Yesterday, I woke up looking like this:

Double Eye Infection.
It sucked. I cried.
Because yesterday was the day before I turned 39 and 2 days before I celebrate my last year in my 30′s with friends at a piano bar somewhere in Orange County. And who wants to look like that when they’re Drunk Dancing next to a piano while some dude plays a bad cover of Don’t Stop Believing?
No one. That’s who.
Today, my eyes are slightly less swollen, my throat isn’t as sore and I have not cried once.
Today isn’t for crying. Today is for reflecting.
Reflecting upon the 38th year of my life.
Turns out, Year 38 was the best year of my adult life.
Nothing extraordinary happened.
But it was extraordinary.
It was a year full of small victories, both physical and emotional, that helped shape a Better Me.
A happier, healthier, stronger, more content Me.
It was the year I stopped hating my body because I was too busy loving my life.
38 was so good to me in so many ways, for so many reasons.
I got to spend time in the city I love the most, New York City.

Twice. And the second time, I got to ride to Central Park in a pedicab driven by Mario.

I reunited with friends from high school, 3 of them whose friendship saved me from feeling totally alone during the hardest years of my life. I went to my 20th high school reunion where I was stalked by an old class mate. I ran my first (treadmill) 5K. I bought and wore my first dress in many,many years.

I had lunch with Tony Hawk.
I hugged Erik Estrada.


I reconnected with dear, old friends and made new ones that have brought so much laughter (and Stella Rosa) into my life.
I Owned My Sexy. Oh, yes I did.
I got a promotion. I cut bangs. I had Hot Soapy Naked fun in Vegas.
I got my medical problems under control. I lost more weight. I gained more confidence.
I watched my daughter blossom in kindergarten, make new friends, learn to read. I watched my son win a drum contest, crush his opponents on the basketball court and receive numerous academic and social awards. I watched my oldest take his senior portraits and began his last year in high school.
I fell in love with dancing and I danced so hard, more than I’ve ever danced in my entire life.

Tomorrow night I plan on spending the evening dancing, surrounded by people whom I love. I started to panic a bit yesterday, because people started sending me the all too familiar “sorry, I won’t be able to make it after all” messages. But then I talked to Lena and she said “it doesn’t matter if it’s just me and you and your sister, we’re going to have so much fun.”
Oh, that Lena. She’s always right. Tomorrow is going to be so great.
But first, I have to get through today. The first day of my 39th year. I welcome it with open arms. And quite possibly, a drink in my hand.

