My life, as told by T. Swift

Monday was one of those days. Nothing went right. I mean, nothing. And it was kind of my fault.

I have this theory about bad days. A lot of times they start as soon as we wake up. We stub our toe getting out of bed. Our dog jumps on our head while we’re sound asleep (just me?). Our alarms don’t go off. We rip a hole in our tights. It happens. But it’s how we choose to face the rest of the day that make a difference. I think we have the ability to turn them around.

And Monday, I didn’t choose to do that. I just wallowed in my grumpalupagus state. The thing that set me off was not my dog, or my tights, or my alarm or stubbing my toe.

It was the scale.

It’s just not moving. I have counted my points. Watched my carbs. And worked my butt off at the gym. I know my body. It’s just not reacting like it normally does—and I’m frustrated. I know, it’s not all about the scale. I’m trying to focus on other successes, but I’m having a little trouble seeing them.

The day started with the scale. Then I realized, as I was driving to work, that my dress was on backward. Little things like that continued to plague me all day. I was grateful to head to my local Y for my favorite Monday class after work.

Except I couldn’t find a parking space. Not one single parking space in the entire gym parking lot. And people by the dozen were driving around waiting for spaces. I finally gave up. I ended up going to another Y for a later class (but almost left when I realized class was a half hour later than I thought).

But Zumba made it a little better. A little. Because I got some insight from a guitar-playing, golden-haired angel named Taylor.

I’m not going to lie. I have developed a new love for sweet little Taylor Swift. So when I walked into class, I thought, this has been the crappiest day. I hope we do the routine to “Shake it Off.”

And we did.

As I shook it off—or at least tried to—I realized that Taylor was singing to me. Ah, the magic of T. Swift. She sings our happiness and our pain. Right? Or something.

But hear me out. You all know the song. Even if you hate it. Even if you try to hate it, but can’t. It gets stuck in your head like a happy little earworm.

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Shake it off, I shake it off

Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break

And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Shake it off, I shake it off

OMG, you guys! Taylor just, like, totally gave me an epiphany. *I* am the player. *I* am the hater.  *I* am the faker. *I* am the heartbreaker. Coo coo ca choo.

But seriously. I am destroying myself with hating and breaking my heart with my own choices. Because when the scale was mean to me, you know what I did? I sabotaged. Ate a bunch of crap. Who does that hurt? Me.

So. I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake. Shake it off.

Because, seriously self, why you gotta be so mean?

Thanks, Tay-Tay.

P.S. Old weight? We are never ever ever getting back together.

Colonial child? Or rapper up in herre?

Nelly/Nellie. It’s what I call her. She’s more a mean girl to my Laura Ingalls than a Band-Aid-wearing rapper from the early 2000s, but she’s there all the time. It’s my fervent wish to rid myself of her for good this year. It’s my top goal. My absolute priority. Be gone, Negative Nelly.

Today Nelly has been relentless. She’s beating me up for not losing enough weight this week. I worked my booty off last week. My food was on plan, I worked out pretty hard several days a week and took my dog for a walk on the days I didn’t. And I let myself have a little indulgence at my best friend’s birthday dinner on Saturday, but only after I went to my hardest workout class that morning. 

And I lost 4 pounds.

Um, yo Nelly (sorry, maybe she is, in fact, the rapper?), shut up—4 pounds is pretty acceptable. More than acceptable, even. It’s kind of awesome.

So why isn’t Nelly letting me believe that?

Instead, she’s reminding me that I changed into workout clothes for this week’s weigh-in, but not last week’s. Those clothes from last week could have added more, so maybe I didn't lose all 4 of those pounds. She’s telling me that 4 pounds are nothing compared to how far I have to go. Oh, and by the way, don’t forget you’re getting married in less than a year, she says. She likes to add a #fatbride hashtag, too. After pulling my pigtails.

I am doing everything I can to combat Nelly. I’m going to therapy. I’m talking it out with friends. I’m reading a new devotional about confidence. I hate that this is even an issue—that I can’t seem to shake her.

Honesty. It’s what I always strive for with this blog. So I have to be honest about my negative voice, while knowing that I can’t let it control me or even this site. I’ve let that happen far too long.

Do you guys have a way to beat your inner critic? I’m thinking duel to the death. Or maybe a dance off.

These are a few of my favorite things—finally

It’s Friday, and I’ve had a good week. I woke up this morning feeling sore, but proud. I’ve managed to get in several really good workouts this week, and am planning to incorporate some activity into the weekend, too. My food also has also been steadily on plan. So far, so good.

I promised you last week to do a favorites post. So, a week later, here are a few things I’m loving.

