First off I want to preface this by saying, this gets a little personal. If you're squeemish, or a man, you probably want to stop reading, but if you choose to continue, know that I warned you and I certainly do NOT want to hear about your reactions to this post outside of the interwebs. K, Thanks!
I write a lot about weight loss, and honestly what I write is far less than how much I think about it. It's a consuming mentality actually. At any given moment if you could hear my thoughts you would likely be overwhelmed by calorie calculations, meal planning, assessing physical capabilities for my next workout, planning my next workout, thinking about what the scale said this morning, wondering what the scale will say tomorrow morning, thinking horrible thoughts about the pooch that still remains around my mid-section, admiring the muscle definition of my arms in any reflective surface, etc. The fact is I'm obsessed, and I admit it.
The Good
By and large, I am very proud of what I've accomplished thus far with my weight loss journey. I can certainly attest to all of the positive attributes of weight loss, increased energy, better attitude, lower cholesterol (not that it was bad, I mean come on I'm 26!), better posture, sleeping better, more confidence, etc. It certainly is way more fun to shop now, and I can wear heels all day without feeling like I need to cut my feet off. I mean have you really ever thought about trying to balance a truck on a tin can?! That's about the same concept when I used to try to wear heels. Sure there's tons of attention, my husband is way more into me, I get a lot of compliments, and most of the time I feel pretty good about myself. But this is only one part of the equation.
The Bad
The fact of the matter is that weight loss isn't all glamorous. It takes a lot of hard work, a lot of time spent gross and sweaty and exhausted from pushing your body to it's physical limits. It means that sometimes you have to look across the table and see your spouse dining on a delicious prosciutto ravioli in a rich cream sauce with a side car of crusty Italian bread with real sweet cream butter, while you send back your tilapia and steamed broccoli, because it's salted or dripping with oil and you ordered it dry. It means that sometimes, it's better to just dine at home, because the thought of not knowing if your meal was prepared as you requested is overwhelming. The process means your probably going to stink...A LOT. If it's not from sweating, and the body odor associated with physical activity, it's the by-products of a diet rich in fiber and natural foods. (Please tell me you got that and I don't have to spell it out for you).
There is a new appreciation that I've developed for the undergarment industry, though, particularly Victoria and her secrets, and the ultra padded push-up bra. You see, it seems that the first area of the body to lose weight is the chest. In other words, kiss your girls goodbye! While I never much appreciated the ultra large DD breasts that I developed during pregnancy and nursing my children, I will say that a little more than an A cup might be nice...at least a full B...please! The thing is that without the assistance of an ultra padded bra, sometimes it's hard to feel feminine. Not that it's anywhere near the same level, but I certainly have a greater sense of empathy for mastectomy patients. And then of course, there is the ugly...
THE UGLY
Do me a favor, take the shirt of a toddler and stretch it over your husband. Have him wear it for about a week, continually tugging on the fabric, so that he can make it "fit." After that week, try to put the shirt on the toddler, and watch it hang off of their small body, shapeless and over sized. This is not dissimilar to what has happened with my skin. You see when you take something meant to house about 135 lbs of bones and muscle and you stretch it to cover 275lbs of fat and then take that fat out, no matter how many squats, crunches, bicep curls or how heavy of weights you lift, it's never going to fit the 135 lb frame properly. You're encouraged to "show off your new body" but the fact is that the body is ugly, it's droopy like an old woman. I wear my pants too high to hide the sagging skin on my stomach, I only wear Bermuda shorts or swimwear with attached skirts, to hide the skin on my thighs and I've become consumed with finding products to try and re-tighten the skin, in any means possible, without resorting to surgery. And so every day, I am going for another procedure, wrapping another body part in plastic wrap, or slathering on another layer of firming gel, all in hopes that some day, I might actually have some semblance of the body I've hoped for. Instead of being 26 in an 80 year old's body. So, I wonder if I will ever be happy in the body that I have.
So, I implore you this. PLEASE, if you have even just a little bit of weight to lose, do it now. It's easier to lose a few pounds than to have to work off over 100, not to mention, there's hope for your skin to recover, and you likely won't experience quite as dramatic a loss of your girls. Do it for yourself, before it's too late.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Dancing Like a Child
I consider myself blessed that I have the fortunate opportunity to experience musical worship twice on Sunday mornings. Seeing as how the super hot worship leader also shares my bed, I get to hear the worship set, during practice and then again in the service and so do my girls. I find that often times they are the ones teaching me more about the presence of the Lord than I could ever share with them. As an adult I think that the busyness of life and the preoccupation with appearances often prevents us from fully experiencing the presence of the Lord. I've often heard it said that children need to attend church services with their parents so that they can see people worship and learn what it means. I also believe that children need to attend church services with their parents, so we can learn to stop being so uptight.
