Pseudo Smiles

It has been a bit since I’ve had a good heart-felt post, I feel inclined to call this a blah-g post because, ya know, blah meets blog. It’s the most wit I’ve come up with since last week so I’m claiming it.

So I’ve probably mentioned that I have GAD (generalized anxiety disorder); I was diagnosed about 20ish years ago and have gone to therapy, been on meds, etc. I’ve now been off of meds for a couple years and it’s felt good, I can manage things for the most part. I still have anxiety, that’s always there, but I can rationalize and compartmentalize and work myself down nicely. These past couple days, though, shewwww lemme tell ya. I also know others have worse things going on in life but that doesn’t invalidate my feelings and my need to vent for my mental health. I feel that’s an important precursor to my post.

So 2020 started pretty normal, right? We were all pretty hopeful and excited for a new year. I was coming to terms with my dad’s passing, accepting the one year mark of my grandpa’s passing, and juggling the chaos that is mom life complete with Girl Scout cookie season. Woohoo!

Then Covid enters our lives and the world comes to a halt. Shortly thereafter my husband tells me he has been considering a divorce.

Well ain’t that just awesome.

I’ll just skip the nitty gritty and place it all in a nutshell; over the past eight months my marriage ended, I did virtual schooling with my (then) first grader, lost substantial income due to covid, ended up having to close my home daycare because of my divorce, start job hunting in a pandemic, and had a major realization that I spent ten years in an emotionally abusive marriage that ended with me sleeping on a crib mattress on a floor in the spare bedroom (because it was my only option). I was finding odd nannying jobs to do just to buy groceries, hiking a ton to keep us out of the toxic environment that was our home life, and job hunting/interviewing like crazy. I was beginning to feel hopeless but then I landed a job – not just a job, but a career. A great one. It’s in Human Services so it uses my degree, awesome hours…I love it. I feel like I needed four months of unemployment and struggle to put me where I am.

Silver linings, right?

Well now it’s December. This is has been a harried month that has dealt with a lot of financial reorganization which, anybody knows, can be a bit stressful. Plus it’s Christmastime – our first Christmas in a separated marriage while our child navigates those feelings. I’ve done everything I can to make it as “normal” as possible but there’s still stress (naturally). That stress has been taunting my anxiety.

I’m going to try to make this into a fun analogy for those folks who are lucky enough to not live with an anxiety disorder.

Okay so picture a balloon full of glitter. You know the balloon is there and you know the mess it would make if the balloon pops, so you do what you can to avoid the balloon. Well in comes stress like a toddler with a stick. Toddler sees balloon and wants to poke it with the stick. You do what you can to steer the toddler towards other things but that balloon is the key focus. You can’t put the balloon anywhere else so you just keep trying redirection and hope for the best. After a couple close calls with the toddler’s stick, it appears the toddler has lost interest and is ready for a nap.

But then you start finding glitter.
You know what this means…
…there’s a leak in that balloon.
It’s only a matter of time.
You try to clean up the glitter but you know better.
Then it happens.

The pop of the balloon wakes the toddler and you have a giant, glittery mess.

So I spent a solid couple weeks getting everything in order, things were good, I was feeling good and confident, but then I was late for church. I am hardly ever late, let alone 30 minutes late like I was on Sunday. That was the moment I started finding the metaphorical glitter.

Little things outside of my control were driving me nuts, I could feel the anxiety building. Then I stumbled across something that made me feel like utter crap.

Side note: I managed to lose 70 lbs so far this year. I am having some mixed feelings about it because I feel disgusting that I was ever so large but disgusted that I haven’t gone further but little bursts of confidence that I actually feel pretty. I know, I know, 70 lbs is good, but it’s a body image issue paired with…drumroll…anxiety.

So anyway, I found something on the phone of somebody I love dearly, something that made me feel about the size of a mouse, it made me feel unworthy and inadequate.

That was my balloon pop moment.

