#mlvulnerability

This past week was my Measuring Life Instagram 1 year anniversary! This past week was also the 9 year anniversary of my Measuring Life Tumblr account. I had started Measuring Life in January 2010 on Blogspot, but then quickly found the “fitblr” community on Tumblr so I decided to most all the posts from my first few months.

When I created my Blogspot I was doing it JUST for me, as a place to track my progress in a “public” way, however, I didn’t tell anyone about the page. Through some friends who were on a more public health and fitness journey in early 2010 I learned about the fitblr community on Tumblr. 2009-2011 were really the heyday of the fitblr community. Through Tumblr I was lead to tons of super useful resources related to fitness and nutrition and also learned about the posting culture like Transformation Tuesday, Weigh in Wednesday, Face to Face Friday and more. I was also introduced to things like Non-Scale Victories (NSV) or terms like Fitspo (fitness inspiration).

It was through Tumblr that I realized the power of community and what important piece of the weight loss/fitness puzzle that community was. Not only did I have a place of accountability, but I had people rooting for me and I was rooting for other people. Almost all of my Tumblr friends were people I didn’t know in real life and I found some “safety” in that. These fitblr strangers quickly became friends and over the years I’ve built real friends with them IRL (in real life). Most notably running a Ragnar with fitblr friends, multiple NYC and DC meal meet-ups, and attending the wedding in Chicago of a friend I met through Tumblr.

However early into my Tumblr journey I still didn’t post pictures of my face and kept my blog fairly anonymous. Looking back I was afraid of people judged and afraid of failing. I think that is largely why I didn’t tell my IRL friends about my Tumblr. People could SEE that I was losing weight, so I don’t know why I was so ashamed (?) about owning the fact that I was trying to get in better shape and healthier. Ashamed sounds harsh, but at the same time, I think it was accurate. I tried to wear my weight confidently although I definitely had low self-esteem and body image issues. Looking back now, I think perhaps had I publicly announced my weight loss journey it would have felt to me like I was declaring that I wasn’t happy with my body - which was true - but it would have made my already fragile self feel too damn vulnerable.  

There were times over the years that I thought about sharing my Tumblr with people, however, as most weight loss and fitness journeys go the past 9 years have been filled with two steps forward and one step back as well as falling off the wagon and getting back on time and time again. I think every time I was feeling good and ready to share my journey I’d lose momentum and then didn’t feel confident enough to share my Tumblr.

Last year at the start of 2018 I got recommitted to my weight loss and fitness journey. I took weight watchers tracking seriously, I made it a point to work out 5x a week, take vitamins and more. 5 months into this chapter, May of last year, I was feeling really good about my progress and in an act of 1AM clarity, I decided to make an Instagram and Facebook page for Measuring Life. Tumblr is sadly a shell of its former self and I knew that I needed a community of support to help me stay motivated. I had followed a number of weight loss/fitness Instagram accounts and already had a personal account since 2013 so I knew that was what I wanted as my main platform. However, I also know that if I ever want to monetize Measuring Life in some way that I should grab all the social media handles and buy a website domain. So last May I did just that.

It took sometime before I started personally inviting some IRL friends to my Measuring Life accounts. The response I got from those friends was so lovely and supportive. I had been working with my friend A on a logo for a couple of months in 2018 and I was ready to debut it once 2019 rolled in. January 2019 was also when I posted on my personal Instagram about my Measuring Life account. My Facebook page still feels too public, whereas people I am actually friends with follow my personal Instagram account. However, I hope to continue to put myself out there and share Measuring Life with more people. One of my bestie C started a fertility journey/new motherhood blog that she has been share more and more widely, I’m definitely inspired by her willingness to put it out there and “let it all hang out!”

Where Measuring Life goes is still to be seen. Nothing about my journey has been an “overnight transformation” which is what the internet loves. I’ve been slow and unsteady for years upon years. Plus for me Measuring Life isn’t just about my weight and fitness, it’s about my mental health, my relationships, my financial journey, and more. So needless to say my “brand is diluted,” which can be problematic. However, I still come back to the quote from Tom Rath, “if you measure it, you can manage it.” I think that’s the real point of Measuring Life. If you don’t know what you are working it and track the trajectory, then there is no way to change anything aside from dumb luck.

