Back in 2012 (if my memory hasn’t failed me), my boyfriend at the time set up a blog for me. He knew that I wanted a platform to share my journey of self discovery with the world. I thought it was so cute that he had “heard” me through all of our talks about my life goals, but I never touched the thing. Not once.
I grew up dreaming about being famous, being heard.
It was as if that was the only thing that would bring significance to my life. FAME. It sounds so dirty when you think of it that way. Significance. I was certain, at the wise age of 10 years old, that if I just met Devin Sawa or Jonathan Taylor Thomas that they would fall in love with me and I would be set for life. Looking back, I’m now less surprised as this point that I switched majors in college and studied Theatre Arts. Always chasing significance and attention.
*Only child alert*
My point of all this is that this blog is not for seeking or attention or significance. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me all these years to get started (and I’m still figuring out what that’s going to look like). It’s for sharing stories of triumph and failure. It’s about growth, challenges and discovery. It’s about goals, love, life, food and family. It’s about friendship and being there for one another.
I am significant. We all are. This is about recognizing all the moments.
This is your time.
Last night I stayed after work for a Happy Hour meet and greet event. I had come off of a long 24 hours of traveling and dealing with the loss of someone dear. I had three glasses of wine and was feeling great. I mean, wine always makes me feel great. Until the next morning when my head is pounding.
I got home around 8:30 pm and realized I was starving. So I did what any normal person who is kinda drunk and dealing with food and body image issues would do. I ate the rest of the ice cream in the fridge and ordered a pizza. Okay, okay…I also ordered the parmesan bread bites.
As I sat on my couch, dipping my slices into the garlic butter included in my order, I started to think and be aware of how my body was feeling. Sure, that pizza was AMAZING. But I began to feel the grease on my face and fingers, the folds of my stomach over my comfy pants. I began to realize how sad and weak and alone I felt in that moment but that each bite was filling me with a temporary sense of purpose and comfort. But then the slice was gone and I was on to the next.
It wasn’t until I spilled the container of garlic butter on one of my throw pillows that I realized I was lost. I was sad. I was unhappy. I had lost my purpose and was no longer celebrating my moments. I had not had any victories. I had not set and crushed any goals. I also realized that my stomach hurt and I had a huge piece of pineapple stuck in my teeth. It’s cool. I was eating alone.
I woke up late this morning and I looked at my phone to realize I had 10 minutes to get up and get my ass to my workout. I made a mini goal to make it because I had made a mini goal to get 4 workouts in this week. I was 10 minutes late and had to do 40 burpees, but I made it.
I also reached out to a few friends to find support with my recent bout of depression after being assaulted. But that’s a whole other post.
I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed 153 pounds.
It’s just a number.
It’s. Just. A. Number.