For years I’m used to having that little anxiety voice in my head doubting everything or giving me irrational thoughts, but for the past few months it’s been getting louder, telling me how I can’t do it, I won’t succeed, etc. I used my rationality to try to squash it but seeing that on the phone was like something handed my anxiety a megaphone and let it go to town.

Imagine giving a toddler a megaphone.

My anxiety has been nonstop in my head telling me,
“See? You’re disgusting, that’s why [person] did that.”
“See? You’ll always been the fat girl, they’re so much prettier than you.”
“See? You know you couldn’t do this.”
“See? It was only a matter of time until you failed.”

The rational side of me knows it’s my anxiety. I do know it and that rational side is what’s getting me up and ready and taking care of my responsibilities and making sure breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served, that homework is done, etc., but the anxiety side is what has me sitting in my office holding back tears, my anxiety has me feeling like a whale and completely unworthy and like I’m a burden to everybody.

I don’t open up easily, part of that is because people either understand mental health because they, too, struggle, and I don’t want to burden them more or because they don’t understand and end up saying something unhelpful. The latter happened tonight.

“Please breathe and remember we should be celebrating this week and be thankful.”

It was meant harmlessly and with heart, but I have been trying to control my breathing for almost 48 hours, very heavily over the past 16 hours. It’s my first step any time I feel my heart do that ever-so-familiar race when my anxiety climbs, but nobody sees that. I know I should be celebrating and that I should be thankful, but then I feel even worse because I can’t get the anxiety out of my head. Rationally I know that I should be happy and grateful, and I am, but my anxiety is like that wild toddler with a stick and a megaphone yelling, “You’re so selfish. There’s nothing to celebrate. You’re unworthy of love and happiness, that’s why others leave you, that’s why they look elsewhere.” Nobody sees that either, they just hear short responses or see a straight face.

I know my anxiety will pass. It always comes in waves, leaving me damaged and on edge, but it does go back out with the tide and things subside for a while. That’s when I rush around trying to clean up that metaphorical glitter – I try to fix and explain myself to everybody who was in the my line of anxiety fire. But not being able to control every aspect of it has me feeling weak and low.

I really just needed to get this off my chest and, if nothing else, I hope those who are unfamiliar with how anxiety disorders work have a bit of an understanding of my very mom-esque analogy.

I can’t help it. But I’m aware of it and whether or not others see it, I’m trying my fucking hardest.

Have a great holiday season, y’all.

We Had Joy, We Had Fun; We Had Seasons in the Sun

It’s been one month since I last talked to my dad.  Remember how I said he likes to ignore my texts every so often?  On November 1st he messaged me to let me know of his next appointments, so I told him I’d let him know when I got his rides all scheduled.  We chatted a tad on November 2.  On November 3 he sent me a facebook photo of some Norwegian cats.  On November 4 I sent him a text letting him know that his rides were all scheduled and the first cab would be to his house at 7.  He hated early rides like that so it didn’t surprise me that he ignored me, he was annoyed with the timing.

On Tuesday, November 5, his cab arrived and beeped.  No response.  They knocked.  No response.  They called me to tell me that he didn’t answer the door and they couldn’t wait any more so, after 40 minutes, they had to leave.  He missed his first appointment of the day with his primary care doctor to get a cortisone shot in his elbow.  He dreaded things like that so it’s no surprise he did that.  Around 2 his physical therapist arrived but he didn’t answer the door for her either.  She called me and asked if I could try to get in touch with him.  I told her I would, I’d go through my steps of doing a welfare check, and let her know.  I apologized for wasting her time.

I sent my dad a text that said, “Dad you’re not answering, I’m going to have to call 911.”  That was at 2:24 pm. I checked his facebook and he hadn’t been active there.  I checked his Verizon and he hadn’t sent any text messages at all that day, or Monday.  That was very weird.  I called his probation officer, we have a closer relationship than just some officer at the department.  He said he’d get an officer and they’d go check on my dad.

Whew.

An officer had called me to let me know they were there and knocking, they’d let me know if he answered.  I told him that I’m the Power of Attorney and can call the landlord to give permission for them to just enter his apartment, but he said it was fine.  We hung up.  Another hour later he called back wanting to confirm my address for the PoA, I gave it to him and we hung up.  That should’ve been a red flag for me and, really, it kind of was, because it put a bigger pit in my stomach.