Tumblr has been my quiet safe space for 8 years. This has been a place to grieve and be vulnerable. Much of what I compiled below for this week’s Measuring Monday was already written and shared here over the years. Only now am I beginning to share my writing more publicly and I am thankful for the space and community here when I was less brave.

The world lost a great man 11 years ago yesterday. My world especially got a lot dimmer and for sure a lot less funny.

My Dad was awesome. He was born in Brooklyn and raised on Long Island in the same town I grew up in. He was the first in his family to attend and graduate college (with an Art degree) and after being a hippie in Southern California for a few wanderlust months he went back for a Masters in Education.

My Dad was an art teacher in a low income, minority school district and he LOVED IT. He spent his ENTIRE 33-year career in the district. After teaching for 20ish years he went on to administration. He was a middle school assistant principal for a number of years and then a high school assistant principal for a number of years. They wanted him to be principal, but he didn’t want to deal with politics.

When I was in first grade my Dad started a Saturday enrichment program for K-12 students, he ran the program for 12 years. Some of my favorite childhood memories were from that program. My Dad also piloted a night school program within the school district so people could get their HS diplomas. My Dad was a pretty big deal in the K-12 Education world. Even after he retired he couldn’t stay away. The last year of his life he was teaching in an education certificate program at a Dallas Community College. My Dad was great at what he did.

We shared a love of many, many things, especially musicals. RENT was one of our favorites and after he died “Seasons of Love” took on a new meaning. I’m measuring those years within my “dash” (it’s a great poem if you are not familiar, look it up) in daylights - in sunsets - in midnights - in cups of coffee - in inches - in miles - in laughter - in strife and more.  Back in January 2010, a friend of mine challenged me to measure my year in cups of coffee, which lead to measuring my miles, my body, my health and the rest is history. I get a lot of joy and satisfaction in measuring my life. It makes life seem a little more permanent and a little less fleeting at times.

The last 3-4 years of his life I pretty much talked to my Dad every day, even multiple times a day. Since he was retired he was available to talk whenever. I generally would call him when I was walking to and from class in grad school. Even if it was just a few minutes we’d have a great chat. I can honestly say we were best friends. There are still times when I wish I had my Dad to call.

Our last day was a fabulous Daddy-Daughter day - we were dorks and really called them that. Little did I know that a week later he would be taken from me. I was living in North Texas at the time, 5 months into my first job out of grad school and I was going through a rocky patch. My Dad lived 2.5 hours away in Dallas and wanted to come up for the day to cheer me up. Plus my he was having gastric bypass surgery that Thursday and I really wanted to see him before then.

Part of the reason I moved to Texas was to be closer to my Dad. My parents got divorced after my freshman year of high school and he stayed local, but once I went to college we never lived in the same state. I was in Connecticut and he was in New York or Florida or Texas. I saw my Dad so much in those 5 months we both lived in Texas it was wonderful, some of our best times. I had a lot of ups and downs with my Dad, but our last few months were so much fun.

That last time we hung out I drove up to Oklahoma so we could go to the casino and play some slot machines. Well on the 20-mile drive to Oklahoma I get pulled over on a Sunday afternoon for doing 77 in a 70. I honestly wasn’t aware of my speed because it was an open road and because my Dad and I were singing along to the Aida soundtrack on the top of our lungs. I was so upset about the ticket, but my Dad comforted me and made me feel better, he always did. After the casino, we came back to my apartment, rearranged furniture, and just hung out.

I didn’t want him to leave. I had a sinking feeling about everything. That was the day he told me he was getting gastric bypass over a lap band. I wasn’t a fan of his decision to have either surgery, particularly not gastric bypass. He was 6'2 and 300-325 pounds MAYBE. He has lost 100 pounds through diet and exercise when I was in high school and he kept it off for 8 years before quickly gaining it back after he retired. I was disappointed that he was resorting to surgery. He had been talking about lap band for 6 months and talked to many doctors, went to consults etc. Then within a week of his surgery, his doctor talks him into gastric bypass.

