Author: BecomingBetty

They Call it the Present Because it’s a Gift

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There is no time like the present.  I really mean that.  Right now is the time to start doing whatever it is that you know that you need to do but have been avoiding.  You may think it’s too big.  You may think you’re not ready.  Whatever idea it is that you have in your head that’s holding you back, get RID of it.

I’ve spent pretty much my entire adult life being overweight, obese, or morbidly obese.  I’ve used every excuse out there.  I can justify anything.  I’m the master procrastinator.  I’d go see my doctor and he’d bug me about my weight.  My line was always, “One thing at a time.  I’ll deal with (fill in the blank), and then I’ll work on the weight.”

I dealt with the broken leg, the thyroid, the illness and death of several people close to me, undergrad, law school, setting up a law practice, and countless crises that come with the territory of being a wife, mother and human being. When I had bloodwork, my numbers were good.  Although I was borderline hypertensive, my A1C and lipids were good.  I prided myself on being “healthy fat.”  I had a love affair with Ballreich’s potato chips and anything sweet or salty.

Just about a year ago I was sitting at my office conference table with three friends who were in my Rotary Club.  We were discussing what needed to happen and how to get things rolling.  As one of my colleagues was talking, I realized that the room was fading.  I broke into a cold sweat.  My heart was doing weird jumpy things, and I couldn’t concentrate.  I considered asking one of my friends to call my husband to take me to the hospital.  I was feeling that strange.  However, I said nothing.  I concluded the meeting, went upstairs to my office and collapsed into my chair.  I was chilled and clammy. I wondered if I was sick or dying, and at the moment, I wasn’t sure if I cared.  Life wasn’t much fun.  I had a hard time moving on the best of days.  I was tired of watching the people who I cared about get sick and die.

Whatever happened was happening to me passed.  I went about my business and finished up the day.  I didn’t pass out, die, or get sicker.  I also didn’t say anything to anyone about what had happened.  In retrospect, it was probably an anxiety attack, but in that moment it felt like death was knocking at the door.

I got up the next morning and realized that something had to change.  I had put off going to the doctor because I didn’t want to have the conversation about my weight.  I hadn’t been on a scale in months.  I don’t know exactly how heavy I was, but it was a big scary number, and it was only one of my problems.

I posted in a Facebook group full of ladies I met on another internet site that I was having some troubles in my life that had me feeling very discouraged.  One of those ladies suggested I look for a group called Moms Run This Town.  She said that not only would I feel better getting some running in, but the other ladies would be great listeners as I worked through my issues.  I thanked her, and laughed silently at the thought of me running anywhere.

Over the course of the next week or two, more people suggested I try running.  One offered to train with me for a 5K race.  Although we lived miles apart, and the training together would be virtual, I agreed to give it a try.  That night I put on my walking shoes and dusted off the treadmill.  I walked a mile.  It took a good, long time, but it felt good.

I remembered a line from The Shawshank Redemption.  Red said, “get busy living, or get busy dying.”  I decided to get busy living.  I’d been just simply going through the motions for far too long.

When I first started exercising, it felt like I would never be able to “run” a mile without stopping.  In those first weeks, I spent lots of time holding on to the side rails of the treadmill and supporting a good part of my weight with my arms.  Still, I faithfully got on that treadmill night after night.

Time passed, and I got up the courage to go to a running store for a pair of real running shoes.  They didn’t laugh at me.  I didn’t get sarcastic comments or rude remarks.  I left the store with a box with a pair of shoes that cost a good chunk of change and I vowed not to let them gather dust in the closet.  I vowed that if God would just let me live long enough to undo some of the damage I had done to my body, I would enjoy life again.

As I progressed, I left the safety of the house for the high school track and then trails at local parks.  I began participating in 5K and 10K races.  I marvelled as a doe and fawn watched me run.  I came alive listening to the sounds of nature.  I began looking for new places to run.  I visited parks and neighborhoods in my town that I had never been to in the 15 years that I have lived here.

I’ve listened to music of every genre, waved at hundreds of strangers, learned to enjoy a good sweaty run, and I’ve enjoyed (nearly) every moment of it.  I’ve learned that chocolate tastes better if you have to run a mile to earn a piece, and that potato chips are still my kryptonite.

Since that day in March 2014, I have run over 450 miles.  Today, I ran a half marathon on the indoor track at my gym.  In two weeks, I will repeat that feat at Walt Disney World dressed as Ursula from The Little Mermaid.  I can hardly wait.  I’m still 100 pounds overweight, but I can run a half marathon.

half marathon

I’ve done a lot of reviewing the past year.  What does it have to do with the present?  I’m still here.  I’m healthier than I’ve been in years.  I’m happier than I’ve been in years.  My life is still not perfect, but life is sweeter because I received a wakeup call.  Only when I thought that I might possibly be dying did I realize how sweet life really is.  I don’t take my life for granted any longer.  I want to live long enough to dance at the grandchildren’s weddings.  I want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane on my 65th birthday.  None of those experiences are promised.  Life is sweet and it can be cut short in a moment.  When you “get busy living,” every moment, even the sad ones, is a gift.