After work I brought my daughter to McDonalds, I had promised her a happy meal the week before and she was holding me to it.  I pulled back into my driveway to find two cars there, one was a police car.  The pit in my stomach started feeling really heavy.  I opened my front door to my husband, a uniformed officer, and our department chaplain.

Fuck.

My dad was found in his apartment unresponsive, and was pronounced dead by the coroner on November 5, 2019.  It appeared that he passed away peacefully, there was no signs of a struggle, it just looked like he fell asleep.

In my heart I know he was ready.  I know he was at peace with it and I think that he didn’t text me at all on Sunday because I would’ve known something was off, I would’ve insisted on having him checked out and that would’ve, ultimately, kept him alive longer.  From the beginning he told me he didn’t want to die in a hospital room, he didn’t want to see the snow this year (having a laryngectomy made it harder in the cold), he was ready to be with his best friend.  I feel a weird peace in knowing that he got what he wanted.  It actually snowed two days after he died.

Now, though, I’m really struggling.  I complained a lot about all of the calls I’d have to make for him, how I never felt like I had enough time in the day.  That was my normal, though.  I always made it work.  I took great care of my dad given the distance between us.  For ten years I’ve had to keep my emotions separate from my dad.  Doctors don’t want to talk to emotional women so I couldn’t attach feelings to any of my his diagnoses, I had to process them later, alone.  Now that I’m in a spot where I’m allowed to have those feelings, to be emotional, I’m struggling to figure out how.

Weird things will make me cry but then the tears stop as quickly as they start.  I saw a bag of stuffing and got choked up, my dad loved Thanksgiving.  “HTD” he’d tell me; happy turkey day.

I’m not sure that I’ve adjusted to this new normal.  I still get the urge to text my dad, but his phone sits next to me so that’s a harsh reminder that I can’t.  I talk to him a lot but he was never really sentimental like that so I can just hear him saying, “Oh pipe it, beeps!”

I’m going to NY in a couple weeks to take care of his apartment and his storage units.  To finalize everything.  I’m pretty sure that it’ll hit me then.  His apartment was never really home to him, home was everywhere outside – in a boat, in the woods, never a tiny apartment in a complex.  But hearing that door click for the last time is haunting me before it’s even happened.

Who would’ve thought that the last time I hugged him would be the last time I hugged him?  I wish I told him “I love you” one more time.  I know he knew.  I know he loved me, too.  He may have been an alcoholic, he may have been an absent dad, he may have had a lot of demons, but he was still my dad.  Despite all the frustrations he brought me I did love him.  When he was first sick in 2009 I accepted, processed, and grieved the loss of a father in the traditional sense because I had an alcoholic father, and that makes things different, but now I have to grieve again, but differently.

It all just sucks.

This Weight Wasn’t Meant for Me

The title alone really kind of sums up this whole post.

Do you ever look back at your facebook memories?  So often they’re full of great pictures that bring you back to an awesome time and it makes you smile, those are the best memories.  On this day a year ago I shared a picture that read, “A lot of what weighs you down isn’t yours to carry.”

A-fucking-men.

Right now I’m writing post minor panic attack, post cry session, post prayer, I’m just kind of in this fuzzy bubble of thought vomit that I needed to put somewhere.  So here it is.

Go figure this is about my dad, if you haven’t caught on by now that seems to be a theme for me, but how fun that my mid-thirties self can still get so annoyed by her parent.  Can you hear my eyes rolling from where you are?

I find myself often negotiating with God.  It’s not even been two years since I started chillin’ with Jesus and I often wonder if I’m doing it right, but I try to look at my relationship with Him as the one my daughter has with me – she drives me bonkers sometimes, but man I love her more than anything in this world, even when she makes mistakes.  I’ve always got her back.

So I know that when I try to offer my dad up instead of a sick child or the sick family member of a friend, I know that God is probably shaking his head and laughing at me, saying, “Not right now.”

