of myself again, losing weight and figuring out how to keep it off while exercising and building muscle, becoming a believer in Jesus Christ, having a whole personality shift (for Pathways folks, that means I’m not a Relater as I had always tried to force myself to be… I’m Entertainer/Commander) and having more than a bit of an identity crisis… plus the fact that I haven’t yet been able to make any jewelry because I’m feeling creatively stuck—even paralyzed… taking up dancing again and learning how to let go through yoga and dancing… taking up playing piano again and having to basically relearn everything…

Yeah. You might say I’ve been going through some big changes over the last year. To say I’m starting over feels just a tad understated.

It’s overwhelming to think about. In fact, I’ve come across a few thoughts lately that are more than a little unsettling.

Why am I having such a hard time finding my way? It’s not like I’ve been going through cancer, it’s not as if I’m starving, it’s not as if I’m homeless or unloved or [insert whatever other truly disheartening, desperate, and downtrodden situation here]. I have a wonderful life. I am blessed beyond all my expectations, hopes, and dreams. So why am I feeling so confused? Why can’t I just shut the hell up and be happy?

How do I reconcile the plans I had in place for my life with my recent acceptance of Jesus into my heart and world? I want to figure out how to bring the divine into my life on a daily basis, in a way that makes sense for my heart and my soul.

I don’t feel right pursuing the plans I once had in place… they feel meaningless now. And yet, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be reaching for, either. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, in all the significant areas of my life.

I’m feeling lost and aimless, and I don’t like it.

How do I create new plans for my life that feel right and help me get closer to God in a way that makes sense for me? What does that even look like?

I honestly don’t even know what I want right now, in some ways. And even in the few places where I do have a picture of what I want, it’s fuzzy and foggy, and I’m not sure if it feels right yet.

It’s hard to just be, in this moment, when I am so uncertain of what tomorrow looks like. It feels like I should be spending energy on trying to create a picture for my tomorrow, my 5 years from now, and my 10 years from now… but 5 and 10 years ago, I never would have thought my life would look the way it does right now. I never would have imagined I’d be where I am in this moment.

So I have found myself asking, what’s the point in making plans at all?

A year ago I was married. I was unhappy in that marriage, but still—I was married. I fit in somewhere, with all the other married couples.

I made jewelry, and so I fit into the community of jewelry makers.

(Etc.)

And over the last year, I’ve been dealing with so much grief and so much overwhelming change, that I’ve been in survival mode. On so many days, it was all I could do to just get through it and hope the next day was better.

And, I’ve realized a few things. I tend to pigeon-hole myself into survival mode, because I know how to function within it. I know it’s just about getting through the day, and embracing little pockets of joy when they come along, because they are fleeting. I know that with incredible change comes incredible growth. I know how to hang in survival mode… I know how to surrender in survival mode… I know how to totally let go of control in survival mode.

But, I’m out of survival mode now.

And I find that I’m struggling with letting go of control (yet maintaining what control I DO have, and where is that line, and how fine is it?).

I’m struggling with surrender, because I don’t know what surrender really looks or feels like when I’m not in the middle of some sort of transformative moment or a crisis of the heart.

Now, I am experiencing and learning new things. Now, I am discovering something new about what I want or don’t want, what I like or don’t like, and what I need or don’t need on an almost daily basis. This process is both exciting and terrifying.

It feels like I’m walking blindly through some un-named journey and I’m so focused on the outcome that I am having a lot of trouble enjoying this process of relearning who I really am, as God continues to mold me into the woman I’m meant to be.

Does anyone else struggle with this? Surrendering to this process of living a good, fulfilling life, and what that means… while trying to put plans into place so that you feel like you have some sort of direction… all while embracing the big and small changes that take place during this process?

I mean, I know it’s the illusion of being on control that has me spinning sideways right now. How do I surrender—and release that control, knowing that I am not totally in control anyway? And yet, how do I use the bit of control I have to find and fulfill the deep meaning I’ve been seeking in my life for so many years? What can I do to make my life feel more meaningful in every aspect—not just in my free time, but when I’m at work, when I’m driving, when I’m spending time with friends or alone?

I have a lot of big questions, and not a single answer...

Slaying the Grief Beast

So, based on my last post, where I said I was going to be more real and authentic in my blog—all I can say is… here I go. Melissa helped give me the courage, because she is so honest and real in her writing… she doesn’t hide, and, you know… I think that’s a good policy.

The reality of my life is that I’m getting divorced.

At the moment, I actually feel okay about it. It’s not like these things happen overnight… the decision came after years of serious consideration. And I don’t want to go into details, because that isn’t fair to him, or to me. But, suffice it to say, this year has been a rough one in countless ways.