Incredible! Edible! Eggs!

I love a hardboiled egg. Easy breakfast. Perfect snack. Yummy on a salad. Better yet? It comes in its own natural container. But that container has caused me a lifetime of grief. I’m a terrible egg boiler. Is it possible to screw that up? Well, I do. I have Googled and tried to figure out the best method. I have tried putting the eggs in before the water boils. I have tried boiling the water with the eggs already in it. I have dunked them in ice water. I have done it all, and I’ve yet to find one works-every-time method. I’ll end up with greenish yolks. Yolks not done all the way. And the worst—shells that refuse to peel and take half the egg with it when you finally get it off.

No more.

Enter the Egg Genie. Yes, it’s an As Seen on TV product. Yes, there’s a silly infomercial for it. And yes, it seriously works. I LOVE this thing. You simply poke a tiny hole in your egg with the little needle attached to the egg tray. Fill up the water to the appropriate line of the enclosed cup, pour in the water, plug it in and wait. The result is eggs perfectly cooked to your liking. They always peel without any trouble, and I don’t have to watch them or worry about them in the pot. I love this thing. I got mine on Amazon, but I think I’ve seen them in a few stores in their As Seen on TV section. Trust me. You need one. Fair warning—when the eggs are cooked, it gives off a weird sound. Not like a typical alarm. It freaks my dog out every time. But maybe your dog isn’t as prone to fits of barking as mine is.

Arugula

Could this be the most boring favorite ever? A type of lettuce? No! Arugula is NOT boring. It’s a little bit spicy and yummy and a perfect addition to salads. Lately, I’ve been buying arugula just to sprinkle in my normal spinach salads. I find the taste of arugula to be a little strong on its own, but I love the peppery punch of flavor it gives to a blah salad. A little spinach, a little arugula, a few blue (or bleu, if you’re fancy) cheese crumbles, some dried cranberries, a few toasted almond slivers and some olive oil and balsamic vinegar and you’ve got my perfect salad.

Shrimp and Grits

True confession: I’ve never really eaten grits. Though my birth roots are in Michigan, I moved to Georgia in fifth grade, and am, therefore, mostly Southern. But I’d kind of resisted grits all the same. When I go to brunch places, I pick the potatoes over the grits. One night, my precious mother-in-law-to-be, a tried and true Southern lady (with a lovely accent, to boot), had us over for dinner and made shrimp and grits. I am still winning points, so I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan of grits or hadn’t really eaten them, like, at all. Instead I smiled when she told me what we were having. And then? I gobbled those suckers up like it was my last meal. Holy delicious. I decided I needed this dish in my life immediately. Since then, it’s been my restaurant go-to, and I’ve found a healthy recipe to make it at home. Bless my sweet li'l heart.

Bonus Beauty Fave!

I love being a girl. We get to surround ourselves with so much prettiness (though I know and love a few boys who also do this, so no gender disrespect meant). I’ve always been a bit of a product junkie, and nail polish is one of my favorites. I’ve made a little resolution in 2015 to work on my nails, which are typically weak and peeling, to make them stronger. I’m pretty OK at painting my own nails and rarely get manicures (but bring on the pedis!), because it ends up peeling off so quickly and seems a waste of money.

Day four of my manicure. Still perfect!

Enter Gelous. You can only find it at Sally Beauty Supply, and it’s meant to recreate the look and staying power of the uber-popular gel nails that are all the rage these days. I, a self-proclaimed sergeant in the Sun Police, refuse to get these kinds of manicures, as you have to put your hands into what are essentially mini tanning beds. No thank you. The trick with the Gelous is to sandwich your polish with it. I do a base coat (right now I’m using Nailtiques for the strengthening factor), coat of polish, Gelous, coat of polish, Gelous, and finally, top coat (loving Out the Door right now—also found at Sally). 

I went FIVE days without so much as a chip on my polish. Pretty incredible for someone like me who can barely go two hours without chips and peels. This stuff is amazing.

Do tell. What are you loving right now?

Food envy

I've started back in earnest this week. This week. As in yesterday. And already I want to eat all the things.

I went to lunch with some co-workers. In an effort to be healthy, I had a side salad and a small cup of soup.

And you know what? I'm kind of mad at it.

I make myself laugh. I mean, I'm on Day Two. And I'm dying. But as I watched a co-worker eat a burger, and another eat tator tots (I stole one of those), I got mad at my body. Mad that I have to deal with this. Mad that I've already done this once and have to do it again. I hate it. I want to be that person who never has to watch what she eats. Who never has to worry about exercise or whether something will fit.

But I'm not that person. And I've got to start accepting it.