This morning, during practice the worship team was playing the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me and my precious little Emily, who had attentively been sitting watching her daddy practice all morning suddenly stood up and moved to the front of the room, and with arms outstretched and head thrown back, began to dance her little 2 year old dance.
Surrounded by your glory, what will my heart feel, will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still... That moment spoke volumes to my aching heart.
Wouldn't it be just like a child to dance in the presence of the Lord?! And I imagined what it will be like on that day, basking in the presence of God, arms outstretched and head thrown back, feeling His presence wash over me so completely, and I prayed for my inhibitions to be removed, so that I might worship my Savior like He deserves, with reckless abandon.
This morning, during practice the worship team was playing the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me and my precious little Emily, who had attentively been sitting watching her daddy practice all morning suddenly stood up and moved to the front of the room, and with arms outstretched and head thrown back, began to dance her little 2 year old dance.
Surrounded by your glory, what will my heart feel, will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still... That moment spoke volumes to my aching heart.
Wouldn't it be just like a child to dance in the presence of the Lord?! And I imagined what it will be like on that day, basking in the presence of God, arms outstretched and head thrown back, feeling His presence wash over me so completely, and I prayed for my inhibitions to be removed, so that I might worship my Savior like He deserves, with reckless abandon.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Full Out Irrational
I have this little problem, and I've always thought of it as a little problem, until last night. I firmly believe that everyone is afraid of something, whether they chose to admit it or not. I've always acknowledged my fears, though tried to disguise some of them as they are a little embarrassing and of course, that's the one I have to talk about.
Yesterday was a tizzy. There was this certain buzzing anxious energy in the air clear across the country as we all braced for the "Deadly Tornado Outbreak." I'll admit that weather this year has been chaotic, but once again we were built up for little more than a few strong thunderstorms (at least in our area)*. So, perhaps it was my heightened sense of anxiety from watching 10 solid hours of weather coverage predicting some of the worst weather we've ever seen as I reexamined our renter's insurance decisions and wondered if it was too late to call and change the policy, perhaps it was the emotional chaos that has been my life over the past several months that has me overly sensitive to my phobias, or perhaps it's just getting worse.
You see, I have a fear of all things with wings. I'm not talking fear of bees or wasps, or even birds, but rather ALL THINGS WITH WINGS, especially (brace for the crazy...) butterflies and moths. I don't particularly know what it is but they completely freak me out. I mentioned the weather earlier, because with all of the threats, in true Jefferson county fashion, we, along with all of our cigarette stenched, beer toting, toothless neighbors, stood barefoot in the street watching the clouds converge overhead and amass into the "wall cloud" that would torment south county and city, while our front door stood wide open. So, it should have been no surprise that as I sat awake at midnight, self-loathing the food choices I'd made and trying to determine if I had the strength for one more workout, that I'd see a large winged insect join me in the living room. As it flitted toward the lamp, I was completely gripped with a debilitating fear. I was caught in the place of how crazy is it to wake up my husband in the middle of the night to kill a harmless bug, there is no way I can possibly think about sleeping with this menace wreaking havoc in my home, and I'm going to have to get close to this thing if I'm going to kill it. So, naturally, I did the only logical thing there was to do...and tried to lock myself in the bathroom. EXCEPT I apparently had lost sight of it for a moment and he beat me in there. So, there I was in the smallest room of the house, with my worst fear staring me in the face, I decided that I'd have to muster the courage to kill it, and ran out of the room to find something sufficient for the job. Moments later, I returned with a notebook, shaking like a scared chihuahua with tears streaming down my face and soliciting the power of the Holy Spirit to help me kill this thing, I finally mustered the courage to do it, scooped up the remains with some toilet paper and flushed the toilet 3 times just to make sure it was gone. As I caught sight of my tear stained face in the mirror, I realized "There is something wrong with me." Although this realization quickly faded as I surrendered to the physical fatigue and went to bed.
This event would largely have been erased from my conscious memory, had I not faced another very similar situation just moments ago. A small moth, no larger than a dime, somehow found it's way into my kitchen. Perhaps it had been camping out somewhere since last night waiting to toy with my emotions for killing his buddy, or perhaps he squeezed in through one of our ill fitting screens. At any rate, as I came into the kitchen to make my daily shake, he fluttered up from the sink. Completely paralyzed by fear once again, I did the only thing I could think to do and tried to dump water on him. They can't fly with wet wings, right?! That's what the fairies in Tinkerbell say anyway! Well, let me tell you, those fairies are dirty, rotten, little liars!! I must have dumped a full cup of water on that pest and he sat very still, so I thought I was safe to squash him with the nearby coffee mug and carefully wash his remains down the running garbage disposal (don't judge me, I told you I was irrational and I have fears of them coming back to life and having it out for me, for trying to kill them. I gotta make sure they're dead). BUT as I approached him with the mug he took off flying right towards my face! With flailing arms I shooed him away, not sure where he got off to and as I anxiously flinch at every hint of movement I see in my home, I realize, it might be time to seek help...
