Over the weekend, Cadence turned eight years old. Family came over to celebrate and we had so much fun. I cannot believe she’s eight years old!
I spent most of the weekend so stressed out. Birthday shopping, juggling four children who each have completely different needs, laundry, keeping the house cleaned, getting things in order for a birthday party, and baking a cake. All of it combined with sleep deprivation just completely overwhelmed me.
Stress is a bitch. It can, however, be a manageable bitch. I just wish I had thought about it that way before I let myself get so completely out of control this weekend.
I am so disappointed in myself, y’all.
I haven’t gotten a workout in since Thursday morning. On top of that, I’ve eaten like crap and I haven’t logged a darn thing in my food journal. Not one single thing. It started on Thursday afternoon. The backslide. I promised Cadence I’d put together her Valentine box for her Valentine’s Day party. Her box took a lot of work, but she was so surprised. It was a unicorn! I was, however, exhausted by the end of the night and decided I would workout on Friday morning instead. That workout never happened.
On Friday morning, while she was at school, her dad texted to let me know he’d be picking her up after school to spend her birthday weekend with her. I knew I had to make sure a weekender was ready for her before she got off the bus, so I went to her room to gather clothes. As I started looking, I noticed that a majority of her clothes were completely missing. The laundry room was devoid of anything waiting to be washed. She hadn’t left anything in the bathroom floor. And Ava, her older sister with whom she shares a bedroom, keeps the room clean, so there was also nothing in the bedroom floor. Where on Earth were all of their clothes?
I started snooping and oh, how I wish I hadn’t. How I wish I hadn’t looked in the closet or under the bed! Y’all, there was so much under the bed and in the closet that it completely took up the middle of their room. And here I thought Ava was keeping things clean. After all, she had been telling me for weeks that they were good on laundry and didn’t need anything washed.
Just looking at that pile of laundry made me want to pack my things and go to a hotel for a few days.
That pile of laundry is where my clean eating and routine workouts went to die. I swear it! So, here we are, going into an already busy weekend and now there’s suddenly a pile of laundry the size of Mount Everest staring me right in the face. Sure, Cadence would be leaving most of the weekend, but that doesn’t mean her needs went with her. After all, most of her clothes were in a pile on the bedroom floor and there was a birthday party to prepare for.
On Friday evening, the husband took me out for Valentine’s Day. We had sushi and I ordered a soda because bottled water wasn’t an option and our city water is disgusting. By the end of our meal, I was proud of myself. I didn’t drink even a third of that soda. I took small sips to wash down my meal, but otherwise didn’t drink it. Then we got home and, again, I was tired and decided to put my workout off until the next morning.
That workout never happened either. Washing, drying, folding, tidying up the house. It was a cycle that repeated itself the entire weekend. I ate whatever was easiest to get my hands on. Doritos, Little Debbie snacks, Valentine’s Day candy. And I didn’t workout even once. The only thing I was successful at was drinking water instead of soda. My husband loves Coca-Cola and keeps it in the house at all times. I craved it a few times, but I managed to talk myself out of that craving. I’ve finally gotten past the caffeine headaches and I do NOT want to go back to that, so I inhaled water every time I craved one.
Here I sit, however, and, as of the writing of this post, I still haven’t worked out and I spent the day eating like crap. I also still haven’t written down a single thing that I’ve eaten. Looking back on all of it, I probably don’t want to write it down. I treated my body like a waste bin this weekend. And I am not proud of it. This post is here as the turn-it-around notification to myself. I can do so much better. My body deserves so much better. And I will not reach my goals by allowing stress to trigger a backslide. There are much better methods of navigating stress. A thirty-minute workout, going for a walk, getting in some Yoga.
Backsliding is like falling down. It’s only a failure if you refuse to get try again.
Yesterday, I started working out for the first time in EIGHT YEARS!
My goodness, it was rough. By the third set of jumping jacks, I was ready to call it quits. But, I didn’t. I kept going, pushed through, and came out on the other side of that workout feeling pretty proud.
Today, despite being sore, I pushed myself to do it all over again. It’s only the second day, but I was able to get myself through it a bit easier than yesterday. I still had a hard time, but I got through it!
