As of this morning, I’m back on MyFitnessPal. I’m not sure how long it will last or if it’s the absolute best choice, but for the moment I feel alright about it.

I hate tracking and, generally, it produces anxiety for me. I’m in a place where there’s a fair amount for me to juggle on any given day so adding a nearly guaranteed source of anxiety, however small it feels right now, seems counterproductive, right? So why did I log in this morning, create a new account, and dutifully enter my breakfast coffee?

I’m scared. Maybe it’s not even legitimate, but it’s there. Essentially, I’ve always had FABULOUS numbers. Weirdly low resting heart rate, great blood pressure, etc. it’s something I’ve always been proud of. Lately I’ve had a few higher readings. Both were just barely high, and both happened when I was suffering from SEVERE issues, first acute bronchitis and then a serious sinus infection. I brushed aside the minute clinic blood pressure cards because it’s incredibly normal and reasonable for your blood pressure to go up when you’re super sick, particularly if you’ve been taking decongestants. I had been taking them both times.

Last night, on a whim, I sat down at the blood pressure checker in the grocery store. I was exhausted, but otherwise healthy enough. No decongestants. Same borderline reading. This time it was 123/86, and my resting heart rate was 68.

It’s nothing earth shattering, and before I make myself crazy with concern I need to get a regular checkup with a real doctor to confirm my actual numbers. That being said, now I feel a push.

I’ve been letting my food be a stress reliever instead of thinking about it from a place of body love. I’ve been eating too much sugar and not enough produce. I’ve been doing pretty well with yoga, but strength training has been inconsistent at best. I can’t change everything all at once, but I think tracking will help me. I’ll get an idea of my macros, particularly my sugar and sodium averages. Right now I’m looking at it as a tool for understanding better where I’m at right now so that I can figure out what the right next steps are. Meeting the goals set by the MFP site is secondary for me right now; my main goal is jut establishing a baseline.

Again, I WILL be getting a real checkup to determine my numbers accurately. I also allow that a lot is probably feeding into this potential BP raise. I’m under stress right now. I’m really not sleeping enough. I’m getting older. My food choices have been lacking. Now I have the chance to address those things as much as possible because I will not be a thirty-something taking blood pressure medication.


I was incredibly excited when I won a giveaway on Facebook for a Shop Taffy outfit. From their website, “Taffy is a stylish new line of activewear designed specifically and exclusively for women sizes 14-24. All tops and bottoms are tailored to fit and flatter a woman’s curves. Taffy Activewear combines fashion and function effortlessly!”

First and foremost, I was BLOWN AWAY by the quality of their customer service. Even though this was a giveaway and not something I paid to receive, they were super communicative the whole time. They kept me up to date on every step of the process, and then when there was a shipping issue they were incredible about making sure I got my (free) package. I was so impressed, and customer service is so often an issue that I was even more excited about getting my stuff.
In a streak of incredible good luck, my outfit arrived just before I went to San Diego for a work trip. I was excited to discover pants, a tank top, AND a great hoodie in the package and they all went directly into my suitcase. I’ve worn the whole outfit or parts of it many times in the following weeks, but testing it out while doing beach yoga in California was pretty epic for a first try with new workout clothes.
Before I even got them on, I loved the bright color of the top and the super sturdy fabric of the hoodie. I was worried about the pants because they felt very VERY thin. Once I got them on, everything was incredibly comfortable and super soft. The pants were WAY too long (I’m short) and were not as structured as I usually like my pants to be for workouts (I prefer a little bit of compression), but were not at all see through, which was what I was worried about. The pants might also have been just a tiny TINY bit too big, but they stayed on just fine. The top and hoodie fit absolutely perfectly, were incredibly comfortable, and I felt great in them.
Out on the beach, all the clothes performed amazingly. Everything was easy to move in, felt good on my body, and stood up to crazy yoga poses. I didn’t get super sweaty, but the clothes stayed super comfortable throughout the light sweat I did work up in 45 minutes of beach yoga time.
I’ve worn each piece, either alone or together, about five times now. Sadly, tonight I figured out that the thinness of the pants was of genuine concern. As I was coming out of a side plank, my foot caught the edge of the opposite pants leg. There was a little tug, and the pants leg ripped three or four inches up both sides. Weirdly it didn’t tear on the seams at all, but directly in between them. UPDATE: Just hours after this post I was contacted again by the awesome customer service of Taffy, who offered to replace the pants for me. I’m excited to give them another try.