*My heart truly goes out to all of the families across the country who have faced the devastating weather over the past several weeks, especially those in Joplin, MO and in no way mean to minimize their devastation by ridiculing the meteorologists in our area who overplay weather fears.
Yesterday was a tizzy. There was this certain buzzing anxious energy in the air clear across the country as we all braced for the "Deadly Tornado Outbreak." I'll admit that weather this year has been chaotic, but once again we were built up for little more than a few strong thunderstorms (at least in our area)*. So, perhaps it was my heightened sense of anxiety from watching 10 solid hours of weather coverage predicting some of the worst weather we've ever seen as I reexamined our renter's insurance decisions and wondered if it was too late to call and change the policy, perhaps it was the emotional chaos that has been my life over the past several months that has me overly sensitive to my phobias, or perhaps it's just getting worse.
You see, I have a fear of all things with wings. I'm not talking fear of bees or wasps, or even birds, but rather ALL THINGS WITH WINGS, especially (brace for the crazy...) butterflies and moths. I don't particularly know what it is but they completely freak me out. I mentioned the weather earlier, because with all of the threats, in true Jefferson county fashion, we, along with all of our cigarette stenched, beer toting, toothless neighbors, stood barefoot in the street watching the clouds converge overhead and amass into the "wall cloud" that would torment south county and city, while our front door stood wide open. So, it should have been no surprise that as I sat awake at midnight, self-loathing the food choices I'd made and trying to determine if I had the strength for one more workout, that I'd see a large winged insect join me in the living room. As it flitted toward the lamp, I was completely gripped with a debilitating fear. I was caught in the place of how crazy is it to wake up my husband in the middle of the night to kill a harmless bug, there is no way I can possibly think about sleeping with this menace wreaking havoc in my home, and I'm going to have to get close to this thing if I'm going to kill it. So, naturally, I did the only logical thing there was to do...and tried to lock myself in the bathroom. EXCEPT I apparently had lost sight of it for a moment and he beat me in there. So, there I was in the smallest room of the house, with my worst fear staring me in the face, I decided that I'd have to muster the courage to kill it, and ran out of the room to find something sufficient for the job. Moments later, I returned with a notebook, shaking like a scared chihuahua with tears streaming down my face and soliciting the power of the Holy Spirit to help me kill this thing, I finally mustered the courage to do it, scooped up the remains with some toilet paper and flushed the toilet 3 times just to make sure it was gone. As I caught sight of my tear stained face in the mirror, I realized "There is something wrong with me." Although this realization quickly faded as I surrendered to the physical fatigue and went to bed.
This event would largely have been erased from my conscious memory, had I not faced another very similar situation just moments ago. A small moth, no larger than a dime, somehow found it's way into my kitchen. Perhaps it had been camping out somewhere since last night waiting to toy with my emotions for killing his buddy, or perhaps he squeezed in through one of our ill fitting screens. At any rate, as I came into the kitchen to make my daily shake, he fluttered up from the sink. Completely paralyzed by fear once again, I did the only thing I could think to do and tried to dump water on him. They can't fly with wet wings, right?! That's what the fairies in Tinkerbell say anyway! Well, let me tell you, those fairies are dirty, rotten, little liars!! I must have dumped a full cup of water on that pest and he sat very still, so I thought I was safe to squash him with the nearby coffee mug and carefully wash his remains down the running garbage disposal (don't judge me, I told you I was irrational and I have fears of them coming back to life and having it out for me, for trying to kill them. I gotta make sure they're dead). BUT as I approached him with the mug he took off flying right towards my face! With flailing arms I shooed him away, not sure where he got off to and as I anxiously flinch at every hint of movement I see in my home, I realize, it might be time to seek help...
*My heart truly goes out to all of the families across the country who have faced the devastating weather over the past several weeks, especially those in Joplin, MO and in no way mean to minimize their devastation by ridiculing the meteorologists in our area who overplay weather fears.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Hello, My name is Michelle and I am a stay at home mom...
I am a stay at home mom. There is no debate as to that fact, though I think there is some debate as to what that actually means and what it truly entails. In recent weeks there have been certain expectations of me that don't exactly fit into the mold.