Grieving my marriage also caused a lot of other things to spring up and slap me in the face… things I’d never dealt with. A litany of choices, events, and traumatic experiences have come back to haunt me in ways I never expected.

Big things, like the death of my grandmother.

I thought I had grieved her death, but what I’d actually done is shut out all feelings I had associated with her: the good, the bad, the indifferent. I hadn’t actually grieved her passing, though.

She was a special woman in my life. A beacon of light, a pillar of strength, and the tallest five-foot-two-inch woman I’ve ever known.

And by denying all of my feelings about her death, I also denied her importance in my life.

I’ve been through a lot over the past six months, but I’ve turned a corner, and I’m on my way up. Looking at my life, and all the choices I’ve made that have led me to where I am right now, I realized that my grandmother is not only with me in spirit—she’s in my blood. The decisive, action- and results-oriented parts of me, the bold woman who travels by herself without giving it a second thought, the fearlessness I’ve recently re-discovered… those parts all come straight from Bessie Pauline Freeman Johnson.

Realizing this gave me a breath of new life. I don’t worry about missing her anymore, because I know she is within me. She is here whenever I need her, in my heart, in my veins, in my very cell structure, helping me make tough decisions and get on with living my life.

But it’s not just about moving on.

Grief is about honoring the pain, and allowing feelings to rise to the surface and be. And somehow, I have found the courage to do just that.

I’ve cried in more places than I ever thought possible: on the public benches of Kennebunkport, Maine; in Rockefeller Center, New York City; in Starbucks; on the subway; in a bead shop; in Times Square; in the privacy of my own home; in so many other places…

The tears have come,

in the most unexpected moments,

in the most unexpected ways,

the tears have come,

and they’ve shocked me into submission every time.

And I’ve written every day. I’ve written in a paper journal since I was 9 years old, but this is different—in September, I committed to write in my paper journal every single day through the end of 2010.

I’m on my fourth journal since making that commitment. Apparently I have a lot to say!

But, doing that writing has helped me so much. Sometimes, it’s helped me shake something lose that I’d been picking at in my mind for ages, but until I wrote it down, it didn’t quite make sense.

Sometimes, writing has helped me capture memories, and other times, it’s just a daily record.

And it’s all been part of my bizarre, lonely, twisted path of grief. I have been walking through it, for the first time in my entire life, actually dealing with all the things I’ve never grieved.

Grief is a strange thing, and I don’t really understand it. It is an odd and shocking beast. The only way to slay it, it seems, is with a tiny, inadequate sword, one slice at a time. It takes too long, it’s arduous, the beast keeps coming back for another round, mutating in places where you’ve made progress… it’s elusive, hiding in dark shadows and broad daylight.

I think that if you’re exhausted, all the time, then you’re probably slaying the Grief Beast properly. That is to say, you’re creating room in your heart for the good things that come after.

And that’s important, because there are many good things that come after a time of grief… and they deserve to be received with an open heart.

And my heart is open wide, for the first time in many, many years.

You know… it really is a remarkable thing to be human. The capacity to laugh, to cry, to feel such deep and intense emotions—and, when sunk at the bottom of the pit of despair, something simple and honest and real can be just the impetus for a hearty laugh that instantly transports you back to normalcy.

Being human is a treasure. Not always a pleasure, but always a very special privilege.

I am privileged to be me, right here, in this moment.

I am right where I need to be.

My Weight Loss Journey, Continued

I haven’t posted in forever! I know. I’m long, long overdue.

The truth is, I’ve gone through some really difficult stuff over the past several months. It really started to hit me in June, and it’s still going on now. The good thing is… I’m through the worst of it.

But, still… sometimes life throws curve balls for which you are unbelievably unprepared.

I’ll also be honest, and say that I have gone back and forth about a thousand times, trying to decide how much to say here on my blog. You’ll notice that so far, I’ve chosen to stay quiet… but I would like to share a couple of things. At some point, I’ll share more, but I need to wait until a couple of larger issues have resolution first.

 

So, as for what I will share…

I have lost 50 pounds.

Yes. Fifty.

(That's me... the "just barely overweight" me, on the right!)

I’ve done it the right way, with adjustments in diet and portion control. Now I wish I had taken progress photos from the beginning! I started this journey back at the very beginning of May, and I’m still going. I have 32 pounds left to lose, to reach my original goal.

Up until last week, I was absolutely determined to make it, but I’ve run into an unexpected snag.

I just ordered some jeans from Old Navy, and when they came in I immediately put them on and pranced around in front of the mirror for a good 15 minutes, posing and looking at myself in utter disbelief at how small the number was on the inside of those jeans, and the jeans fit me so well, and I let the belief sink in as I looked at all the shrinking parts of me, smiling wide all the while.

In other words… I’ve never been as happy with my body as I am in this moment.