So I signed on for Molly Galbraith’s Love Your Body Challenge. I followed along somewhat halfheartedly for the first few days, reading the emails and following the prompts with minimal commitment. On day 5 I decided the challenge just wasn’t worth my time. It wouldn’t work. It was too hard. It was too easy. It was self-indulgent. I deleted the journal I’d started, got rid of the document where I’d dutifully tracked each day’s mantra and action steps. I was having a hard time filling in the blanks and I had yet to say my mantras at bedtime even once. I’d probably only said them during the action steps on one day. So I wasn’t doing them “right” anyway. And then day 6 arrived in my inbox. I opened the email anyway. I clicked the link. I skimmed the post. I read the prompt.

The prompt.

“Reason #6 To Love Your Body: Because it’s served you well.”

Betrayal. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my body. It’s small, unfair things: it’s not supposed to look this way, it shouldn’t gain weight so easily, it makes me uncomfortable, my colon sucks and my compartment syndrome keeps me from running. I know all of those things aren’t something I can blame my body for. In fact many would be eased if I loved my body more. But it’s big things too. It’s a baby lost at twenty weeks because my cervix didn’t feel like cooperating, and it couldn’t even malfunction in a normal way but insisted on doing so in such an uncommon manner that the doctors couldn’t see it coming. I’m not gonna lie, I blame it for that and then because on some level I’ve internalized the connection steen my body and myself, I blame myself for that loss. Just sometimes, when it gets dark inside.

So maybe I need this challenge more than ever. Here’s my list. My body:

1. Walked me down the aisle at my wedding.
2. Crossed the finish line at a Warrior Dash.
3. Held a baby we’d already said goodbye to.
4. Carried a second pregnancy through five months of bedrest.
5. Gave birth to a happy, healthy, perfect little girl.
6. Fed that little girl for six months all on its own.
7. Held that little girl through sickness, naps, zoo trips, nights of coughing, and mornings of cuddling.
8. Embraced so many beloved friends and family.
9. Learned to do yoga: planks, forearm and handstands, push-ups, and upward bow.
10. Survived two surgeries.
11. Supported and nourished a mid capable of a bachelors degree with honors.
12. Carries me to and from work every day.
13. Allows me to hike, walk the museums, and wander new cities.
14. Allows me to see, hear, smell, and touch the world around me, to discover all sorts of delights.
15. Walks up and down 15+ flights of stairs on every work day, and at least six of them every morning to walk the dog.
16. Keeps my daughter feeling loved with warm embraces and sniffly cuddles.
17. Lets me kiss my incredible husband.
18. Highlights the incredible DNA I carry from my mother and my father, showing off features that carry on my bloodline.
19. Plays host to a head full of wild, uncontrollable hair.
20. Is home to a beautiful pair of eyes in a delightfully variable color.

So yes, it’s pretty amazing. And it deserves so much love and support. A body this strong, this capable, this full of potential for joy and laughter and knowledge and love… It’s time I give it the respect it needs to really come alive, to carry me through he best years of my life with all of its beautiful potential fully realized.

Now pardon me while I cry softly for a while. This one brought out ALL THE FEELS.


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The KhakisKhakis 2

“I see what you mean about the khakis,” she said.

I was midway down a nasty body image spiral after flipping through a ton of pictures from last week’s staff retreat. I was feeling pretty bad about the way I looked in most (okay all) of the pictures, and I was commiserating with a coworker who had similar concerns about her own appearance.