I don’t know what you’re struggling with.  I don’t know what battle you are waging and which side is winning.  I do know that whatever you want to happen, there is no better time than right now to start doing something about it.  If you want to lose weight, get up and walk right now.  Don’t wait until Monday to start your exercise program.  If you want to write a book, grab your pen and write an outline.  If you want to learn to play Rhapsody in Blue, get up and play the first page as slow as you have to play it to get all of the fingers in the right place.

If you want to run a half marathon, put one on the calendar.  Pay the registration.  Recruit a partner.

There is no time like the present.  Tomorrow is not promised.  You will never regret starting right now.  A year from now you’ll wonder why you waited so long.  I promise.

Don’t Be Ashamed of Your Story

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I didn’t come up with this title on my own.  It hit me smack between my eyes first thing this morning as I reviewed my Facebook feed.  I thank Kara Louisell for sharing it.  Check out her FB page for lots of inspiration.  https://www.facebook.com/karalouisell?fref=photo

dont be afraid

I shared this image on my own Facebook feed this morning.  I’ve made a lot of changes in my life in the past 10 months or so.  As a result, I’ve shed a bunch of weight.  I’ve run over 350 miles.  I’ve learned new ways to deal with sadness.  I’ve begun reaching out to others, learning to delegate, and being kinder to myself.  I’ve chronicled those changes and shared them here and on my Facebook page along the way.

I’m not normally an attention-seeker.  I’m a little bit uncomfortable being in the public eye.  I like to work behind he scenes.  I’m the person who doesn’t generally strike up a conversation, but I enjoy it immensely once given the opportunity to engage.  I’m naturally quick to discount a compliment and I still don’t like the way I look.  I’m my own worst critic.

I’ve become one of those annoying people who “checks in” at the gym on Facebook.  My nike+ app tells my friends when I start a run and how far I go.  I’ve posted pictures *eek* spandex, covered in sweat, painted up, covered in colored powder, and generally having fun while being less than necessarily “proper.”

A long-time friend posted something recently about people who stay the course without need for praise from others as opposed to people who do things half-way and seek applause.  I pray that I’m not the person that friend had in mind.  I share these changes because many have shared privately that I am inspiring them to change, too.

I am very uncomfortable being anyone’s inspiration.  I know how fallible I am.  I know how often I stray from my health diet and eat potato chips.  I am very aware when I skip a workout to go shopping or watch TV.  I’m imperfect.  I’m still overweight.  I mess up.  I don’t FEEL very inspirational.

Perhaps that imperfection – the humanity – is what inspires?  I have lost 75 pounds through sheer determination despite going through down spells, having injuries, and just feeling grumpy some days.  I’m not a fitness model.  I haven’t reached my goal weight.  I finish last at most races that I run.  My flaws are myriad – but my sincerity is real.

When people started telling me that I INSPIRE them, I wanted to tell them not to be absurd.  But, just as I learned to accept a compliment graciously, I’m learning to accept that I have no right to tell another person what (or who) is “good enough” to inspire her.

My story is complicated and colorful.  I’ve been through a lot of challenges, and despite it all I’ve managed to carry on. I’ve made decisions that I’m not proud of, but I am proud of where those decisions have brought me.  Perhaps that’s why I have been given the gift of being able to inspire others.

I’ve made a decision not to be ashamed of my story.  It’s mine to tell – all mine.  It’s different from your story.  Perhaps it will inspire you to change.  Perhaps it will inspire you to block me on Facebook.  I just write what I know.

A fresh page

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journalI wish that I had had the foresight to purchase a beautiful new hand-tooled leather journal with handmade paper pages to open for 2015 and write the first words of the new year.  I didn’t have that foresight.  Instead, I am writing here.  It’s okay.

I had a rough start to 2015. Last year didn’t end the way I planned it.  All in all, the past 2-3 months were just rotten.  The events that took place were upsetting, and completely outside of my control.   Those of you who know me best know how hard that is on me.  I try to be a “just go with the flow” person, but it’s just not in my nature.  I like to have a plan and I like to stick to it.  If the plan needs to be changed, I need warning.

Just before events began to spiral out of control, I was in a very good place physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  I was feeling so “zen.”  I’d come up with a plan to [eventually] supplement my law practice income doing something that I would enjoy immensely.  I had a plan.  I could see myself taking the steps needed to actualize that plan and realize the goals.  I was PSYCHED!

Self doubt is a funny thing.  It’s insidious (I love that word).  It creeps in slowly.  Before long, it erodes the progress you’ve made.  You fall back into unhealthy patterns that manifest themselves in various unpleasant ways.