I don’t know if it’s just me. Maybe it is. I got to a point where I just didn’t care about my weight. Somehow, I was comfortable with being lumpy, with being out of shape, and with eating every time I became even a little bit stressed out. Sometimes, it wasn’t even about stress. Sometimes, I ate simply because I was bored.
My husband wasn’t concerned with my weight, so I told myself it was okay. Eating out of boredom was fine. Filling up on sweets was fine. Drinking several cans of Dr. Pepper a day was fine. I don’t know how I got there and I don’t know how I was so comfortable with it.
Last Sunday, I decided I was done with soda. Period. I was also done with sweets and other junk food. When I bought my little journal, I knew I didn’t want to ever have to write down four cans of Dr. Pepper in a day. Nor did I want to write down cakes or cookies or a whole bag of Doritos.
This weekend, I will be a full two weeks without pop or junk food. I drink several bottles of water everyday. I’ve even gotten to where I don’t mind drinking it at room temperature. That’s huge for me!
It’s not all about being comfortable with a different lifestyle, of course. A huge part of it is my kids. When Presley is old enough, I want to be able to go outside with her and run around the yard without feeling like I’m going to die. I want to have the stamina and energy to keep up with her. Ava, my oldest, wants me to go for jogs with her. And, most importantly, I want to teach my kids a healthier lifestyle. I don’t want to be tired and unhealthy, because I want to be there for as many of their big moments as possible. Longevity is key in all of that.
And, of course, I want to feel confident in myself. Putting on a pretty shirt only to pull it back off after noticing how it draws attention to your lumps and bumps isn’t a good feeling. At least not for me. I don’t enjoy sitting down and watching my tummy bulge out or seeing the dips in my hips with that awful little muffin top hanging out over the top of my jeans. For me at least, it’s a mood-killer. I look down, see my rolls, and immediately look for something to cover it with. It embarrasses me.
I want to feel happy and confident in my own skin.
So, here’s to workout number two and my journey to a healthier, stronger version of myself!
This week’s motivation comes from my previous post. Being told you’re too old, too thin, too fat, too whatever is not a reason to stop being who you are nor it is a reason to stop doing what makes you happy. Do you for you without worrying about the opinions of others. At the end of the day, you’re the only one responsible for your happiness.
As of writing this, I am 33 years old.
I am a 33 year old who loves clothes. More specifically, I love skirts and dresses.
Then I heard that awful six-word phrase used in an attempt to admonish me against wearing such things.
“You’re too old to wear that.”
It hit me hard. Being in my 30s means I am suddenly too old to wear certain things. Those things are intended for early 20s and not early 30s. My reluctance to wear or purchase such things since that warning got me wondering. Is there really a magical point where you suddenly become too old to wear certain clothes? Is there an age limit on skirts and dresses?
My husband loves the way I dress. He is the same age as me and has never once made a negative remark about my choice of clothing. Most of my non-work clothes look like the above image. Skirts. Tights. Rompers. Dresses. Feminine blazers. They are an obsession. I love them. I feel happy, feminine, and very comfortable in them. He only ever has nice things to say about the way I dress.
I still worry, though. I’ve been sticking to pants and blouses ever since hearing that I am too old. It’s such an awful thing to hear. It’s right up there with negative comments regarding your physique. No one wants to hear that they’re too thin, too fat, or too old. Whether or not you believe it, those statements stick with them, eating away at them, making them question themselves constantly. It destroys how a person views themself.
Is it entirely impossible to just allow people to feel good about themselves? Having an opinion is fine, but is it really worth voicing if it tears someone’s self-esteem down even by the smallest measure? Am I really too old to continue wearing skirts and dresses? Is it best to stick with shirts and blouses at my age?
What do you think? Leave a comment and let me know.
Finally! I am over the six-weeks postpartum hump! Honestly, I have been waiting for this day since the day that I was admitted to the hospital to have my little girl. I am thrilled to have her, but I am also thrilled to have my body back to myself. Being beyond six-weeks postpartum, I am officially cleared to start getting myself back in shape. Since there are no more babies in my future, that also means it is the best possible time in my life to start working on improving my health and fitness.
This week’s motivation is dedicated to the beginning of a new journey:
Getting into the best shape of my life!