I know it’s not good for me to talk to other people who harp on about their bad body image because it feeds my own issues with it, but sometimes I intentionally seek someone out who will validate my terrible thoughts. It’s stupid, and lands me where I am now.

I actually thought the khakis weren’t so bad. In fact, they were the pictures I was the least upset about, and I hadn’t mentioned the khakis as being a particular bad spot in the selection of pics I was featured in. So when she offered that up? “I see what you mean about the khakis.”

And BOOM! Tailspin. Suddenly I was overanalyzing every last detail of those pictures, convinced that I must be entirely wrong about how I looked in those pics, which I’d thought were alright, and so that must mean I looked THAT MUCH WORSE in all of the other pictures, the ones I was really worried about.

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THOSE are the pics I was worried about. That grey shirt in particular, which I really liked until I saw it in pictures. I just felt…blindsided a bit. I felt like what I saw didn’t look anything like what I felt like. It robbed me of an awful lot of the good stuff I’ve been building up in my head these last few months.

Some of it is guilt. It’s frustration that I’m still eating things my body doesn’t want just because my mind does. The food thing continues to trip me up, and a recent prompt in an email from Mara got me writing it out. I came up with some scary crap around it…

If I could love myself bravely and entirely, my colitis would ease a bit. I would have more energy and be more content in my own body. I would be a little happier, a lot braver too perhaps. Maybe I would be more willing to push my limits in terms of my writing, my career, my self-love journey. It matters to me because I know I’m holding myself back, out of fear and habit and who knows what else. I want to be able to think and move freely in my own space, to eat without emotional baggage, to not punish or reward or medicate myself with food…always food that in the end is a punishment.
So that’s it. It’s always a punishment. I eat when emotions, usually the dark and heavy ones, are overwhelming. Why does that mean I need to be punished? When, where, how did I learn that being overwhelmed by my emotions was not alright? That it was, in fact, so unacceptable that it deserved more than ignoring, but called for full on punishment? What do I believe is so wrong with having extreme feelings? What do I think will happen if I allow them instead of punish them into a cowering corner, to be ignored until they shrivel?
I’m afraid. I’m scared they’ll overwhelm me, break me, take me over. I’m scared that they’ll reveal a part of me I don’t want to own, that I don’t want others to see. I’m afraid they will BE me, that I will become (or maybe even that I AM)…dark. I worry that I will be mean or spiteful, that I’ll be sad forever. I fear that by letting out anger I’ll be wrathful, that in releasing sadness into the world I’ll be depressed. I am afraid that by settling into these negative emotions I will not be able to get back out of them, that I’ll be sucked down and trapped in them.
I want to feel light and happy. Somewhere along the way I internalized that smiles and joy and love and light are the things that make up a good life, a good person. “Indulging” in darkness feels wrong…selfish. It feels like I’m allowing myself into some part of me that shouldn’t be there at all.
I don’t want to feel those feelings, to be that dark and unacceptable girl all the time, so I punish the feelings. I run from them, push them down, feed them sugar to quiet their ravings. I hide them, because I want to be strong, and somehow that means always being alright. It means pretending I don’t want to cry alone on the floor, because doing that means you’re broken somehow…right?
Not right. I want to believe that. I want to really feel truth in the idea that it’s alright to be dark sometimes, to cry alone on the floor, to snivel and grieve and fear and rage. But I don’t really believe it. In my core, it feels wrong. It feels selfish and indulgent, terrifying in it’s potential to lead to lasting settlement into the depths.
People love my smile. They like my quirky happiness and depend on my stability. Maybe they won’t love me if I succumb, if I’m sad or quiet or dark. Maybe I really will be that way all the time, and all the people who love and care for me won’t be able to anymore because I’m not who they thought I was. I like the happy parts of me too. They make me feel good. And maybe if I stop punishing and berating and forcing away all those bad feelings, I will lose the good ones…they’ll be swept away in a torrent of too-long hidden sadness and anger and grief and fear. Maybe it will all be too much, and I really will break.
I can’t break. I have a daughter who depends on me, who lights up my life, who is freaking amazing. She is so small and secure, so smart and fun, so innocent of darkness. I can’t be the one who shows her that. I can’t let her down. I can’t fall apart when 75% of the time I’m all she’s got. She’s four. She’s too young to understand that sometimes life hurts but it can still be alright. I can’t put that burden on her.
So I punish it. I hide it. I don’t know how to stop, or even if I should.
I don’t even know what to do with all of that. I’m feeling pretty lost in the body image and food arenas right now. I think the only thing saving my sanity at all is that I’ve done a pretty good job of sticking with regular yoga sessions at home, I’ve been moving whenever I can on weekends (hiking, museums, etc), and I’ve done really well sticking with the Beautiful Badass workouts. Without those things I don’t know what I’d be doing right now.
I’m under a fair (unfair?) amount of stress at work right now too, and it’s leading to some major colitis flare ups that are making it that much harder to make any good choices. Yes, you’d think serious stomach pain would lead to BETTER choices. You’d be wrong. My emotional eating is pretty hardwired.
I just… I don’t know, man.