We started the new year cleaning up the house this morning.  Before long, I was the only guest at a pity party, and it was a dandy.  I posted on Facebook that I was having a rough start to the new year.  My friends rallied.  One told me that someone was posting as me, because I am a positive person.  That got my attention.  Another told me to physically turn myself around.  I did that.  I spun clockwise, then counterclockwise.  Then, I started spinning and spinning until I got so dizzy that when I stopped, the world kept spinning.  It was fun, but I don’t recommend trying it if you’re over 10.

The world got brighter.  I left the negative of the past 60 days behind, if only for a a while.

I have a fresh notebook with clean pages.  It may not be a leather-bound masterpiece, but It’s not yet spoiled.  What I write on it is entirely of my choosing.  I can’t completely control what happens to the book.  It may be carried off or spilled on.  I’m the only one, though, who can write on its pages.

On the first page, I will list some of my goals for 2015:

* I will register for the first class of several that I need to get the certification I want to reach the goal I have in mind.

* I will continue on my path to greater physical fitness.  As a part of that goal, I will renew my gym membership, enrol in at least one group fitness class to meet new people, and I will continue my running program.  I will continue to eat whole foods and do a better job of staying away from sweets and processed foods.

* Although this is part of my path to physical fitness, it is worth it’s own category.  I will continue to run.  On January 1, 2014, I couldn’t walk a mile without breathing heavy.  Since March 2014, I have run over 330 miles.  I have run on treadmills and tracks.  I’ve run on trails through woods and by lakes.  I’ve participated in (and finished) four 5K races and a 10K race.  I will run my first half marathon in 2015.

* I will reconnect and engage with people.  The second half of 2014 was a very solitary time for me.  I realized only recently how much I need people.  I need to look for opportunities to meet with friends for uplifting each other and sharing ideas.

* I will spend more time in prayer and meditation.  Some of that time will be talking with God on the running path.  Some of it will be communing with others in church, and some of it may even be in less traditional settings.

* I will be mindful of the fact that nobody else is responsible for my happiness (or my unhappiness).  I will take steps to remind myself of that fact.

* I will remember to have fun.  It’s been too long since we took a vacation.  I want to plan a road trip to meet up with some of my network of “invisible friends” who have helped me through so many difficult times in the past 8 years.

* I will worry less about making other happy and instead try to simply do the right thing.  If doing the right thing makes others unhappy, that’s about them and not about me.

* I will continue to share my journey here and continue to refine the plans for the goal that makes me so happy.

That was probably more than a page.  Just writing about positive things made me feel happier.  What’s on your page?

I Sure Wish God Didn’t Trust Me So Much

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I don’t know whether she ever truly said it, but Mother Teresa is credited with saying,

“I know God won’t give me anything I can handle.  I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.”

I’ve shared that quotation on my Facebook wall in times when life is handing me lemons so fast that I can’t make the lemonade quickly enough to use them all up.

Yesterday, one of my many beloved Invisible Friends (people I have met online and have never had the pleasure to meet in real life) posted words to the effect that she doesn’t believe the old adage that “God won’t give us more than we can handle” is appropriate to say to someone in their time of trouble. God doesn’t give us the pain, but he helps us through it. She later posted a link to a powerful blog by another writer who expanded on the thought.  Having had a day to think about it, and facing my own obstacles this morning, I must say that I am in agreement.

Life is not fair.  

Cancer and other terminal illness has been a constant in my close family since 2006 when my wonderful father-in-law succumbed to cancer after successfully fighting it off multiple times.  No more than a month after we laid him to rest, my own father was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.  It seemed that he had no more than gone into remission than he was struck with severe congestive heart failure as the result of damage to his heart muscle from the chemotherapy that had saved his life.  We fell back into a rhythm for a short time, and Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She had surgery to remove her right breast and 23 lymph nodes, which all tested positive for cancer.  She consented to radiation, but refused the chemotherapy which might have killed off the cancer cells that remained.  We lost Dad a short time later.  Mom was struggling to recover herself and caring for him.  They finally consented to come to my home so that I could help, and we lost Dad within 2 weeks.  I struggled.  I thought that surely now things must get easier.

Mom’s PET scans have been negative for cancer in her soft tissue since that time.  However, a tumor marker protein in her blood work has been creeping up – slowly at first, and now rapidly.  She went for a repeat PET scan last week and yesterday her oncologist said that there is no sign of tumor in her soft tissue, so we must look to the bone. The tumor marker is elevated to the point that there is no question – there is an active disease process raging in her body that will require aggressive treatment.

My dear mother looked defeated – not at the thought that the cancer was in her bones, but more at the thought that she must, again, endure another long test in a lonely room with no television, no music, and not even a picture on the wall to look at.  My heart wanted to break.