Initially the issue lies in the title itself--"Stay at home" I might be in the minority here, but of most of the moms who I know who don't work outside of the home, staying home is rarely on the agenda, or if the schedule does permit for residing inside the residence, there are a whole slew of tasks which must be accomplished, and therefore my issue lies in the title "stay at home." You see, when I hear that I think of the date night proposition, "What would you like to do tonight honey?" "Oh, lets just stay at home" As if the notion of staying home alludes to a form of relaxation and de-stress, where as the role of unpaid mother is anything but. So, for all of my readers who have a misconception about the SAHM let me clear up a few things for you.
I am a SAHM this means that I raise my own children. I am solely responsible for teaching them the principles of sharing, cooperation, courtesy, manners, basic skills, etc. I am responsible for providing well balanced nutritious meals for my children, and alternatively I am the only one to blame if the foods they eat are not of the nutritional value that is optimal. This means that I am also responsible for providing essential entertainment for my children, including but not limited to occasional playdates with Nick Jr., Disney Channel or PBS. Having made the decision not to incur the weekly $120 expense for pre-school, this means that I am also responsible for nurturing the young minds on all matters of counting, color identification, letter identification and all of the certain "required" pre-school musical renditions. My care for my children also includes keeping a meticulous schedule of play dates, doctors appointments, and extracurricular activities and all of their necessary accoutrements.
Unrelated to the care of my children, my responsibilities as a SAHM also include keeping a tidy home, running the necessary errands to keep the pantry and refrigerator stocked with only the most nutritious of nourishment which I am also responsible to prepare 3-6 times per day. I launder, mend, alter and sometimes manufacture the clothing. I prepare Bible studies, try to maintain some friendships, and peace within familial bonds as well as try follow-up with some of the 30+ adopted children of sorts that are in the youth group. Seeing as how I value physical health I also must allow ample time to achieve my necessary caloric burn for the day, and sometimes manage to get a shower and brush my hair.
However, as a stay at home mom, I do not sit around in my pajamas all day (with the exception of the instances when my day starts chaotically so early that I am unable to get dressed), nor watch television and spend hours perusing Facebook. I do not eat bon bons and certainly do not watch soap operas. I like to cook good food, but am certainly not a gourmet chef nor a short order cook. I read far less often than I would like and much of what I read is 26 pt font on a board book, or all of the "proper" ways to parent of which I'm usually miserably short on the check list. I can't remember the last time that I attempted a novel, and the IQ required reading that I am able to accomplish is usually, fully or in part related to my home based business. I may not work outside of the home, but I do work, likely more hours than any individual on the planet would be willing to work for any employer. I don't get paid. I manage a budget for which I am not factored into. I wake up early and go to bed late and my days are full of appointments.
Believe it or not, just because I do not have set hours, does not mean that my time is at your disposal. I am not available to run errands, make appointments, or do lunch with out advanced notice. I come with excess baggage, and if you would rather that baggage not be part of said appointment, even more notice is required. I do not check my email or Facebook messages all day long. If you need me, you must call me, and if you do call me and I do not answer, that means I am busy. What it does not mean is call again in 2 minutes. LEAVE A MESSAGE! I am completely unavailable between the hours of 1-3pm, which is nap time. This is the single waking opportunity during my day when I can *potentially* have just a few moments of silence, assuming that nap time occurs without a hitch. This is the time that is usually used to workout, shower, and/or manage my home business. Should an appointment or meeting have to be attended to during this time, I expect the caregiver during the time to put my children down for their regular naps. However, this regularly does not happen and I am therefore forced to deal with a completely irrational and emotionally unstable semblance of a tiny human. If there is no caregiver during that time and my children miss their naps, I accept full responsibility for the meltdowns--begrudgingly. If you show up at my home unannounced, do not expect it to be perfectly tidy, or my appearance to be desirable or even presentable in most cases.
Therefore, I bring my rant full circle to this. I am not a stay at home mom, but rather a mother who does not work outside of the home. Though my life may not have written appointments with high brow executives in overpriced suits I am not at everyone's disposal at a moments notice.
Initially the issue lies in the title itself--"Stay at home" I might be in the minority here, but of most of the moms who I know who don't work outside of the home, staying home is rarely on the agenda, or if the schedule does permit for residing inside the residence, there are a whole slew of tasks which must be accomplished, and therefore my issue lies in the title "stay at home." You see, when I hear that I think of the date night proposition, "What would you like to do tonight honey?" "Oh, lets just stay at home" As if the notion of staying home alludes to a form of relaxation and de-stress, where as the role of unpaid mother is anything but. So, for all of my readers who have a misconception about the SAHM let me clear up a few things for you.