(If you’re new here, I realize that is probably a smack in the face and you think I’m terrible, that’s fine, I’m not, it’s just how I handle a messed up relationship.)

I tried negotiating when I found out some health stuff about my nephew, I tried again when my Pop was sick, I really do try this way too much and it’s beginning to look like some sort of mafia hit at this point.  I realize that God isn’t really in the quid pro quo kind of business, but I’m like a persistent toddler who thinks the answer might change.

Sigh.

You know, so many people have things that they’re proud of.  They can look at their life and their accomplishments and proudly say, “Yeah, I did that!” or, “I did this!”  Not me.  I haven’t really accomplished a lot.  I think I’m a darn good mom.  Pretty good wife and homemaker.  I’m awesome at giving my time.  I give a lot of it.  My work, the organizations I’m a part of for me, the ones for my daughter, and then there’s my dad.

His needs are a job in itself.  For living twelve hours and four states away I have accomplished so much for him.  Think of having a personal assistant who keeps track of your bills and accounts and calendar and transportation and medical info…everything.  That’s me.  I keep his life in order because he cannot.  I didn’t ask for this.  It wasn’t asked of me.  It was just expected.  Sadly, that’s one of my greatest accomplishments and that just feels so defeating to admit.

However.  I constantly have to remind myself:

My dad’s life is not my life.
I didn’t cause his addiction.
I can’t control him.
I can’t cure him.
The mess he made wasn’t meant for me to clean up.
This weight wasn’t meant for me and it isn’t mine to carry.

I know this is an uneventful post, but I really just needed to be able to say, on the record, that THIS IS NOT MY WEIGHT TO CARRY.

I need gentle reminders sometimes.  Many times there’s a rush of urgency with my dad’s requests, nothing gentle about it, but I need to keep telling myself that it’s his burden, not mine.  I’ll get to it when I get to it.

If you’re struggling with something similar I need you to say those words out loud:

“THIS IS NOT YOUR WEIGHT TO CARRY.”

You are your own own.  You have your own obligations, likes, dislikes, tasks, accomplishments.  Don’t let your greatest accomplishment be for somebody else.  Let it be for you.

I wonder what mine will be.

“Make Sure You Don’t Cut Yourself From Picking Up Their Broken Pieces.”

Oh where to start.  We are only eight weeks in to the new year and 2019 has not been that kind to me.  I was set to donate blood this evening and I got a not so great phone call 90 minutes beforehand and I could actually feel my blood pressure rising.  Sooo I actually couldn’t donate my rare and wonderful blood because I was too stressed.

In January my Pop, my mom’s father, passed away.  It was relatively unexpected, which, in a weird way, is better because my nana, his wife of 60+ years, didn’t have to watch him fade away.  I thought I had accepted it, I certainly went through the stages of grieving, but now, a month later, I’m feeling a lot of emotions surrounding his passing.  From the day of his passing to the date of his funeral, it was a very surreal two weeks.  I would call their house to talk to my nana and his voice on the machine would just freeze the blood in my veins.  Sometimes I’d call a few times just to hear his voice again.  Death sucks.  It doesn’t get easier.  I have just learned to cope with the feelings differently.

That’s not why I’m writing this post, by the way, I just had to throw that in there because my pop was an amazing man and even if four people read this that’s four more people that get to hear how incredible he was.

Anyway.  Back in October I watched this amazing four-minute video from Tiffany Jenkins about enabling vs. loving an addict.  She broke it down about the difference and said that if an addict is happy with you then you’re probably enabling them but if they’re angry with you then it’s probably because you’re trying to save their life.  That often times loved ones (of addicts) aren’t doing it to help the addict, they’re doing it to help themselves.

GUT PUNCH.

How much of what I do for my dad is actually for him?  How much am I doing for myself?  Even when I say, “If I didn’t do it then nobody would.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I didn’t help,” because I do say that when people ask me why, it’s still for me.

BOOM, self.  Freaking boom.  I’m doing it for me.  So I don’t feel guilty.  My dad doesn’t deserve everything I do for him.