My body.
I’ve never liked it. In fact, for the majority of my life, I’ve hated it.
I’ve been ashamed of it when it was thin, when it was obese and when it was everything in between. I’ve spoke to therapists and psychiatrists about my body hate. I’ve cried about it more times than I could ever count. I’ve hid from people that I love because of the shame I feel about my body.
I’ve starved myself.
I’ve stuffed myself.
I’ve done things I could never tell a soul to this body because I’ve hated it.
If you’ve read this blog long enough, you know what a struggle my body image has been for me. You know that I’ve missed out on so much of my life because of how disgusted I’ve felt with this body.
But then I read a post that changed everything.
I decided I had to find a way to make peace with my body. So that I could be an example to my children. I never wanted to hear my daughter say she’d “rather be dead than be fat.”
It wasn’t easy to do. I was riddled with health problems and stuck with a doctor who wouldn’t listen. I weighed 237 pounds. Not easy to love a body that unhealthy.
But I did. I loved it enough to fight for it.
I am now 55 pounds lighter, but make no mistake about it– I’m still fat.
182 pounds on a 5′ 4″ frame.
My breasts are saggier than ever. My stomach is too.
I have more stretch marks and we won’t even talk about my belly button.
But I’ve decided to to try love it anyway.
I love it by taking care of it. By taking the proper medications to make sure it functions as it should. By working out every day. By pushing it to do things I never thought it was capable of. By letting my husband enjoy it again,without reservations or hangups. By wearing cute clothes again. By treating myself to pedicures and facials.
By just enjoying every minute of my life.
This is my body. This is the only one I will ever have and the only life I will ever live.
While I was in NYC for BlogHer, I was given an amazing gift– a free Boudoir photo session. The photographer is a long time blog reader, internet friend, who wanted to do something nice for me after how hard I’ve worked to lose 55 pounds. (awesome!) What a perfect way to prove my new found Body Love! I said “absolutely, YES!” despite my fears and insecurities.
Oh, the fears and insecurities!
I haven’t worn anything sexy for at least 10 years– how would I put on something sexy and POSE FOR PICTURES? I didn’t know if I could go through with it, but godblessit, I was going to try!
This was a Really Big Deal.
This meant more to me than taking sexy pictures. This was so much more to me than that.
The shoot was fun and not as difficult or scary as I imagined it to be. Laura made me feel totally comfortable. I definitely had a ton of hangups. I worried about all of the body parts I was ashamed of (basically, every! single! one!) I was afraid my stretched out belly button would show, or my lumpy thighs. I laughed a lot, though and when it was over, I was so proud of myself for doing it.
But then, it was time to view the photos.
A very good friend had done a shoot before mine, so she came and my other friend came along with me so we could view our photos together.
As we watched, I felt a little embarrassed, but over all, I was comfortable with what I saw. Yes, my thighs were huge, but duh, I’m a big girl.
Then, it was time to view my friend’s photos.
And they were beautiful. And sexy.
I instantly felt regret about the photos I had taken. I suddenly became aware of how much time I’d spent covering my body up in my shots. Every insecurity that I’ve ever had about my body overcame my entire being.
Later, when I was alone. I cried in the cab on the way to a dinner party. I cried when a friend asked me how the shoot went. I sobbed in the bathroom.
Every awful thought that I’ve had about my body came rushing back. Not because of my friend’s pictures, not because she made me feel bad. I was proud of her for overcoming her fears — I know it was just as hard for her to do as it was for me. Simply because I was feeling so vulnerable in that moment.
For days, I secretly regretted doing that photo shoot. I hated the thoughts and emotions it brought up. I hated that I was once again reminded of how thoroughly flawed my body is.
I’m happy to say that I no longer feel that way.
When I got the first photo in my inbox, I was nervous. Nervous that I’d start crying all over again. But that didn’t happen. Instead, I felt… proud. Proud of myself for once again stepping outside of my comfort zone. Proud of myself for taking the huge step of buying myself something pretty and, dare I say it, sexy to wear. Proud of myself for working so hard every single day for the past year and a half to lose 55 pounds. Proud of myself for all of it.
Yes, my body is flawed. It’s no longer beautiful (in the way that I define beautiful.) I’m still overweight.
I had a choice to make. Pick myself apart, dwell on the negative, compare myself to others.
Or, just embrace it. My body, this experience, who I am.
And love it anyway.
Today, for the first time, maybe ever, I chose to love.
If you’ve ever felt the way that I have, I hope that you can learn to do the same. I hope you chose to embrace and love who you are, whatever your shape/size.
This is the part where I take a deep breath and show you what was so graciously given to me. Big thighs, saggy breasts and all.













Thank you, Laura, for this amazing gift. I am so grateful. [little voice] and so is my husband.[/little voice} And thank you Lena for being brave enough to do this with me. I love you.
Full set is here.