I am a SAHM this means that I raise my own children. I am solely responsible for teaching them the principles of sharing, cooperation, courtesy, manners, basic skills, etc. I am responsible for providing well balanced nutritious meals for my children, and alternatively I am the only one to blame if the foods they eat are not of the nutritional value that is optimal. This means that I am also responsible for providing essential entertainment for my children, including but not limited to occasional playdates with Nick Jr., Disney Channel or PBS. Having made the decision not to incur the weekly $120 expense for pre-school, this means that I am also responsible for nurturing the young minds on all matters of counting, color identification, letter identification and all of the certain "required" pre-school musical renditions. My care for my children also includes keeping a meticulous schedule of play dates, doctors appointments, and extracurricular activities and all of their necessary accoutrements.
Unrelated to the care of my children, my responsibilities as a SAHM also include keeping a tidy home, running the necessary errands to keep the pantry and refrigerator stocked with only the most nutritious of nourishment which I am also responsible to prepare 3-6 times per day. I launder, mend, alter and sometimes manufacture the clothing. I prepare Bible studies, try to maintain some friendships, and peace within familial bonds as well as try follow-up with some of the 30+ adopted children of sorts that are in the youth group. Seeing as how I value physical health I also must allow ample time to achieve my necessary caloric burn for the day, and sometimes manage to get a shower and brush my hair.
However, as a stay at home mom, I do not sit around in my pajamas all day (with the exception of the instances when my day starts chaotically so early that I am unable to get dressed), nor watch television and spend hours perusing Facebook. I do not eat bon bons and certainly do not watch soap operas. I like to cook good food, but am certainly not a gourmet chef nor a short order cook. I read far less often than I would like and much of what I read is 26 pt font on a board book, or all of the "proper" ways to parent of which I'm usually miserably short on the check list. I can't remember the last time that I attempted a novel, and the IQ required reading that I am able to accomplish is usually, fully or in part related to my home based business. I may not work outside of the home, but I do work, likely more hours than any individual on the planet would be willing to work for any employer. I don't get paid. I manage a budget for which I am not factored into. I wake up early and go to bed late and my days are full of appointments.
Believe it or not, just because I do not have set hours, does not mean that my time is at your disposal. I am not available to run errands, make appointments, or do lunch with out advanced notice. I come with excess baggage, and if you would rather that baggage not be part of said appointment, even more notice is required. I do not check my email or Facebook messages all day long. If you need me, you must call me, and if you do call me and I do not answer, that means I am busy. What it does not mean is call again in 2 minutes. LEAVE A MESSAGE! I am completely unavailable between the hours of 1-3pm, which is nap time. This is the single waking opportunity during my day when I can *potentially* have just a few moments of silence, assuming that nap time occurs without a hitch. This is the time that is usually used to workout, shower, and/or manage my home business. Should an appointment or meeting have to be attended to during this time, I expect the caregiver during the time to put my children down for their regular naps. However, this regularly does not happen and I am therefore forced to deal with a completely irrational and emotionally unstable semblance of a tiny human. If there is no caregiver during that time and my children miss their naps, I accept full responsibility for the meltdowns--begrudgingly. If you show up at my home unannounced, do not expect it to be perfectly tidy, or my appearance to be desirable or even presentable in most cases.
Therefore, I bring my rant full circle to this. I am not a stay at home mom, but rather a mother who does not work outside of the home. Though my life may not have written appointments with high brow executives in overpriced suits I am not at everyone's disposal at a moments notice.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
"Jesus Loves Me"
There are certain events and situations in life, that no matter how well you think you'll be able to handle them, seem to hit you like a ton of bricks right to the stomach. This is not to specify any event in particular, but the presence of the unexpected, uninvited, and certainly unwelcome. In these times it feels like even the most eloquent and well intentioned individuals never seem to have the right words to say to express the emotion of the situation, or to offer the adequate encouragement, but sometimes the eloquent is superfluous and it truly is the pedestrian that encompasses all that is necessary.
When I was pregnant with Emily, I had an overwhelming fear of having to re experience the horror of the delivery that I had with Michaela. C-section was like a 4 letter word to me and I would literally have rather carried that child in utero until she was 18 than to have been cut again. I know that my situation was unique, and most c-sections are performed without consequence, but since it had happened so horribly once, I was certain that it would be just as awful. Thankfully I was able to find an OB who was willing to work with me and supported me in my decision to attempt a VBAC, but every ounce of my being was wrought with fear over something going wrong again, and so I resolved that I would do everything "right." I was doing everything I could to ensure that my body would go into labor on it's own, and for fear of medical intervention slowing my progression again, I resolved that I would take no pain medication...no IV, no IV pain meds, and certainly no epidural. In my resolve, when I finally went into labor, I was so afraid of the hospital that I was literally 30 seconds to 1 minute apart on my contractions before I ever went to the hospital.