We went from the doctor’s office to get lunch, visit family, and go shopping.  Mom seems to be handling it all very well.  I, on the other hand, am ready to pitch a hissy fit.  My friend’s post was timely.  God isn’t testing me.  God isn’t giving this to me.  Life happens.  It isn’t all about me.   God didn’t select me out of all of the people on this planet to shoulder the load I am toting right now because he has some belief that I am tough and I can handle a little bit more.  I am not Job.

We are intricate creations, but our design allows flaws (cancer and other disease) to develop.  Our environment and our choices influence the likelihood that disease process will start, stop, slow or speed up.  We don’t have an infinite life here on earth.  Our bodies eventually wear out, whether or not cancer strikes.  Eighty-six years is a long life by any standard.  Many women don’t get to keep their mothers for 47+ years.  I’m not giving up hope, by any means, but I know that whether it is cancer or heart disease or simply old age, I am going to lose my mother  – I just don’t know when.  This latest crisis has removed my ability to pretend it won’t happen.  It’s not an “if” – it is a “when”.  Death happens to us all.

I will survive this challenge.  I will not survive it because I am strong, though.  I will survive it because I have no choice in the matter.  I will pray for strength and for grace and peace.  God didn’t give this particular challenge to me because I have some ability to be resilient.  God didn’t plan for me to find my husband after his suicide in 1998.  He didn’t plan for me to tell the doctors to remove life support for Dad in 2013.  God didn’t plan this – he gave us free will.  He’s not the superhero in the sky whose purpose is to go around putting out fires for those who are too weak to handle it.  Instead, he promises us his grace.

I will be there for my Mom through whatever treatment she chooses to take.  She will turn to God for comfort, as will I.  God doesn’t give me challenges because I am strong.  I am presented with challenges because I am human – I am alive.  Mom is alive, too.  I will treasure our remaining days together whether I have to say goodbye to her, or whether I am the first to leave this earthly plane.

I will experience more pain, suffering and grief than I can handle.  God’s not dishing it out to test me.  People around me aren’t developing cancer because I am strong.  I don’t have to be strong.  I can admit that I am powerless.  I can allow myself to cry.  It isn’t all about me – and I’m so glad it isn’t.  It’s not about God trusting me – it’s about me trusting Him for strength to weather the storms.

A Clean Heart (and the Cone of Shame)

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Once upon a time, I had a little cat and a little dog.  They were sworn enemies.  One day the little dog gave chase to the little cat and caught her.  Little dog created two tiny punctures in the little cat’s side.  We washed them and treated them with antibiotic.  They scabbed over and nearly healed, but they must have begun to itch.  Little cat ripped off the scabs and the little holes became a little bigger.

We cleaned them again and they began to heal.  They were looking great when little cat once again ripped the scabs off and the holes became even larger.  This happened once again, and the two holes became one large gaping wound.  There was still no infection, but it was a scary looking wound.  We took little cat to the vet and he said that he couldn’t stitch it because the risk of infection would be too great.  Instead, he fitted her with the cone of shame.

dug

The cone of shame worked its trick.  She stopped picking at her wound, and the wound got smaller and smaller until it healed once and for all.

Yesterday I spent a lot of mental energy dwelling on something someone said to someone else that wasn’t even directed at me. My child brought home an illustration from class that I thought was inappropriate.  I posted it on Facebook and garnered support from my friends and began to feel self-righteous.  I presented my point of view in an email to the person who originated the distasteful example and went to my “zen den” to try to let it go.

The joy of sitting in a darkened room lit only by candles, listening to soft sounds and wrapped in the warm embrace of a soft blanket is that in the stillness, God can speak to our busy minds.  Last night I had such an experience.  As I watched the thoughts drift in and out of my mind, a bit of scripture turned into song came into view and stayed long enough to stick.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.

-Psalm 51:10

I did not dwell on that thought last night, but the subtle experience made its impression.  My husband came to find me and we watched some television together and slept peacefully.

This morning I received an email in reply to my message.  The person who used the example that upset me failed to understand where I was coming from.  The peace I had found in my private sanctuary last night dissolved, and I experienced, once again, the sting of perceived rejection.

I got ready for work, leashed Jimi the Wonderdog and drove to the office.  My office is in disarray right now.  I’ve been trying to fit too many things into too little time while worrying about too many things.  I realized that no meaningful work could happen until I took care of the piles and restored proper order.

As I tidied piles and washed dirty mugs, the psalm/song came back into my mind.  Sometimes we need to take a moment to clean our heart so that we can get back to work, too.  Holding onto resentment allows us to go back to it time after time, picking and picking until the wound becomes larger and larger.   I asked God for help to forgive and forget and to renew a spirit of tolerance, kindness and forgiveness within my heart.

 I really don’t want to wear the Cone of Shame.