I digress.

So I watched that video back in October and that same day his nurse got to his apartment and found him passed out with a bottle of vodka.  I decided to step up and I called his probation officer and turned him in.  Obviously it’s February so I can say confidently that my dad was given multiple chances to fix things.

He was caught again just within the past ten days.  He tried to argue it and demanded a blood test.  Want to guess what that blood work showed?  It showed that his blood level was .329!  That means that he was OVER FOUR TIMES the legal limit.  Since he’s on probation, though, that should have been a big, fat zero.

This morning he was arrested and bought back to jail.  I’m going to paint a visual for you.  He is 5’10” and weighs, approximately, 140 lbs.  The right side of his face, at his jaw line, is relatively disfigured because he had a tumor removed ten years ago.  He has a hole in his neck for his tracheotomy.  He has a peg tube to put food in and an iliostomy to take waste out.  Plus he has no tongue or larynx so he’s completely silent.  This man was brought to jail for a probation violation.

His arrest means I have almost two dozen phone calls to make tomorrow in regards to upcoming appointments, insurance situations, medical supply deliveries, and more.  This comes after I spent almost ten weeks getting just one supply company in order so that he’d have his very specific supplies on time at his door.  Lets all cross our fingers that I can get those delivered to jail.

I found out tonight, actually on the way to go donate blood so that’s probably why my BP spiked, that my dad has been talking trash about me.  He said that I think I run the world, I’m not in charge, and that I’m obsessed.  This isn’t the first time he’s spoken poorly of me.  But holy hell did that hurt.  It hurts because I give so much of myself, I take time away from my family, my friends, myself, my child!  I take time away to make sure he has all of his appointments and rides and supplies and I don’t get a “thank you” or a “great job,” instead I get put down and mocked.

The point of this post is to really just get it off my chest.  I feel badly messaging friends to complain about this but if you’re reading it means you came here lol.  I’ve cried about this a few times tonight.  I just feel so very low.

In doing this post, though, I re-watched Tiffany’s video (and I linked it up above so you should watch it, too) and that’s where I go the title.  In the video she said, “Make sure you don’t cut yourself from picking up their broken pieces.”  That is what I needed to hear tonight (hence the title) because, I can only pick up those pieces so many times.  Now I need to work on mine.

Have a good night ❤

“Baptized in the river, I’m delivered.”

So the title is a Good Charlotte song called “The River.”

I know I apologize for this every single time I post but I’m going to say it again – I’m so sorry for being so horrible about regularly posting. Let me just say, though, holy cow has life changed!

So when I last posted I was really only just dipping my toes into the whole Jesus thing. I’ve actually dubbed it my “Journey to Jesus” because that’s really what it was. If you read my, But…I’m an Atheist…? post you’ll know how this opportunity presented itself, but I was recently asked what made me an atheist. I thought I’d address that as I jump into this.

When I was younger I was raised in a Catholic family. They weren’t the “You’ve done wrong, go pray the rosary and say ten hail Marys” kind of Catholics, but that was their faith and so I grew up with this idea in my mind that God was the all powerful judge who shamed and punished for all the sins. I was absolutely certain for the longest time that my dad didn’t love me because I lied about liking spinach, that it was God punishing me with love. To this day I have a very hard time with love and fearing that people don’t love or like me and it stemmed from that moment when I was six. As I got older it was just something that I let go of, I decided there was no possible way that an invisible man hanging out in the clouds was in control of us, it was silly. So I just stopped believing. I actually became very anti-theist; religion was the root of evil in my eyes and I’d dismiss anybody who made any sort of religious comment around me. I was braggy about it and a proud atheist. For anybody reading this who remembers that and was annoyed by it, I do apologize because I’m experiencing delayed embarrassment lol.

In my early 20s I was with a guy whose family was very Christian and so I attended church with them and even attended bible study once or twice. When things started getting sour in the relationship I went to the church because I needed help. Not only did I not get help in a life or death situation, but they made it worse. That was when I decided that the church was just full of hypocrites and when I left that relationship I left God, too. If he was so great how could he let one of his children almost be killed when she already struggled with love?