His surgery was Thursday, a week before Thanksgiving. 3 days later that Sunday morning, November 18, 2017, my phone rings at 6:30am. I knew before I answered the phone that he was dead. He was still in the hospital and he essentially bled out internally. A blood transfusion and proper care could have saved his life. I was 2.5 hours away in North Texas not having been fully informed or able to fully comprehend post-op complications and too naive to realize I needed to come down. No twentysomething really thinks their Dad is going to die. I had just spent the prior Sunday with him and was scheduled to come down to Dallas Tuesday for the night before flying to NY for Thanksgiving.

I was devastated, I still am. My whole entire world forever changed. Everything about that day and the weeks and months that followed, including a failed wrongful death lawsuit due to the Texas good old boys club, was a nightmare. I sometimes wish I could “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” much of it.

He was 58, I was 24, and my sister was not quite 22. None of us were ready for him to be gone forever. My sister and I had already lost him once in 1998 when my parents separated and he moved out. To quote a friend who wrote about her Dad on his one year anniversary “I feel both lucky to have had my dad for so many years and angry that he was taken from me when I and he were too young. If I know anything better today than I did last year, it is exactly how complicated and messy life and death and grief are.”

My story is a complicated one on many levels. It’s a lot to bear, especially around the Holidays. Family drama and a Mother that I have a terrible relationship with makes things extra hard. There is no winning with her ever, my Dad was one of the few who really understood. I miss having him on my team. The sad reality is the 11 years that he’s been gone have also led to the 11 worst years in my relationship with my mom. A relationship that was rocky to begin with due to her alcoholism and emotional abuse.

The complications of life and death and grief were something I wasn’t expecting and it really causes tremendous pain. However, out of tragedy, I was finally able to find the motivation to get healthy and fit. I did the work, no shortcuts, no fad diets, and most importantly no surgery.

To quote a message from another friend years ago, about losing her mom, "Sometimes it takes the death of a loved one to wake us up. I consider that a lasting gift from my parent.” I found such comfort and hope in those words. My Daddy didn’t need that surgery and didn’t need to die. Sadly he did, but I refuse to let my weight control my life. I also couldn’t have his death be in vain. So in 2010, I started running, I took charge of my health. I also started fundraising for Accelerate Brain Cancer Cure (ABC2) since most people who have lost loved ones find solace in charity work and there wasn’t a community for my loss out there. So I adopted David Cook’s charity of choice since watching American Idol during those dark months that followed helped me get through each week.

And here I am 11 years later and in the best shape of my life thus far. I thank my Dad for that lasting gift no matter how painful it’s been. I only wish he was here to see me now and the wonderful all-around person I am today.

I’ll leave you with this. One quote I remember my Dad telling to me in a time of struggle in my life was, “Plant your own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.” That quote has meant so much to me over the years. YOU only have one life and YOU need to make the most of out of, right now.

Love you Daddy.

I remember Sunday, November 18, 2007 like yesterday. You don’t forget the day your world changes forever. I was already broken before that day, but the trauma and ptsd of losing you has had a bigger ripple than I could have imagined as a naive 24 year old.

I hate November 18.

I especially hate when it’s a Sunday.

I hate that you died at 58.

I hate that it shattered me and I’m still picking up the pieces.

I hate that you’re not here.

I hate how so many people in my life never knew you.

I hate how much I miss you still.

I hate that I have to write a post like this for people to remember you or think of you.

Tomorrow marks 10 years since my dad passed away from complications following gastric bypass surgery.

Whoa. 

10 years, that’s a decade. 

I was 24 and he was 58.

Unfortunately, I have unnecessary drama with my mom right now so I will save a better post about my dad for another day. The sad reality is the 10 years that he’s been gone have also led to the 10 worst years in my relationship with my mom. A relationship that was rocky to begin with due to her alcoholism and emotional abuse.

Anyway a friend who lost her dad a year ago posted this on FB yesterday and it’s just so damn true. 

His death was at the same time not a surprise and utterly unexpected. I feel both lucky to have had my dad for so many years and angry that he was taken from me when I and he were too young. If I know anything better today than I did last year, it is exactly how complicated and messy life and death and grief are. I choose to remember above else his kind heart and his sensitive loving soul. 