Love and Light,

*Be*

It isn’t all about you

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It’s sometimes difficult to look at the big picture.  I’ve often been guilty of seeing only how something affects me and not how the same circumstance affects those around me.  It’s human nature.  I don’t wear the other person’s shoes, so it’s not always easy to know how they feel.  At the same time, not knowing what is plaguing others, it’s easy to misinterpret bad moods, scowls and just plain lack of friendliness as a personal assault when it’s quite possible that the person is actually distracted or consumed by events that have absolutely nothing to do with me.

Nearly two decades ago a very wise woman listened to my complaint of the day and said, “Betty, it’s not all about you.”  I was taken aback.  I felt attacked.  I was pouring out my heart to someone who was there to listen, and she had the NERVE to tell me that my pain wasn’t about me.  Seconds later, she said, again, “It’s not all about you...  and you can be so glad it isn’t.”

I learned all about “Jesus Christ Syndrome” from that wise woman.  She told me that I “take on the sins of the world.”  I really do tend to blame myself for a lot of things.  I say “I’m sorry” a lot.  My friend once challenged me to go an entire week without apologizing to anyone for anything (I didn’t make it).

This morning I had a reminder that “it’s not all about me.”

My husband and I go to the gym together.  I had a rough start last year.  Actually, I had a (couple of) false start(s) last year.  I was extremely obese, self conscious, and absolutely sure that everyone would be starting at me at the gym.  I invented errands to do on the way to the gym and the errands gave me opportunities to become very upset with my poor husband about something dumb and as a result, I had an excuse to demand that he take me back home without setting foot in the gym.

After two of those incident, I finally made it past the front desk.  The staff were smiling and the other members were not staring at me.  I had a good time and it soon became a habit.  I’ve been going regularly now for about 6 months, and until recently I’ve never had a negative experience.  Recently, though, things changed.

There is a male staff member at the gym whose actions today reminded me that it isn’t all about me.  I smile a lot and I say good morning to just about everyone.  It’s just how I am.  This guy never smiles back.  Sometimes, when I am walking my warm-up laps around the track, he stands in the middle of the track to watch Fox news.  He never smiles.  He rarely makes eye contact.  He exudes contempt.

I was really very happy this morning.  Think about Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, and you’ll get a good idea of how bouncy I was feeling.  I was jamming out to Time Warp, Funky Town, and other favorite tunes as I walked around the track when I came upon Mr. Muscles directly in my path.  I gave him a big smile and said, “good morning!”  He looked right at me, locked eyes for an uncomfortable second or two and said NOTHING.

I checked my clothing for stains.  I sniffed to see if I smelled funny.  I ran my fingers through my hair, made sure that I was walking the correct direction around the track, checked my shoes for dog poop and concluded that I was okay, but that he either has a problem with women in general or just with fat women.  Whatever caused him to stare me down was obviously my fault.  I wondered what I did wrong.  I finished the workout avoiding all possibility of making eye contact with him.  I lost the bounce in my step, and felt my Tigger mood transition to Eeyore.

I finished my workout and dashed down the steps, collected my belongings from the locker room and got in the car.  Once we were in the safety of our car, I turned to my husband and asked him if he had noticed the tall blonde staff member wearing the Lifeguard shirt.  He said he knew who I was talking to.  I told him that I thought I must have irritated him because he wouldn’t even say “Good Morning.”  He chuckled and said, “it’s not about you – it’s him.”  Darling Hubby, too, had tried to engage Mr. Muscles.  He didn’t get as far as I did because Mr. Muscles wouldn’t even make eye contact.

Darling Hubby said, “It’s obvious that guy doesn’t like his job.  He doesn’t want to be here.  He doesn’t like the members.  He doesn’t like the work.  He probably won’t be here long.”

I don’t know if Darling Hubby is right on all accounts or not.  Mr. Muscles may work at the gym for a long time, but I do think he’s likely correct in stating that Mr. Muscles isn’t a happy guy.  It’s not all about me, and I’m so glad it isn’t!

Today was a good reminder that it’s not all about me.   Just as nobody else is responsible for my happiness, I’m not likely to single-handedly ruin someone else’s day very often – especially not a stranger.

One key to my happiness is to live my life trying to do the right thing.  The words below have often been attributed to Mother Teresa.  I don’t know if she actually said them, but  I love them.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

It’s not all about you, and aren’t you glad it isn’t?

Nobody else can “make” you happy

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My blog is titled “just write what you know.”  I know a lot of things about a lot of things.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I am an expert on any subject, but there are areas where I am well-versed.  This post isn’t about one of those subjects.  This post is on a lesson learned hard, and one I may never master.

Nobody else can make you happy.

The moment you depend on someone else for your happiness, it’s all over.  People can certainly say or do things that make you UNhappy. Don’t get me wrong – other people can do things that help you feel good about yourself, and their actions can give you happy moments.   However, most of us aren’t content to go through life unhappy with little bursts of happiness that depend solely on someone else’s actions.  To me, at least, that would be an unhappy existence.