It wasn't long before I was in hard labor, and as I rest in that hospital bed, doing everything I could to remember my breathing techniques and be a hero through the blinding pain of back labor, trying to focus on the calming environment of the lights low and soft worship music playing as we labored through the night, I started to feel broken. I started to wonder if I could really deliver this child, if I would survive this pain, and there in the midst of my desperation, between the recitation of verses to keep me focused, the precious words of that simple children's song came to mind. There at 4 o'clock in the morning 7 cm and no epidural, I started to sing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so, little ones to him belong, they are weak but he is strong" Some how resting on that simple truth was all that I needed to push through to know that even "giving in" and getting the epidural that I'd be safe and protected. In that moment, that song, however simplistic became more essential than I ever imagined it could be.
A few days ago, we had a Night of Worship at our church and one of the song selection during that evening was "Jesus Loves Me" Among all of the songs that evening, classic hymns, contemporary worship, and this simple children's song, my heart was most spoken to in that one short chorus. In all of the busyness of life, I'd gotten so stressed and stuffed it all down so deep and just like a wave crashing through a dam I finally allowed my emotions to release and I was touched more deeply in that single chorus than ever before. It was almost humorous that on our way home, that evening my husband and I were discussing the evening and how nice it was to have that opportunity, when he said, "Jesus Love's Me, was a little odd though." And I couldn't have disagreed more.
It was as if that night was my reminder, the preface for the challenging week that I would face, as if God was using that one song to say, "Things are gonna get really tough again soon, but remember that in it all, I still love you. Though you may feel weak and small, I'm holding you in my arms and will always protect you" And so today, in the midst of the unforseen, unexpected and unwelcome, I sing out, "Jesus Loves Me" and with every fiber of my being cling to those words, because when all else is ever changing that's the one constant in my life.
When I was pregnant with Emily, I had an overwhelming fear of having to re experience the horror of the delivery that I had with Michaela. C-section was like a 4 letter word to me and I would literally have rather carried that child in utero until she was 18 than to have been cut again. I know that my situation was unique, and most c-sections are performed without consequence, but since it had happened so horribly once, I was certain that it would be just as awful. Thankfully I was able to find an OB who was willing to work with me and supported me in my decision to attempt a VBAC, but every ounce of my being was wrought with fear over something going wrong again, and so I resolved that I would do everything "right." I was doing everything I could to ensure that my body would go into labor on it's own, and for fear of medical intervention slowing my progression again, I resolved that I would take no pain medication...no IV, no IV pain meds, and certainly no epidural. In my resolve, when I finally went into labor, I was so afraid of the hospital that I was literally 30 seconds to 1 minute apart on my contractions before I ever went to the hospital.
It wasn't long before I was in hard labor, and as I rest in that hospital bed, doing everything I could to remember my breathing techniques and be a hero through the blinding pain of back labor, trying to focus on the calming environment of the lights low and soft worship music playing as we labored through the night, I started to feel broken. I started to wonder if I could really deliver this child, if I would survive this pain, and there in the midst of my desperation, between the recitation of verses to keep me focused, the precious words of that simple children's song came to mind. There at 4 o'clock in the morning 7 cm and no epidural, I started to sing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so, little ones to him belong, they are weak but he is strong" Some how resting on that simple truth was all that I needed to push through to know that even "giving in" and getting the epidural that I'd be safe and protected. In that moment, that song, however simplistic became more essential than I ever imagined it could be.
A few days ago, we had a Night of Worship at our church and one of the song selection during that evening was "Jesus Loves Me" Among all of the songs that evening, classic hymns, contemporary worship, and this simple children's song, my heart was most spoken to in that one short chorus. In all of the busyness of life, I'd gotten so stressed and stuffed it all down so deep and just like a wave crashing through a dam I finally allowed my emotions to release and I was touched more deeply in that single chorus than ever before. It was almost humorous that on our way home, that evening my husband and I were discussing the evening and how nice it was to have that opportunity, when he said, "Jesus Love's Me, was a little odd though." And I couldn't have disagreed more.
It was as if that night was my reminder, the preface for the challenging week that I would face, as if God was using that one song to say, "Things are gonna get really tough again soon, but remember that in it all, I still love you. Though you may feel weak and small, I'm holding you in my arms and will always protect you" And so today, in the midst of the unforseen, unexpected and unwelcome, I sing out, "Jesus Loves Me" and with every fiber of my being cling to those words, because when all else is ever changing that's the one constant in my life.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
We all fall down...