Fast forward to now. For simplicity sake I’m just going to assume that you already read the aforementioned “Atheist” post so you know how God made himself present to me back in November (of 2017). I kept going to church every Sunday, each week moving a little closer to the stage, I was feeling the songs on a deeper level (I’ve always been about lyrics in a song, and these felt like they were being written just for me). I started serving in the church down in the kids’ rooms monthly, I started going to a weekly woman’s gathering on Tuesday mornings that was for the women of the church. I was attending and excited about our small church group hosted by the very own “preschool mom” who started this whole thing.

I was really getting into it. Surprisingly, I was really enjoying it, too!

At our church there’s this woman and, it doesn’t matter where you sit, you hear her. She’s the woman who says, “Mmhmm!” or “I know that’s right!” You hear her heart announce, “You’re preaching now, pastor!” when the pastor really gets into his sermon. Something about her voice, I’d never even met her..only heard her voice, made my heart say, “You need to meet her. You need to know her story.” So that’s cool my heart said that, but in the churches I went to growing up you didn’t just walk up to some strange person and talk to them, you had to know them or be introduced to them. Actually, the churches I went to never even had that active listener in the audience. You just sat quietly and listened.

Well in March there was a conference called “Thrive” and it was a women’s conference that spanned over one weekend and women came from all over to attend. I never buy expensive things for myself but I bought myself tickets to this conference right around the time of my “Atheist” post. Leading up to the conference that loud audience member won tickets so I finally learned her name when she was called to the stage! What’s even cooler? The very first night of small group at Preschool Mom’s house, this loud woman walks in! What are the chances? Preschool Mom and Loud Woman (sorry that that’s the nickname you’ve been given, I love you and you need to know that your loudness nudged me in the direction that it did) never sat near each other so I never would’ve guessed they were that close. I was so excited, I came home and told my husband all about her and her husband. I think the world of them. When the time is right I’ll make a post just about them.

The conference was amazing. I was so excited to go and see what it was about. I’ve never really had girl friends or done things with large groups of women so I was curious to see if this was going to be a positive and moving experience or turn into some giant bitch fest. It was so much more than a moving experience. It literally changed my life.

On Friday during the opening ceremony the church presented a young woman a Bravery award. This award was for the bravery that she showed during extreme trials in her life and how she showed unwavering faith. Hearing her story brought tears to my eyes, I just wanted to hug her. As we were doing our closing prayer that night I asked God for a sign (if you haven’t caught on, signs are really big to me) to let me know this was right. Walking out to my car that night with my daughter the stars were so bright, we stopped in the grass just to admire them and, clear as day, a shooting star zipped by us. That was my sign.

Saturday evening, during the final session for the day, the church presented a second Bravery award. Our senior pastor was talking about a friend of hers who was trying to invite a woman to church but the woman always had a reason why she couldn’t make it to those Tuesday morning Sisterhood groups but they kept praying for her. It turns out that the woman was attending church and quietly sitting in the back of the auditorium which was big progress from her listening to the sermons online in the privacy of her kitchen while she cooked dinner. I laughed and leaned over to my friend (“Preschool Mom” is now her name for the sake of privacy and familiarity for my readers lol) and said, “Man, I think I’d get along with her!” and no sooner did our senior pastor say, “So if we could welcome, [insert my full name] to the stage!”

UM. WHAT?!

I was presented the second Bravery award that weekend for my stepping out in faith, for what I do with the daycare, everything I do with my dad, the Climb Out of the Darkness movement, and for what I do within my town. I am still in shock. I never looked at what I do as brave. It was a truly amazing experience and I’m so grateful for it.

Now it’s July and I’ve read a few more books in the Bible, I’ve been active in everything I mentioned earlier, praying more, discussing Jesus and the Bible with friends, I’ve stopped taking my anxiety meds (which is huge for me and came after I spoke with my doctor), I haven’t been as anxious in social settings, my introvert and OCD tendencies are subsiding enough that they’re not interfering with my life nearly as much, things are changing in me. I actually love myself. I can’t remember the last time I could say that. I am proud of who I am and what I’m doing with my life and the world around me.