Stop Stroke Shuffle 5K

Lesson #1: Get out there when the mood strikes. It’s worth it.

I had the urge to go for a walk yesterday, which just happened to also mark the beginning of Dani’s Stop Stroke 5K. It was snowing, so I put on boots and warm clothes and topped everything with my purple raincoat. The snow had been falling long enough to cover the sidewalks, but no one else was out in it. It was quiet and peaceful and still. It was sort of wonderful. I’m so glad I just got up and went.

Honestly, I struggle with things like this on the weekends. We get so little time together as a family that I often feel guilty doing anything on my own. Sometimes even twenty minutes of yoga feels selfish. I did invite the husband and kiddo to join me on the walk and they weren’t feeling it. Most days I’d have sat back down and just hung out with them, but I was feeling antsy and wanting to earn my adorable heart medal, so I got up and got outside anyway.

It wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be, and in the end the forty six minutes I spent outside on my own served as a pretty effective meditation. I had time to think quietly. I had time to chat a little with my bestie. I had time to think through lots of what’s been in my head lately and it just made everything feel clearer. Plus the cold air was sort of invigorating, and not in that awful way people say it when they mean “freezing and miserable.”

Lesson #2: Do it yourself. I have finally learned that I do best when I eat protein and (not sweet) carbs for breakfast. This led to me buying super expensive breakfast sandwiches at local cafes and Starbucks. SO EXPENSIVE and not terribly good either. So I started buying the frozen variety. Cheaper. Less tasty. Finally this weekend I decided to just make my own. I got some frozen bagels, and brought them to work along with precooked bacon, eggs, and shredded cheese. This morning’s sandwich was MUCH cheaper, MUCH tastier, and kept me full longer.

Lesson 3: Don’t give up. There is a way. I planned to start the Beautiful Badass strength program today. I wrote out my exercises. I knew the first one was a pullup and I don’t have a gym or a bar or a suspension trainer, so I found a video online where you can sort of lay on a smooth floor with something slidey beneath you and pull yourself. I felt awesome about all my planning.

And then I got home. And the kid was cranky. And my period started. And I realized none of the smooth surfaces in my house are big enough for me to lay down on. And I tried pulling myself on the carpet with a mat, a garbage bag, a train of hardcover plastic covered kids books. Nothing worked. I couldn’t move my body at all.

I tried shutting my yoga strap in the bathroom door and using it like a suspension trainer, except that strap is crappy and doesn’t have enough resistance to be useful for anything. I fell down.

I abandoned the pullups in favor of pushups, then moved on to the one leg squats, which I also couldn’t do. I cried. I gave up. I messaged my bestie. I unloaded on her way more than she deserved.