I have a friend who is amazing. She is a fantastic writer and has a super funny blog, where she writes about the dealings of being a stay at home mom, with a little spice, a lot of humor and some 80's song references thrown into the mix. Amidst all the funny stories about her son embarrassing her with unnaturally large "treasures" he's found in his nose, she's got a great message to other moms--it's ok to admit that sometimes its too much and it's ok to ask for help (although she of course puts it way more eloquently than I do.) I've been thinking about this a lot lately. You see, I'm a competitive person. I know a lot of people say that they are competitive, but I'm obsessively competitive, and as a result of my competition, I have a certain drive for perfectionism. This equates to, I have to do everything, do it all myself, and do it better than anyone else has ever done it before and at a certain point...it kinda falls apart.
Let me start by saying this, I love what I do. I love being a mom. I love talking about fitness. I especially love when I can help other people get on track with their health and fitness and they come to me excitedly telling me that they've lost 5 pounds and I know that I've had some part in that! It makes me feel validated, it makes me feel like I've done something right. Especially when considering the role as mom, and the end results of success or failure are so far removed, it's nice to be able to see success in the short term. Of course in my quest for perfection there are certain self-imposed standards that I *must* live up to. Afterall, how can I motivate, inspire and coach others in their health and fitness if I'm not living it? There is a point when at least for a time it might extend beyond your control.
I use caution with statements like that, because I loathe making excuses. I'm not one to ever say to myself, "It's ok to eat that chocolate sundae, you're under a lot of stress right now" rather I will eat the sundae and then berate myself for days over the inherent failure that I am. It's a warped mentality, I know. I was so proud of myself, though. I was less than 10lbs from hitting my ULTIMATE goal weight, 8 lbs to be exact. Things were going well. I had my regular workout regime, I was happy to "push play" every day and push myself to my physical limits. I had my fridge stocked with healthy foods, and the snacks that Alex and the girls kept were no temptation for me, and then the worst possible thing could have happened...steroids!
Almost 2 years ago now, I was told that I had MS, after losing all feeling on the left side of my body. At the time I was still nursing our youngest daughter and so had to allow my body to recover on it's own, as much as it would. Eventually the numbness scaled back to just my left arm, but has remained since, and according to my neuro will remain forever. In spring of last year, as I was begrudgingly anticipating starting my daily injections of beta blockers, I was told that the diagnosis was incorrect, with having only one lesion on my cervical spine the diagnosis was now Clinically Isolated Syndrome and not MULTIPLE sclerosis. This was good news. This meant that I didn't have to take the daily injections, that I might never have another episode, that I might not ever even have to think about this again, except for the necessary coping of having a permanently numb arm. Unfortunately, in my mind, those "mights" became "woulds" and I was convinced that I was fine.
About 2 months ago now, it became glaringly apparent that wasn't the case. As I was taking off my socks one evening and my nail scrapped the bottom of my foot, I noticed that the feeling was gone. Immediately I was gripped with fear and started to tear up. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. By the next morning all of the feeling on my left side was gone again, and so it was off to the neuro to start the s word...steroids. For 2 weeks, every morning I took the awful pills, at ridiculously high doses with out any relief of the numbness. While I didn't get relief, I did get increased appetite, weight gain, irritability, inability to sleep and overall being miserable. After 2 weeks my weight was UP 15lbs. I was less than 8 lbs from my goal, and now here I was a full 23 away now! How could this happen?! Since that time, it's been a huge struggle. I'll lose a little, and gain it right back. I'll put reminders all over my kitchen, threatening messages on my refrigerator and pantry touting, "ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO EAT THAT?" And apparently even though I don't want the weight gain, and I'll beat myself up over it for days, I eat it anyway.
So a few days ago, I made a resolution. I had 60 days until an important event, and at that point, I was just a little over 15 lbs from my ultimate goal weight...you see where I'm going with this...so I had 60 days to lose 15lbs, that was just 1 lb every 4 days...I could do that. The first day went well, so did the 2nd, and most of the 3rd. Sunday is always a struggle for me. It's my "rest" day where I don't work out, and usually struggle the most with bad food choices. I thought I had done well. I had only a few M&Ms outside of my rigid meal plan, but apparently I had too much salt, because yesterday morning when I stepped on the scale and saw another gain, it was too much to bear, and so I self sabotaged, because that of course is the logical thing to do, and loaded up on carbs. I literally felt like I ate everything I saw, all the while feeling guilty and hearing that voice inside scream out "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" Though I was able to shut her up with the batch of Bailey's cupcakes that I made, eating 2 giant ones... and then I went to bed with the personal promise to wake up early and work out, to get in an extra one today and to monitor my intake perfectly.