I just finished the book of Acts and let me tell ya, Paul? The apostle? He’s a cool fella. I think we would get along swimmingly. That book was my push. It was my, “Now is the time,” moment and, after talking with Preschool Mom about it, we picked a date.

July 3, 2018

My entire small group was there as well as the other group from our town. I made a very corny invitation so if you’re reading this and you received it, please know I’m doubly grateful that you showed up despite my cornyness…there’s so much more to come lol. My closest friends here in town. Their families. It was truly incredible. I laugh because I had a larger turnout for my baptism than I did my wedding lol. All day I prayed for my sign that this as right. Seriously, if you haven’t read my “Atheist” post by now you need to for this next part to make sense (click here, it’ll open in a new tab). I also prayed that somebody else would feel moved and want to be baptized with me.

As my pastor and I stood in the water I could hear nothing, it’s like the 30 people on the beach and the wind and the water all just silenced, I only heard him, and he spoke of Paul (who, I’m just gonna say, Paul is my homeboy), and he leaned me back, and I went under.

I know it only lasted a split second, but in that moment under water it’s like I was being hugged, I felt safe and whole, like I could be there forever. As soon as my head went under water a hawk flew overhead. A FREAKING HAWK!!! MY MAIN SIGN FROM GOD SINCE THE VERY FREAKING BEGINNING!!!! (if you didn’t read the “Atheist” post by now that’s your own fault for not understanding why I’m so excited about a bird.) I didn’t see it but it almost means more that way. It’s like God wanted me to just do it and have faith, but when I wasn’t looking he made Himself visible.

The best part? Two more got baptized in the river, too. The daughters of two of my friends. It was magical. I know God was there yesterday. I felt him. I know they all did too.

I’ve Got the Eye of the Tiger, the Fire

Hello again!  I’m stoked to say that I’m officially down 7.4 lbs as of yesterday’s weigh-in!  I’m also down a whole shirt size and half of a pant size (I didn’t record my starting inches but I wish I had so I’ll be recording those from now on)!

On this journey I’ve decided to try some meal replacement shakes for the days that I’m too busy to eat a good meal which, let’s be honest, happens more than I’d like doing daycare.  I have a friend who sells Shakeology so I decided to look into that; she was kind enough to give me a sample and I will say it was pretty tasty (I made a chocolate pouch with one cup of 1% milk and a few ice cubes) – it was filling and not chalky at all.  Actually, here’s my review:

My Shakeology Review (opens in a new tab)

Ultimately what it came down to is that it’s too expensive.  It works superbly for her and her husband but I just can’t afford it off of a daycare income.  Sooo I started looking at other options and was suggested FitMiss Delight that I could buy on Amazon.  I know a few personal friends who use it and swear by it so that’s what I bought.  With Prime it cost $31 for a 36-serving container, it got here about 18 hours after I ordered it, and I just made my first shake this morning.  Here’s that review:

FitMiss Delight Review (opens in a new tab)

Ultimately, this stuff was AMAZING.  I made it with a scoop of powder, 2/3 c. of 1% milk and 2/3 c. of black coffee (Wegmans brand 100% Arabica Ground Coffee, Traditional, Medium Roast) and hoooo my gosssshhhh it was SO YUMMY!!!

I wasn’t going to do a review but it was just so good that I had to lol.  I also thought that I’d share a current photo of me because you can really see it in my face and that makes me feel good.

Both pictures are taken without face makeup (I have mascara on a little eyebrow tint in the right picture) and you can see just how clearer my face looks, my jaw line is more pronounced, my cheeks are going down…this is all so exciting!!

I’m probably going to post again soon because I’m doing a very important walk in a week that has a fundraiser and everything so I’ll post either later today or tomorrow.  We’re puppy sitting this weekend so maybe I’ll post tomorrow because three boxers is a tad exhausting lol.

Till then…toodaloo! ❤