And then, in the middle of wiping my tears, I realized I wasn’t doing one important step of being a Beautiful Badass. I wasn’t owning where I am RIGHT NOW. I wanted to be further along. I was upset and embarrassed by how much strength I’ve lost. I was trying intermediate versions of the moves. So I backed up. I did the easiest level of everything, and had to spend the whole workout ignoring the part of my brain that said this was too easy, shouldn’t be so hard for me, wasn’t worth doing, couldn’t be helpful.

I finished the workout. And I’ll do it again and again.

Lesson 4: Still working on it. I’m still (always, forever) working on food issues. When I saw this picture from Heather Waxman’s FB page today, it got me thinking.

I AM still struggling with food. I don’t eat well, and I turn to food when emotions or stress get overwhelming. It’s NOT going away…so what is it trying to teach me?

I have no idea. Really. It’s something I need to meditate on, I think.


Mr. Silly

Thanks in no small part to Mara, I had a total epiphany last night. As I sat on the couch, dreading the workout I was already “a day late” in doing, knowing it wasn’t what I wanted to do AT ALL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES… I thought about it.

I thought about Mara‘s beautiful words, her incredible vision, her tendency to know just what I need to hear. So what was it she said that got me really thinking? What incredible wisdom did she offer that made me finally realize I had an option to choose flexibility instead of declaring failure?

Mara's Radical FB Wisdom

So there it is. Some heavy wisdom, right? And in seeing it, I realized it was high time I do just as she suggested and FRACKING LAY OFF myself already.

I stopped trying to force something that just wasn’t gonna happen. I rethought the plan to jump from all yoga all the time to five days a week of one hour strength/cardio workouts. I rearranged my plan to make a crap ton more sense in terms of my lifestyle and schedule, and I feel SO MUCH more relaxed about the whole damned thing now. So here’s the new version. It still includes all the same workouts, minus one buffer week at the end of the year.

It also means I have the rest of this week to get back to the serious yoga practice my mind and body crave. Fifteen minutes in the morning, or thirty at lunch, or thirty at night, or some combination thereof. Mmmm…Yoga.

Happiness is YOGA

And so, I’m ready to be easy with myself. To let the week flow. To stop stressing about stupid things like STICKING TO THE SCHEDULE ZOMG when all I’m really looking for is strength and sweat. If that’s what I really want (and holy moly, I just realized that IS what I’m aiming for) then who cares what schedule I stick to, what workout I do, what “plan” I follow? I’ll get up. I’ll move my body. I’ll sweat it all out. And I’ll do it in a sustainable, non-crazy making way that makes me feel GOOD instead of stressed out.

Another lesson learned.


Prickly Pear on Flickr(I’m feeling prickly this week. Fragile. Cranky.)

I didn’t do my planned workout yesterday. My stomach was upset. My husband was home, which he very rarely is at night, and I wanted to go to bed when he did. I was super tired. I wanted to spend extra time relaxing. I needed a break from a stressful day. I ate cheesecake after dinner and felt super full.

They’re all good reasons. They’re all excuses too.

Today, I have a few options when it comes to dealing with a perceived failure, or just not having done the workout I intended to. I’m trying not to think of it as a failure at all.

I can beat myself up all day, which will result in bad food choices that leave me exhausted and sick again tonight. (Last night’s upset was a lingering effect of last weeks bad fish…) I can let the doldrums right back in, which will lead to too much candy, too much coffee, not enough work getting done, and me coming home nauseated and tired and guilty about things left undone.

I can just give up now, which Björg is begging for me to do. After all, she reminds me, this is what you do. You make big promises and don’t follow through on them. Don’t try now, she insists. It will be hard and uncomfortable. It might even hurt. You won’t like it. You have nothing to prove to anyone anyway. It doesn’t really matter. You’ll never change anyway. You’ll never make different choices for any real length of time. You’ll always be the same old you.