If what you seek is a life that is full of peace, joy, contentment and satisfaction, you must take responsibility for your own happiness.  As a first step, being happy requires that you learn about yourself.  Do you consciously seek out experiences that you enjoy, or do you just go along for the ride with your friends or significant other because you don’t want to rock the boat?  I like to do things that make other people happy. Doing for others is sometimes easier than doing for myself.  Doing things that make others feel happy feels good.  Doing something just for me can feel selfish.  If you know that feeling, it’s time for you to understand that doing something for yourself or buying something for yourself is not selfish.

What experiences or things do you enjoy just for the sake of pleasure? If you could spend an hour alone, what would make that hour enjoyable?  If you had $10 and had to spend it on yourself right now on something completely unnecessary, what would you buy? If you can’t name at last five answers to either question, it’s time to figure it out!

With my hour alone, I would run alone on a trail in the fall woods.  I would crochet in my zen den with all of the candles lit and soothing music playing on the stereo.  I would brew a pot of tea in a real tea pot and drink it out of a china cup while looking out the window.  I would lose myself in a novel wrapped up in front of the fire in the afghan my mom made for me.  I would sit in the sun watching waves lap at the sand.  Those would be happy hours.

With a ten spot in my pocket, I could buy an abandoned treasure at the thrift shop and imagine a story for it.  I could buy a bar (or two) of hand-crafted soap that smells sweet and makes me look forward to a hot shower or a soak in the tub.  I could buy a couple of dark chocolate covered sea salt caramels to savor (and have $8) left over.  I could buy a book for my kindle that would take me to a far away place I’ll never see and pull me into a story rich with imagination.

The next thing you need to learn is that happiness doesn’t come from things – it comes from a place deep down inside.  Happiness is an emotion, and it is subjective.  What I label “happy,” you may label “content,” or “peaceful,” or maybe “giddy,” “joyful,” or “downright crazy.”  What you call it is unimportant.  What matters is that I know what happy feels like to me, and I know when I’m feeling it.  I can be happy and feel sadness at the same time.  I can be happy for others while I suffer disappointment.  I can be happy for myself when seeing others in pain.  Happy is a state of being.  Having things we love or doing things we enjoy can give us glimpses of happiness.  Once we become accustomed to those glimpses of happiness, it becomes easier to remember what happy feels like.  When you feel down, you can remember those happy moments and summon up the strength and the emotion to recall what it feels like to be happy.

I remember being in relationship that ended badly and feeling that I would never be happy again.  I remember people doing things that hurt me, or things that I didn’t approve of and feeling that they were responsible for my dark emotions.  What I had not learned yet was that although those events saddened me, I still retained a choice regarding how I would respond to those events.  I could choose to be bitter because my love found someone else.  I could choose to be angry because someone else did something negative, OR, I could choose to accept that their decision caused me pain but that I could still choose to be happy.

Once you’ve mastered the art of creating your own happiness, you can experience the pain, anger and sadness without allowing it to overcome you.  Taking a moment to reflect on what is good in your life, to enjoy something that soothes you, and to react to the negative experience in a healthy way allows you to move back to your peace, contentment or happiness.

My own quiet life includes prayer.  I believe in a higher power.  When there are issues that I cannot solve, praying for wisdom brings me peace.  Even if you do not have a belief in God, learning that worrying over things you cannot change changes nothing allows you to put the worry aside.

When I began my fitness journey, I discovered Diamond Dallas Page’s DDPYoga program.  One of DDP’s pearls of wisdom is that “Life is 10% what happens and 90% how you react to it.”  DDP is a smart guy.

I’m in a place in my life where I have a lot of things to be thankful for and a lot of problems to face.  The people in my life are mostly adults with free will.  Sometimes they make choices that I approve of, and sometimes they don’t.  Learning that I can be happy even when things don’t go my way is difficult.  I’m not close to mastering that skill.  I’ve accepted, though, that my happiness is my own responsibility.

 I’ll admit that the journey is much more enjoyable with someone who cares about my happiness.   I don’t need someone else to make me happy, though.  I have to learn to get there on my own.

Everybody has a story

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I’ve never attended a twelve-step meeting, but I’m familiar with the one day at a time concept.  I have often used it, or variations (one semester at a time, one month at a time…you get the idea) to deal with difficult or stressful events.  I got through law school 16 weeks at a time.  I told myself that I could do anything for 16 weeks, and having resolved to do so, I finished on schedule.

I started making some big changes in my life in March.  There was no plan.  I was afraid that I was going to die.  I had a couple of scary medical events.  I was hypertensive, morbidly obese, and full of excuses.  With a thyroid disorder, a busted up leg, severe arthritis, COPD and likely close to type II diabetes, I was a mess and convinced that my sedentary lifestyle and obesity were beyond my control.