A common question I get asked is “what are you doing to lose the weight.”
I’d like to answer that question here. On my blawwwg.
The first thing I did was get proper medical care. I didn’t give up when Doctors told me to “work out harder” or “eat less.” I knew that there was something wrong with my body and I fought until I got the tests that I needed to get a diagnoses and treatment. It’s important to know that I was unable to lose any weight before I was on the proper medications.
When I first found out I was insulin resistant and that I’d have to take Metf*rmin, I pretty much stopped eating sugar and All Things White (bread, pastries, etc) I was terrified of developing diabetes (insulin resistance= pre-diabetic.) If the only option for breakfast was a muffin, I’d skip breakfast. That is no longer the case. I’ve learned to cut most sugar/White stuff out of my diet, but I will allow myself a dessert (CHEESECAKE!) or a scone every once in a while now.
Here’s the thing– I am not on a diet. In fact! I will not go on another diet for as long as I live. And here’s why– I never want to gain the weight back. I want to be able to maintain this loss, I want it to be forever. The reality is that simple sugars aren’t something I should eat and for the most part, I don’t. If I want a burrito, I use a whole wheat tortilla. If I want a piece of toast- it’s whole grain/wheat. I no longer choose sourdough bread for sandwiches, nor do I have a sugared up latte every morning. However, if I want a piece of cheesecake while out to dinner with friends, I’ll have a piece of cheesecake.
So, while I’m not “on a diet.” I most definitely have made some changes, but these changes are for the rest of my life. I am not going to go off of a diet and binge. It won’t happen. I may have a piece of sourdough bread sometime in the future, but I won’t be writing a blog post about what a failure I am for going “over my points” or “blowing it” ever again.
The most drastic change for me has been in the form of physical activity.
The first few months were difficult. Workouts had become complicated due to my thyroid condition going untreated for so long. Irregular heartbeats. Chest pains. Difficulty breathing. Nothing like a ride to the ER in the back of an ambulance and 2 shots of Nitro to make you live in fear of dying of a heart attack on the treadmill. The first few months of working out after that incident were rough. I was scared to push myself. Even after I was medicated properly and my heart was working as it should (according to two doctors)– I was terrified. I would stop and check my pulse every other minute. And if it got too high, I would stop.
That is why I said that I never imagined I’d be able to run 3 miles. I didn’t think I was capable. I was operating from a place of fear.
I’ve since conquered that fear. While I am still mindful of my heart rate and how my body feels, I no longer fear to control me. I push my body a little bit more each time. And I am constantly amazed at what it can do.
I try to work out at least 5 days a week. 30 minutes or more of cardio (usually running, sometimes elliptical and sometimes step, jump rope.) and alternating upper/lower body workouts with weights, squats, push ups each night. For instance: Last night I worked my arms with free weights and some machines. Tonight, I will do legs.)
The night before last night, I ran another 5k on the treadmill. I need to prove to myself that the first time wasn’t a fluke. That my body is truly capable of such things.
I not only did it again, but I improved my time by 2 minutes.
I don’t write about that to brag- there are millions of people who can run farther and faster than I can. I write about them because I am in awe of how far I have come on this journey towards a healthier, more efficient body.
The truth is I’m stuck in the weight loss department. I’m still holding steady at 186 pounds. (180′s are the new 200′s, apparently!) But that isn’t stressing me out because my body IS changing for the better. It’s stronger, faster, healthier and that is what this journey is all about for me.
(Although, I really do need to drop another 36 pounds so I can get off of this metf*rmin, which is still wreaking havoc on my body– more specifically, my digestive system. I’ll spare you the details, but HOLY NOT POOPING FOR 5 DAYS AND THEN FOR 4 HOURS STRAIGHT ON THE 6TH DAY.)
So that right there is what I’m doing to lose weight. Eating as healthy as possible for my body and exercising at least 4-5 days a week.
And because I’ve not posted photos in a while- here is a before and a current (taken today) photo of my progress. There is a very good reason my hand is covering my belly button and that is because my belly button is JACKED THE EFF UP. No one needs to see that. Gaining 100 pounds and losing 50 of that 100 can do that to a belly button, I guess. I cover it up because I care about you, is what I’m trying to tell you.


Here’s to losing another 50.