I’d add that my dad was freaking hilarious and his humor is something I will never forget. 

The complications of life and death and grief were something I wasn’t expecting and it really causes tremendous pain. 

Out of the blue this morning I had a string of thoughts that started with the lady who interviewed me for the Urban Hiking gig. I wondered…

…if she thought I was in good enough shape to teach a Health & Fitness class.

…was she expecting someone of my “size” to interview for the job (which I got).

…what is my “size” ?

…was my body type a non-issue because I was “normal” - did I warrant to be thought of as normal?

…at what point would “my size” be viewed as normal versus fat or big or my very least favorite “bigger” which I feel people use to not seem like THEY aren't being as harsh when describing someone.

…what is the first thing people notice about me? That I’m tall? I almost would hope I’m seen as tall first over being seen as “fat” or “big” - in my college days I used to control that narrative subconsciously by wearing pretty revealing tops, so the first thing people noticed were my big boobs. My chest was like a weird security blanket for SO many years. In fact one of my best friends brought up how low cut my shirts used to be and how I dress more conservatively now (it is funny we did go out to a bar on Saturday night to dance for my friends birthday with a bunch of girls and I wore a shirt that was cute to me vs one that was “dance club cute”) and that is a definite shift that even I’ve noticed over the years. 

It both surprises and doesn’t surprise me when my deep seeded insecurities rear its ugly head. I’ve been feeling “slender” lately. My body is changing, I’ve been working out 5-6x a week, and keeping up with Weight Watchers. My clothes fit differently, but more so I know I’m carrying myself differently.

Through my job’s Employee Assistance Program I’m able to have 6 free sessions with a counselor. I just had my 3rd session this morning. I actually took it upon myself in late June to inquire about setting up an appointment and around that time when getting coffee with a trusted colleague (and having a complete breakdown) he also suggested I meet with her. I’m glad I have. 

I haven’t gone to much counseling the last 10 years or so. I saw 1 or 2 therapists in high school around the time my parents separated and my Dad moved out. I also saw a school counselor in high school when I was going through some friend drama and after a car accident I was in as a new driver.  

In college, I didn’t see anyone and really didn’t feel like I needed to. In grad school I had a faculty member who was a “confidant” of sorts and given her sociology background I would argue she was a pseudo-counselor. We mostly talked about me grappling with the fact that my Dad quietly came out of the closet as a gay man (have I ever shared that here before? I’m not sure - it’s still something I struggle to talk about since he died before I could fully embrace and understand) and how he was not out to my Mom and many other people back in NY (at this time he was living in Florida). 

6 months after grad school my Dad unexpectedly died of complications of gastric bypass surgery. I had just started a new job in Texas only 2.5 hours from my Dad who was also now in Texas. So I went back to counseling for about 6 months before I moved to Alabama, that was 2008.

I’ve had loving and wonderful friendships and found community here, but since 2008 I haven’t sought professional help. This summer was a wake up call for self-care and not letting negative patterns repeat themselves. So my plan is to meet monthly with the work counselor for the remainder of the year and then I’ll likely find a counselor to see outside of this short-term work benefit. I am also planning to continue my ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) meetings every other week. These meetings conflict with my FAVORITE Body Pump class and going to this class will also bring me joy, so the plan is to rotate between the two every week.

What this doesn’t full capture are the 80+ hour work weeks, that really started in March and didn’t let up until this week. Some of it was expected, some of it was an anomaly, some of it was a series of unfortunate events. This also doesn’t capture all the tears - I don’t think I’ve cried this much in my whole collective life as I’ve cried these past few months. 

TL;DR version: This summer fucking sucked. I tried too hard once again to be a superstar. I did a hellava job, but at all cost. I think I finally learned that the end does not justify the means and that following the motto “whatever it takes” which has been drilled into me for years is bad advice. Also, home renovations suck to live through and pay for, now I just further feel like the things I own, own me - but at least unlike my job, I’m being owned by something pretty, useful, and designed by me!