So. Today at Weight Watchers, I weighed in—and I'd stayed the same from last week. This is a blessing. Trust me. I didn't have the greatest week food-wise. I felt a little under the weather, so I didn't really exercise. So I didn't really earn a loss.

Next week will be different. Even if I'm mad. I'm on it. It's 2015. I'm getting married in 2015. And I'm not about to do that with regret.

Even a burger and tator tots isn't worth that, right?

Ghosts of blogging past, present and future

First of all, hi! And a big welcome to all my new followers and readers! I hope you’ll take some time to go back and read some older entries. Through the Facebook page, I’ll post some throwback posts with some of my greatest (or worst) hits. I hope you’ll stay a while.

I spent some time during the weekend rereading old blog entries. And the fear started creeping into my heart. Then the doubt. Then the negativity. First of all, I remembered all the feelings that came with the posts I read—both the successes and the not-so successes. But then I started to worry.

Do I have anything else to say? Am I going to repeat myself? Again with the dang broken record.

Honestly, I probably will repeat myself. Where I am now is somewhere I’ve already been. At least physically. Mentally and emotionally, things are different—and hopefully I can express that. Still, there will probably be many times where things will sound familiar to me and you. I have to just trust that it’s all part of the journey.

Speaking of journeys, let’s start with where I am now along this sometimes-crooked, sometimes-hidden path of mine.

Weight

So. It’s tough to admit, but here goes. I’m up about 50 pounds from my very lowest weight. There. Now you know. However, I’m looking at it as I have managed to keep off more than 80 pounds, and that’s pretty OK, right?

Food addiction

My constant battle. I don’t think it will ever really go away. Still, I do less full-on bingeing than I used to, I’d say. Part of the reason is that I’m now living in sin with my fiancé and it’s easier to just eat crappy foods as part of the normal routine. This is NOT good. His schedule is completely opposite of mine right now. He’s working a lot of nights and sleeping during the day, so I’m feeling a little lonely and sorry for myself in the evenings. That can lead to emotional eating. He knows this, though, and is more than supportive. Two examples. Last week, I woke up with an upset stomach and stayed home from work. He brought me some ginger ale and crackers. Two days later, he told me he threw out the crackers, because he knew I couldn’t have them in the house. I was sad and happy. Sad, because I really wanted to EAT ALL THE CRACKERS. And happy that he knew to throw them out. Oh, and he also threw them into the outside garbage can. He really knows me.

Example No. 2. I really had a weird reaction to getting engaged, as I mentioned. I went through a strange little sad period. During said sad times, he came home and noticed some things I bought at the store. “What’s going on? Cheez-Its? Ice cream? Why are all your trigger foods in the house?” Yes, he called them trigger foods. Yes, he knew those particular foods are among my very biggest offenders. After I cursed myself for telling him too much, I was grateful that he knew me well enough to gently ask about how I was feeling—just based on those foods.

Exercise

I recently joined my local YMCA. I love it, and love some of the challenging classes I’ve been taking. It’s motivated me in some new ways. I also gained a German Shepherd through my relationship and I enjoy taking her for walks. Though we both could use more of these walks. She’s a lot, as I like to say (so am I, some others might say).

Wedding

We have set a tentative date for Oct. 23. I’ve got nothing so far, except my shoes. Yep, no dress, no venue. But I’ve got fabulous shoes! He and I are paying for this ourselves, so it’s a little scary, budget wise. Venues are ridiculously overpriced. I just want a barn in the middle of a field with a bunch of twinkly lights (seriously, if you asked me my biggest priority for my wedding? Lighting. True story.), but unfortunately that rustic theme is super trendy right now. And trendy = holy crap, we can’t afford that! So, we’re looking at some alternatives and may end up in a high school gym. Just kidding. Sort of.

Now the important thing.

Where do I want to be?

Right now, my wedding is kind of my focus when it comes to my weight. I don’t mean hitting a certain number. I mean feeling healthy. I mean feeling beautiful. And mostly, I mean, not ONE SINGLE TIME muttering the phrase, “I’m such a fat cow,” on my wedding day. Will I be at my goal weight by then? Probably not. But I want to feel like I’m in control. And that is something I know I can do. Because I’ve done it. Well, not gotten married, of course, but I have been in control.

Also, it’s one of the reasons I was so compelled to restart regular blogging. I’m terrified of losing my mind, freaking out and EATING ALL THE CRACKERS (or whatever) because of my wedding. I can’t let that happen. And I know I’m never more in control than when I’m really talking about things with friends, family and my reader-friends.