In fact, I’m so happy with the way I look and feel right now that I’m having a hard time staying motivated to continue losing more weight!

Holy cow… I really wasn’t expecting that.

Last week was a wash. Intense work stress provided just the needed excuse to eat poorly. I shoveled candy and chocolate, fattening food, and higher portions than I have been eating.

Friday night, I found myself thinking, “What the hell am I doing?”

I’ve been on such a roll with losing the weight I want to lose… and I’ve done an excellent job. But, this past week… I just gave up.

I listened as my internal voice told me the same thing it’s told me time and time again, for years. 

“Just this one piece won’t hurt. 

Just one more bite won’t hurt. 

It’s no big deal.”

I realized that while I am happy with the way I look right now, it’s going to be hard to maintain (let alone continue to lose) if I go right back to the bad old eating habits I used to have.

I think one thing adding difficulty is that I don’t have a point of reference. I’ve never been the size I’m going for. Never. Not even in high school. Not even in junior high... or elementary school, for that matter. I’ve been overweight for almost my entire life, so I don’t actually know what it feels like to feel slender, or a normal size… I have no clue what it feels like (or looks like!) to fit well within the “healthy weight range” for my height. Not a clue!

So, I can see how it’s easy to stop trying. I don’t know what my goal looks like or feels like, so I’m not entirely sure how to keep it tangible.

These are the things I thought about and wrote about in my private journal on Friday.

I had a pretty significant “light bulb” or epiphany after all that thinking… and Saturday morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of motivation.

I realized that if I quit now, I would be following suit with so many decisions I’ve made in my life.

I’d be settling.

Settling for a size and weight that isn’t where I want to be. Settling for not looking as good as I know I can look… settling for not feeling as good as I can feel.

Settling… is such an ugly pattern in my life! But now that I realize what I was doing, I am absolutely resolute in my decision to plow forward and continue on with losing more weight… At least 32 more pounds to reach my original goal.

I will get there. I’m absolutely determined.

And tonight, I made a very yummy chicken and veggie soup to help support that cause…

I’m back on the wagon, y’all.

Watch out!

The Only Constant in Life? Change...

I have a few things to talk about today, and a few pictures to show you. Ready?


First... my sale is still going strong. I've even posted a few new things... so please do check it out. At 20% off everything in the shop, it's really hard to go wrong. 


Second... I've made a necklace for myself. Yup, another one. It features some of the most gorgeous rainbow moonstone I've ever seen, including a really large teardrop briolette that I've coveted for myself for ages, now. I finally made the necklace that's been sitting in my head for a long time.

What do you think? I like that I can remove the pendant at the bottom easily enough and put something else there, or, depending on the neckline of what I'm wearing, leave the hook empty. I could see some yummy larimar hanging from that hook, though... mmm...

I'm really getting into hammering wire and texturing the heck out of it. I love the look. And it's really fun! 


Now... the next thing is that my friend Sarah has opened a new Etsy shop for her jewelry. I can't say I'm surprised, since she's been making jewelry for a little while now. But have you seen her latest jewelry? It rivals any of the best jewelry I've seen. She's really upped the ante on her work by learning to work with wire. She's really making it work for her... in very cool ways. 


To say I'm a little intimidated would be an understatement. I mean, why would anyone want to buy anything from me anymore... when you can buy Sarah's amazing beads in her own amazing jewelry? C'mon, now, go check it out!


I'm going through some changes right now, and change is hard. My confidence has been knocked around a bit, and I'm trying to find my footing. 


One of the things I'm changing is my jewelry. I'm pushing myself to come up with more and more unique designs... because, let's face it. A few years ago, nobody was making jewelry that was quite like mine. Now, I see jewelry just like mine everywhere I go... except that now I consistently see jewelry that's far more inventive, clever, amazing, and beautiful than mine.


Part of the reason? Those jewelry artists have more time than I do. 


I work full time, so any time I get to devote to creating is at night, when I'm already tired from the day, or during the weekend, when I'm also trying to cram in errands, time with friends, and chores like laundry. There isn't much I can do about it at this point, but it really leaves me feeling a bit lost as an artist. 


I almost feel like there's nothing original anymore... so what's the point in even trying to be different? 


That's not a good place to be in when you're an artist.


I'm working through that, and also working through all the other crap I'm going through (because losing my identity as an artist just isn't enough), so that's one of the reasons why I've been so quiet.


I'll end on a good note, though.


I've managed to lose 31 pounds, and if I keep it going at the pace I've established over the last few months, I'll reach my original goal weight by the end of January 2011. That's very encouraging!


Here's a photo I snapped this morning. 

I can see how my face is thinner... and though I still have a long way to go, I'm very, very motivated. It's one of the best things in my life at the moment, and I'm clinging very tightly to that...