Oh and we’ve made zero actual wedding plans and if one more person asks me I’m going to flip my shit because when could I have possibly found the time between the 80+ work weeks, crushing work stress, insomnia, home renovations, dog health scares, and working on my G-D own well-being.

Full scoop after the break

May: Mid-May is basically where I left you (and Weight Watchers tracking). During the second half of May I welcomed and on-boarded 1 new full-time staff member and 3 graduate interns (each on seperate days because, of course). Also, it was the final rush towards preparing for our 20 person student staff training and summer large scale programming. I secured a loan for home improvements and we started bathroom demo and remodeling with a contractor (I researched and met with many the 6 weeks prior to the project beginning). Attended wedding 1 of 3 of the summer. Oh and my car died like 2 miles from home in the rain, but it was revived for like $1500. 

June: Full sprint of summer student staff retreat and training for 2 weeks, along with making sure all my summer program ducks were in a row for our first of 6 sessions which kicked off 6/19. Some major personal life drama I don’t want to get into (yes even here, I can’t). I was in a Friday wedding which required 2 days off work, but it was lovely and then had another wedding the following Friday (yeesh these Friday weddings are killing me, I had to skip one this month and have another in October). Ran 4 our of 6 summer sessions, while dealing some a lot of team dynamics and a very immature student staff - probably the worst I’ve had in all my 16 years doing what I do. Bathroom remodel wrapped in early followed by kitchen demo and remodel (and allllllll the choices that come with it, project got delayed 2 weeks because I had a last minute change of heart for the backsplash which required ordering new materials, but it was ultimately worth it), however living without a kitchen and in a construction zone was hard. 

July: I was in BAD shape at this point, I was even down to the high 180s due to stress and lack of appetite. We skipped a 4th of July trip to NYC in order to have a brief staycation. Made an appointment with a counselor at work to help me begin to manage all the stress and emotions (I never put myself first). I ran my last 2 summer events. I went to my first Adult Children of Alcoholics meeting (and have continued to go weekly so far). I tried to get on top of the workload and somewhat ahead since I had my vacation planned. my dog Fred has some MAJOR health issues which cost me a lot of money, stress, and tears. He’s okay now, but he’s going to be 10 so it’s just managing meds, diet, behavior, etc. Left for a week at the Outer Banks, Duck specifically, on 7/30 and stayed the week. 

August: The beach was perfection. We had a cute house a 5-minute walk from the beach, I could still hear and smell the ocean from the porches/decks. The house I picked (way back in Feb) was pet-friendly and the plan was to bring Fred all along, thank goodness because I wouldn’t have been able to leave him given his health scare. I limited my screen times, never checked work email, did yoga a few times and week and tried to relax. Oh and I rang in my 34th birthday was I was there - with little to no fanfare, but I wasn’t in the mood this year. I gave myself an extra day off after the beach before returning to work. The kitchen got finished right before we left so we got to put everything away and start to settle into it. Jumped back into a lot of work stress, but the finish line was in sight. Last week was non-stop events and programs, but it all went well. I even got an email of recognition from my new university President’s private email account which I will treasure. My programs directly served almost 1,900 students and 1,400 parents/family members. My staff included 20 students, 3 head students, 3 grad interns, 1 assistant director and me. I was leading everyone and I’ve only been here just over a year, so it was the blind leading the blind at times which also was very stressful. 

In summary

I had to face some of my inner demons and scars - some of which I didn’t even know we there until recently. I need to make myself and my happiness a priority because no matter how hard I work at something outside of myself, I’m not going to be truly happy unless I do the internal work. There is always going to be to-do lists, there is always going to be pressure, there is always going to be unanswered emails, and trying to conquer it all to prove I’m  a “good little employee” is not going to make me feel any of the self-worth I’ve apparently been chasing my whole life (this was a recent a-ha moment too and one I share with other Adult Children of Alcoholics).

So I need to set work boundaries -  not work more than the 35 hours I’m getting paid for, I need to not check e-mail when I’m off the clock, I need to take my lunch hour. I need to go to fitness classes and write both here and in my paper journal. I need to dig into the parts of myself that I’ve pushed down for years and face some stuff head on in hopes to get past it.