One day in February I was in a meeting in my conference room and the room began to get black around the edges while a ringing in my ears got louder and louder.  I didn’t pass out.  The event passed and I lived in far that it might repeat itself. Soon thereafter, I was walking through the grocery store with my husband when I broke into a cold sweat.  I could feel my heart beating, and I couldn’t wait to get back home to crawl into bed and see if I lived until morning.

This pattern repeated itself a few times over the course of a few weeks.  I did not seek medical attention because I was convinced that my physician would scold me about my weight.  I had a gym membership that had been unused for at least 9 months.  Several times I got dressed for the gym only to have a panic attack on the way there and scream at my husband until he drove me back home.  I was convinced people would stare.  I was convinced people would laugh.  I was convinced that people would find me disgusting – and tell me so.

One day, I hit rock bottom.  My health was scaring me.  I was short-tempered, my family was bewildered, and I was depressed.  I went to the doctor.  He added a prescription for an anti-depressant to my list of meds and told me I needed to lose weight.  I said I would (like I had each time I saw him over the many years before), and scheduled my follow up visit.

The next day, I decided it was time to “get busy living, or get busy dying.”  I dusted off the treadmill (we won’t talk about the thickness of the dust layer) and took a step.  I don’t remember how long it took me, but I walked a mile that first day.  I went back the next day and tried jogging a little bit.  I was thrilled when I was able to “sprint” 2.5 mph for 30 seconds.  Day after day, I went back to the treadmill, and was amazed at the difference those 20, 30 or 40 minutes made in my attitude.

I began to share those little successes with my facebook friends.  I found a iPhone app that tracked my runs.  My feet starting hurting, and I asked my facebook friends to help me pick out a pair of running shoes.  I received scores of comments and suggestions from runners and walkers who are scattered all over the country.  Boosted by their well wishes, and filled with a sense that this time would be different, I entered a running store and plunked down $120 for my first pair of running shoes.  On that day I posted a photo of my new kicks and decided “I am a runner.”

Having found the confidence to walk into a store for athletes without being met with scorn or laughter, I resolved to try the gym again.  Armed with my new shoes, I made it through the door and through a circuit without anyone laughing, pointing, or (to my knowledge) posting a picture of my backside to their flickr account.

I have a hugely supportive circle of family and friends.  They have “liked” and commented on my runs (which makes my phone cheer), they have put up with me posting photos of myself in spandex, shining with sweat and holding up a medal.  I began posting for accountability’s sake, and along the way I have received many messages telling me to keep posting because I have inspired my friends to make changes in their own lives.

As I share my story, those friends keep telling me to write a book.  I love the idea, but didn’t know where to begin. I finally know where the book is coming from. I am a survivor.  I am a fighter.  I am a listener.  I am changing my life one day at a time, one step at a time, and one mile at a time.

My name is Betty.  This is my story.  It’s still being played out.  I want to help you become the person you were meant to be.  I can’t tell you how to do it, but I can tell you how I’m going about it, and perhaps you will find inspiration to do the same.

Every story has to have a beginning.  You may see parts of mine in flashback, but for now, we’ll start here: “Once upon a time there was an unhappy woman who was scared of life.  She was sick, and tired, and didn’t know where to turn.  This is the story of how she took her life back.”

Simple Gifts

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Years ago I read a book called “The Five Love Languages” by Dr. Gary Chapman.  Through Dr. Chapman’s book, I learned several valuable lessons about myself and about my relationships, both past and present.  I learned that my primary love language is gifts.  I love to give gifts.  It is one of the primary ways that I show others that I love them.  I love to receive gifts, too.  When someone takes the time to find and give me something that they feel I would enjoy, it makes me feel quite cared for.

My husband is not naturally a “gifts” person.  He is an “acts of service person,” meaning he expresses his love by doing for others.  (He makes me coffee every morning and does all of my laundry for me).  He feels loved when I make him dinner or do work that benefits his office.

We recently had a conversation about our love languages.  Somehow, I had failed previously to convey that a gift need not be expensive or complicated to make me feel loved.  I gave him the example of the french-milled “real” soaps that I love.  While they may be expensive for “just soap,” in the grand scheme of gifts, they are a BARGAIN at $3.00 – $5.00.  I had a new bar of soap in my hands moments later, and I have enjoyed it immensely.

A sales rep that I had not seen in many years learned from my secretary that I can’t eat gluten, so her usual gift of bagels was something that I could not consume.  She took the time to ask my secretary what I enjoy.  My secretary told her that I love tea, and gave her some examples of the types of tea that I enjoy.  The sales rep came to our appointment with a beautiful gift bag full of some of my favorite teas.  I felt cared for.  It cemented my relationship with her company.

Speaking of secretaries…I have the best.  Knowing my love for tea, she lovingly trots across the parking lot to the little coffee shop across the street on a regular basis to bring me back a hot cup of earl gray or English breakfast tea.  Although I have a huge stash of tea here at the office, she brings me a cup that someone else prepared.