Man. Today.
Today was a bad day that involved bad news that led to more bad news that led to me hyperventilating into the phone asking me husband to talk me down from a panic attack.
Today had the potential to break me.
But it didn’t.
Because today I took all of the fear, frustration, negativity and used it as fuel to do something I’ve not yet been able to do.
Run 3.11 miles.
I ran 5k.
When I was 237 pounds I couldn’t walk for 5 minutes on the treadmill. Everything hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I felt so pathetic. I would cry, right there on the treadmill. Tears of frustration, of shame, of anger. I’d leave the gym feeling like a failure. I wanted to give up many times.
I’ve kept with it, even though the weight loss results have been painfully slow. I’ve kept going because with each workout, I felt a little stronger. With each new milestone, I felt more confident. I felt more energetic. I felt more… capable.
Of anything and everything.
I want to say this to anyone reading who is where I was a year ago.
You are capable. Capable of running. Capable of losing the weight. Capable of pushing your body to do amazing things.
I know from experience that when you’re overweight, people love to tell you how “you’re doing it wrong.” And most times, they are demeaning in their tone and cruel with their words.
I know what it feels like to be severely overweight. I understand how hard it is to get up and move. I understand why you want to give up. But please, don’t give up on yourself.
Start small. Start slow. Five minutes on the treadmill. And if you can go another five, then do it. Don’t beat yourself up for not doing more than you think you should be doing. Do what you can, but push yourself a little bit more each time. When you think you want to quit, push yourself for 15 more seconds.
When you’ve done what you can do, be proud of yourself for doing it. Don’t worry about what you *should* have or *could* have done. Revel in what you did. And promise yourself to do it again tomorrow.
One year ago, I would have never believed that I could run 3.1 miles. Hell, I wouldn’t have believed that I could run.
I can and I did.
And it feels better than I ever imagined.

At the beginning of the week I made the decision to give up my lattes.
Let me be more specific. I made the decision to give up my every! single! morning! Starbucks, grande, non fat, upside down, caramel macchiatos.
I made this decision for several reasons.
I seem to have hit a plateau with my weight loss. I’ve been stuck at 49 pounds lost (188) for a while. I felt like I needed to switch things up diet wise as well as kick things up workout wise. The lattes are full of carbs and sugar and I’m not supposed to be putting either of those things into my body. (Well, some carbs, yes. Those kind of carbs? Absolutely not.)
I love caramel macchiatos. I’m addicted to caramel macchiatos.
When Monday morning came around, I knew that it was going to be hard to NOT DRIVE TO STARBUCKS after I dropped G off at school. I knew it would be a struggle to turn the opposite way and drive home.
So, I decided to go for a run in place of a drive to Starbucks.
The distraction worked. After my run (I ran a mile! At the park! The park I could barely walk at without wheezing. RAN! IT! ALL! THE! WAY! WITHOUT! STOPPING!) I had no desire to drive to Starbucks. So, I did it again the next morning. And the next. But the morning after that, I decided I should get dressed so I didn’t take my daughter to school while wearing sweats again and so I COULDN’T go for a run because I was wearing strappy sandals and if I couldn’t go for a run, I had to go to Starbucks because that is how LIFE WORKS AND THIS IS WHY I DON’T GET DRESSED UP IN THE MORNINGS. Also? I’m weak.
But, that was just one day and I’m over it. Slip ups happen. You learn from them and move on.
In addition to running in the morning, I’ve also been going to the gym in the evenings to do weight training. Two workouts in one day! I don’t even know who I am anymore!
I tell you all of this to day, I finally broke the plateau because last night when I stepped on the scale it said 187, which means I’ve officially lost 50 pounds.
I can now say that MORE THAN halfway to my goal. And that is amazing to me.
What my ass looks like 50 pounds lighter.

The last time that I posted about my weight loss progress was on February 3rd.
I had lost 42 pounds and weighed 195 pounds.
Today, almost 2 months later, I weigh 188 pounds.
49 pounds, gone.
1 pound away from 50.
If you’ve followed my story, you know why it’s a B.F.D (thank you for that, Joe Biden!) that I’ve been able to lose almost 50 pounds.
The best part of losing 49 pounds has been how much better I feel every minute of every day. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. In The Sack-ually.
The worst part about losing 49 pounds has been The Sag.
It’s bad.
Everything is sagging. My skin. My face. MY BOOBS.
The other day, my daughter caught a glimpse of Naked Me as I was getting ready to get in the shower.
“Eww.” She said. “Your boobs. Why are the pointing *down*?”
I try not to dwell on The Sag. I try to dwell on the fact I’m decreasing my chances of getting diabetes, that my blood pressure is now normal, that my knees no longer hurt when I walk, that I don’t get winded doing the simplest things.
I am 1 pound away from a HUGE weight loss milestone. That means so much more to me than perky tits.
What 188 pounds looks like.


(before and progress photos here)