And there…there is where she loses me (or where she gets me, maybe?). Damn right I’ll always be me. And I kind of rock! So today I’ll make the right choice: I’ll try again. I’ll do everything I can to be mindful, to avoid the stress habits (too much sugar, heavy fried foods) that will essentially make the choice for me. I’ll smile more, complain less, stay focused at work, and help others when and where I can. I have some overworked coworkers who I think could really use a helping hand, or at least a listening ear, right now. I’ll stay positive, remember all the great things I do form self every day, and make a list of all the reasons why trying this workout plan might be beneficial.

In fact, let me just start that list now:
- I’ll have more energy
- I’ll get to try out workouts I’ve had bookmarked forever
- I’ll learn more about the ways my body likes to move
- I’ll challenge myself
- I’ll step out of my comfort zone
- I’ll feel proud of myself just for trying
- I’ll be setting a great example for Evi about all the different ways a body can move
- I’ll be reminding Evi that physical activity is an important part of every day, even when it’s freezing outside
- it just might be fun!

So there it is. A list of so many potential positives. I’d be cheating myself if I didn’t give it a try, all out, full tilt. I have nothing to lose by trying it out, and so much to gain. It won’t be easy to fit it into my schedule, particularly because it will be taking the place of some seriously beloved downtime in the evenings, but it will be well worth the trade if it means more energy and a lightening of this grumpy and gloomy mood I seem to have adopted. I think I need some serious endorphin boosting to get me out of this funk where I wake up every morning wanting to punch somebody.

There’s no room for that kind of long lasting, persistent anger. It means there’s something I’m not dealing well with, and sitting with it hasn’t brought anything to light…so now I think it’s time to sweat it out. It’s worked well for me in the past. Certainly yoga has it’s place as a coping mechanism and therapeutic practice for me, but I think this time I might need a little something more. Something…sweatier, perhaps.

So let’s just do this. Let’s give this plan a fair shake and see what comes of it. No more fearing the possibilities. No more second guessing my abilities. Just jumping right in, taking the risks, and seeing what happens in my heart and soul and body when I do. I have a theory that I just might love the change and the challenge.

Still reading? Wondering what this big workout plan is made up of? Here it is. Let me know what you think.


February CalendarI’ve been feeling detached lately, like I’m one step removed from everything and everyone in my life. It’s not depression in a sad and mad sense like it usually is for me. Instead it’s this foggy sort of feeling like there’s a layer of plexiglass between me and the rest of the world. Yesterday I wondered if t wasn’t a coping mechanism, a semi-conscious choice that kept me out of he extremes by keeping me constantly at a remove.

Weekends in particular are hard now that Aaron travels a lot. I swing from a Friday euphoria at knowing we’re about to see him and hug him and laugh with him again to a Sunday doldrums in anticipation of another week apart. I wondered (and still do) if detaching was a way to avoid the doldrums even if it meant sacrificing the euphoria.

I’m still having food issues. I’m eating too much. I’m not eating enough. I’m sugar bingeing. I’m sugar detoxing but drinking too much coffee. I’m not eating dinner but then I’m so starving that breakfast is a donut. I’m eating dinner and my stomach is killing me. My colitis issues are ramping up, mostly thanks to a combo of sugar and stress. I do a great job of really eating for fuel and energy and body love…for a few days…and then I eat a donut or something fried, my colon complains, and I’m negligent for a few days. Rinse and repeat.

It’s frustrating. I also fell off on my Gorilla Workouts plan. Frankly, the workouts are sort of boring, so I have a hard time wanting to do them even when I know they’ll be beneficial.

So now…I’ve come up with this sort of ambitious (maybe really ambitious?) workout plan that spans the rest of the year and has me trying out a bunch of workouts of varying complexity and difficulty. Most of them are workouts I’ve had earmarked forever and just never gotten around to. I tried to organize them to get harder as the year went on, so I’m building on what I’ve already done… I’m still trying to decide if it makes sense to take on something like this, since I have a tendency to make big plans like this, not meet my own expectations, fall into a wailing pit of despair at the sight of my own ineptitude when it comes to sticking to the schedule, and then eat myself into oblivion while simultaneously moving as little as is possible. And don’t I wish any part of that was an exaggeration?