As our family has grown, a large part of our family Christmas has become the exchange of homemade gifts.  I’ve enjoyed homemade cheesecake, homemade vanilla extract, gorgeous plates of cookies, gluten-free brownies, handcrafted wine, and lovingly crocheted doilies and afghans.

There is no greater way for me to relax than to sit in the “zen den” that my husband lovingly created just for me and wrap myself in the loving hug of an afghan crocheted by my mother while sipping a cup of tea brewed from a gift out of a teacup chosen just for me.

Thoughtful gifts are becoming a lost art as gift cards become a common place item.  I’ve been guilty many times of dashing to the store at the last minute for a fistful of plastic cards.  This year I’m going to remember to keep it simple and give thoughtful gifts that my loved ones can enjoy throughout the year.

While there’s nothing wrong with presenting an elaborate or expensive gift if your budget supports it, I love the simple gifts. Kids… you’re off the hook!

Looking Backward (and Finding Motivation)

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Looking backward in life can be dangerous.  It can lead to revisiting past hurts and disappointments, it can lead to sadness over lost opportunities.  It can be a very negative experience.  However, looking backward can also be a tool for measuring success.

I’ve spent 2014 making some very large changes in my life.  This is the year that I finally grabbed the tiger by the tail and got serious about making my health a priority.  With at least 167 pounds to lose, getting healthy is no small proposition.  I’d spent many years as an obese or morbidly obese individual.  I have health conditions that make it more difficult to lose weight.  I’d convinced myself that because I wasn’t yet diabetic and my blood pressure was only marginally high, I was “healthy fat.”

I’ve lost (and regained) over 100 pounds twice before in my life.  Looking back, I’m convinced that things really are going to be different this time, and the key is that I have a completely different mindset.  This time, rather than viewing the changes I must make as temporary measures necessary to effect a change, I am changing my lifestyle for good.

I’ve lost 70 pounds through a combination of diet and exercise.  I don’t follow a prescribed diet.  I have completely eliminated certain foods because they actually make me ill, and not because a book says I have to eliminate them to lose weight.  I have incorporated regular exercise, I log every mouthful of food, and I weigh myself 1-2 times per month.

Getting to this milestone has taken seven months.  Historically, this is the time in the process where I have started backsliding – and ultimately failing in my efforts to get healthy.

I will admit that I came close to throwing in the towel after an injury set me back.  I went a week with little exercise.  Instead of finding an alternative, I found excuses.  Fortunately, a post came across my Facebook feed that reminded me that the key to success is often looking at the progress you have made instead of the distance left to travel.

I am a firm believer that life should be lived looking forward instead of back, but I now realize that there are times for reflection.  As a result, I did an exercise that I should have done at the outset of this journey: I made a list of all of the things that my prior weight prevented.  I wanted to be able to:

  • Get off the floor without help
  • Ride a roller coaster
  • Fasten the seat belt in my husband’s old corvette without help
  • Cross my legs
  • Climb the stairs without being out of breath
  • Put on a pair of pantyhose without a struggle
  • Sit in a restaurant booth without a struggle
  • Fit into an airplane seat and not have to worry about “overlap” or a seatbelt extension
  • Sit in a seat in the auditorium at my kids’ school without having to hold my breath

Now, even though I am only 42% to my “goal weight,” I have managed to accomplish every single one of those things.  Additionally, I have run a 5k race and a 10k race. I have lost 4 jeans sizes.  I am off my blood pressure medicine.  I am mostly pain free. I have achieved things I did not think were possible for me.

Today, I’m crafting a new “bucket list” for the second half of this journey.  Before I am finished, I will:

  • Ride the roller coaster I couldn’t fit on this summer (the one with the smaller seat belts)
  • Run a half marathon (I’m already registered)
  • Do a push up
  • Do a pull up
  • Shop in a store that doesn’t specialize in “plus sizes”
  • Go on a challenging hike

The number on the scale has ceased to be my primary motivation.  If it was the only thing motivating me, I would have given up when it spent a month parked at the same spot.  I now realize it is only one way of marking progress.  When I look at the monumental task of losing 167 pounds, it is far too easy to discount the progress I have made.  Seventy pounds is a lot of weight, but when you view it next to 167, it doesn’t seem like I’ve made much progress.

When I look back, though, at the pictures I took at my top weight, and when I try on the once-tight pants that now fall off and pool around my ankles, it puts things into a different perspective.  When I cross my legs, fasten my seat belt and sit on any chair without worrying about whether it will hold me, I see how my life has changed.

I would encourage anyone who is embarking on a weight loss or fitness journey to make her own bucket list.  Take pictures and measurements, too.  There will be times when the scale isn’t budging, or you are tired and sore and hungry and you need to remind yourself where you were and how far you’ve come.

I started my journey without a road map.  I managed to pass a few landmarks that I would have celebrated had I known where I was headed.