As for this blog, I’m planning to make some tweaks here and there as far as layout and things. I also bought a domain, and as soon as I become an expert web designer, I’ll move us over there. I hope you’ll be patient with me.

So there we are. Here I am. I’d love some updates from you guys. What are your goals? Your fears? Your motivations? Fill me in.

Thank you so much for supporting me. Even if I am going to repeat myself.

Even if I’m going to repeat myself.

Erika is losing it—Take...73?

It happened twice. In two days. And now I can’t ignore that it’s probably a sign.

Last week, the week during which we share thanks with our family and friends, I had two instances that reminded me why I need to get back to blogging. 

First, my Weight Watchers leader told me that at another one of her meetings, members were sharing about who or what has inspired them during their weight loss journeys. One of her members sweetly mentioned my blog and said it had inspired her to begin steps toward better health.

The very next day, I went to a Zumba class. A friend was talking to another girl and introduced me. As we said hello, she said “I feel like I know you. Have we met before?” When I said I wasn’t sure, she said, “I feel like I know you like this”—and waved her hand indicating she recognized me dressed in workout clothes. I asked her if she might know me from my blog. “Yes! That’s it. I loved your blog!” she said.

Twice. In two days. And I haven’t written an entry since July. Hmm. Methinks that’s more than a simple coincidence.

Why did I stop blogging? 

Well, truth be told, I got tired of feeling like a broken record of a roller coaster. Up and down and ‘round and ‘round. Not only did *I* get tired of feeling this way, I figured you guys must be tired of reading about me feeling this way. That’s a lot of feelings. And you know what I do with my feelings? Yep, I eat them.

So here’s the thing. I feel like those two not-so-coincidences were just an affirmation of what was already in my heart. No matter how broken this record of a girl feels, I need to be talking about it.

I need to trust that my readers have often felt the same way I do and will support me, no matter what. For those who don’t, I can understand if you don’t want to continue on this journey with me. But the truth is that I could really use all of your hands to pull me out of the mud along the way.

I don’t want to make any promises of how many times a week I plan to blog, but I will tell you that I’m making a commitment to at least try to find my way back. Back to my Photo Phridays and weekly favorites. To my triumphs and fails. To my recipe trials and errors. And maybe even some wedding planning news along the way, if you don’t mind (because holy crap does THAT scare the bejeezus out of me). 

So now it’s your turn. Are you guys in?

Dreams come true--but hopefully not all of them

It was a few weeks ago when I woke up in a cold sweat. I could not shake this dream.

I'm always sort of jealous of people who have vivid dream lives--I've never been one of them. I rarely remember my dreams. But this one hasn't left me yet.

I was standing in this huge hotel ballroom on a stage surrounded by complete strangers. Next to me was my fiancé, microphone in hand, fielding questions and comments from the crowd.

"Yes, you, ma'am. What did you want to tell Erika about her weight?"

"And you, tell her why she'll be the fattest, ugliest bride in history?"

First of all, no more "Say Yes to the Dress" before bed. Or maybe ever. Yeah, probably ever.

Second, oh yeah, I'm engaged.

At the end of May, my boyfriend and I went to the beach, where he got down on one knee--shocked the hell out of me--and proposed with my grandmother's beautiful ring. The surprises kept coming, when a bunch of my family and friends joined us to celebrate. I had no idea any of it was happening. I was overwhelmed by so much love.

Since then, I've struggled with a lot of different emotions. I don't think I'm your typical bride to be. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because I never thought this would ever happen to me. Maybe it's because I'm stressed about how we're going to afford this. And sadly, maybe it's because I'm most struggling with feeling that I don't deserve this.

I know deep down that I do deserve this. But I think that I've let myself slide so far backward that I don't know where to start again. I don't WANT to have to focus on my weight on  my wedding day. I don't want to not be able to breathe because I'm so undergarmented to death that I can't even do the Wobble (oh, and you bet your sweet booty, there will be Wobbling).

I'm so tempted to crawl under my covers and pretend this isn't happening. That's messed up, isn't it? I mean, something is totally wrong with me, no?

I love my fiance. I adore him. He makes me happy. He loves me and protects me in the fiercest way I never thought was possible. But, since we've been engaged, I find myself more easily irritated with him. I know a big part of that is my judging him for wanting to be with me forever. I mean, what's wrong with him?

I want to marry him. I want to be surrounded by the people who love us, who are already so excited for us. I want to feel beautiful and special and not worry about all this other junk that plagues me.

I just don't know how to do it.

I should be blogging. I should start over. But how do I do that? How, now, when I have such a huge life change looming?

I'm pondering all of this. I'll need you guys to help me through it. Because I might just be the most screwed-up bride of all time.