I’m hesitant about the workouts. I don’t wanna. I’ve settled into a comfortable sort of vague, almost-lazy that works for me in these cold and grey days. I don’t know if now’s the time to honor that, or if now’s the time to nip it in the bud. The creeping detachment I’ve been feeling has me thinking it’s time to try something new, make a change and maybe a big one. I don’t want to be a passive spectator in my own life. So today I’m trying to get into the right mental place to get started with this mega workout plan I’ve put together. The first workouts I have planned happen to involve a whole lot of positive thinking, mantras, inspiration, and self acceptance. They also involve a lot of sweat, and an expectation that I’ll do them five days a week for three weeks. I did pad in a buffer week to make up missed workouts, and have weekends open to do the same. Still, it feels…big. I’m scared that I can’t do it, that I won’t do it, that my reasons for not doing it are all wrong. I’m scared to share it, for fear of judgement or disappointing people or giving up or whatever else might happen.

Honestly, I’m in a weird limbo state right now, back and forth between “shut up and do it, lazy” and “you’ll never stick to it” and there lies my problem. Neither of those viewpoints are coming from a place of love. They’re all about judgement and negativity and just…bad juju. So I’m working on getting to a place where I can simply say that yes, I’ll give it a go. I’ll see how it feels to follow this plan, and I’ll make new choices about it once I’m trying it out. Maybe the plan is so wonderful that I’ll be excited to stick with it. Maybe it is a little too zealous and I’ll need more time to rest than I’ve given. And that’s alright. I’m just hoping the movement and happy thoughts process will shift me away from disastrous eating…

We’ll see. I’m still stewing…


Coffee vs. MilkIt’s 5am and I’m lying in bed, eyes barely open, thinking about my coffee. Coffee I’ve gotten into the habit of lacing with 2tbsp of store bought, sweetened creamer.

You see, I love coffee creamer. We had it in the house over Christmas because my family uses it, and it got me back into the habit. I’ve used it every morning since then.

Now, I’m sitting on my couch. It’s 6:08, and I’m nursing the last of my coffee…with no creamer. Just almond milk. All of a sudden. No planning. No announcement.

I’m going on an emergency sugar detox. Why emergency? Why now? I’m sick of feeling sick. Yesterday, after a great and satisfying breakfast and some healthy snacks, I had a bad bad bad food day. I drank too much coffee because I was exhausted. It was over sweetened because I was at work, where the coffee is awful. I also had a piece of delicious, whole wheat, chocolate cherry zucchini bread.

And then I had fried fish from a food truck for lunch, followed by a piece of pie I didn’t really want but ate because it was good and sweet and…there.

And last night, I thought I would die. I was so SO nauseated. Frankly, I have NO DOUBT that it was the fish. So why am I on a sugar detox after eating bad (or atleast way too greasy) fish? Where’s the connection?

Sugar makes me crazy. Sugar makes my brain short circuit. Sugar leads me to all kinds of unpleasant food decisions. The more sugar I eat, the more I want. It also dramatically increases my likelihood of choosing fatty, greasy, fried, processed foods too. And so, still queasy at the memory of last night’s stomach fiasco, I’m done.

I’m tapping out on the constant sugar consumption. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ve done it before and loved the results, so I’m jumping in this morning with no preparation. No creamer in my coffee. No sugary cereals. I’m on the fence about a few things, like peanut butter and that whole wheat zucchini bread. Instead of a full on NO SUGAR detox, this might begin (mostly because of that no preparation thing) as a “no trigger foods” detox – no candy, no chocolate, no baked goods, no fried things, no more expensive and never good enough food trucks.

In any case, I’m putting on the brakes. I’m slowing down from this whirlwind journey into darkness I’ve been hellbent on the last week or so. I’m done spiraling. I hate spiraling. I’m pulling it back up, exposing all my darkness to the light, and offering it up.