The alarm went off, and in the very literal sense I rolled over pulled the blanket of depression up over my face, and when I finally did get out of bed in response to the prodding of hungry toddlers, what did I consume for breakfast, but another Bailey's cupcake...because, just like the lyrics of the favorite kids song, "Ring Around the Rosie," we all fall down...now the key is just to get back up.
Let me start by saying this, I love what I do. I love being a mom. I love talking about fitness. I especially love when I can help other people get on track with their health and fitness and they come to me excitedly telling me that they've lost 5 pounds and I know that I've had some part in that! It makes me feel validated, it makes me feel like I've done something right. Especially when considering the role as mom, and the end results of success or failure are so far removed, it's nice to be able to see success in the short term. Of course in my quest for perfection there are certain self-imposed standards that I *must* live up to. Afterall, how can I motivate, inspire and coach others in their health and fitness if I'm not living it? There is a point when at least for a time it might extend beyond your control.
I use caution with statements like that, because I loathe making excuses. I'm not one to ever say to myself, "It's ok to eat that chocolate sundae, you're under a lot of stress right now" rather I will eat the sundae and then berate myself for days over the inherent failure that I am. It's a warped mentality, I know. I was so proud of myself, though. I was less than 10lbs from hitting my ULTIMATE goal weight, 8 lbs to be exact. Things were going well. I had my regular workout regime, I was happy to "push play" every day and push myself to my physical limits. I had my fridge stocked with healthy foods, and the snacks that Alex and the girls kept were no temptation for me, and then the worst possible thing could have happened...steroids!
Almost 2 years ago now, I was told that I had MS, after losing all feeling on the left side of my body. At the time I was still nursing our youngest daughter and so had to allow my body to recover on it's own, as much as it would. Eventually the numbness scaled back to just my left arm, but has remained since, and according to my neuro will remain forever. In spring of last year, as I was begrudgingly anticipating starting my daily injections of beta blockers, I was told that the diagnosis was incorrect, with having only one lesion on my cervical spine the diagnosis was now Clinically Isolated Syndrome and not MULTIPLE sclerosis. This was good news. This meant that I didn't have to take the daily injections, that I might never have another episode, that I might not ever even have to think about this again, except for the necessary coping of having a permanently numb arm. Unfortunately, in my mind, those "mights" became "woulds" and I was convinced that I was fine.
About 2 months ago now, it became glaringly apparent that wasn't the case. As I was taking off my socks one evening and my nail scrapped the bottom of my foot, I noticed that the feeling was gone. Immediately I was gripped with fear and started to tear up. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. By the next morning all of the feeling on my left side was gone again, and so it was off to the neuro to start the s word...steroids. For 2 weeks, every morning I took the awful pills, at ridiculously high doses with out any relief of the numbness. While I didn't get relief, I did get increased appetite, weight gain, irritability, inability to sleep and overall being miserable. After 2 weeks my weight was UP 15lbs. I was less than 8 lbs from my goal, and now here I was a full 23 away now! How could this happen?! Since that time, it's been a huge struggle. I'll lose a little, and gain it right back. I'll put reminders all over my kitchen, threatening messages on my refrigerator and pantry touting, "ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO EAT THAT?" And apparently even though I don't want the weight gain, and I'll beat myself up over it for days, I eat it anyway.
So a few days ago, I made a resolution. I had 60 days until an important event, and at that point, I was just a little over 15 lbs from my ultimate goal weight...you see where I'm going with this...so I had 60 days to lose 15lbs, that was just 1 lb every 4 days...I could do that. The first day went well, so did the 2nd, and most of the 3rd. Sunday is always a struggle for me. It's my "rest" day where I don't work out, and usually struggle the most with bad food choices. I thought I had done well. I had only a few M&Ms outside of my rigid meal plan, but apparently I had too much salt, because yesterday morning when I stepped on the scale and saw another gain, it was too much to bear, and so I self sabotaged, because that of course is the logical thing to do, and loaded up on carbs. I literally felt like I ate everything I saw, all the while feeling guilty and hearing that voice inside scream out "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" Though I was able to shut her up with the batch of Bailey's cupcakes that I made, eating 2 giant ones... and then I went to bed with the personal promise to wake up early and work out, to get in an extra one today and to monitor my intake perfectly.
The alarm went off, and in the very literal sense I rolled over pulled the blanket of depression up over my face, and when I finally did get out of bed in response to the prodding of hungry toddlers, what did I consume for breakfast, but another Bailey's cupcake...because, just like the lyrics of the favorite kids song, "Ring Around the Rosie," we all fall down...now the key is just to get back up.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Just Say No
The word "no" is small but mighty, just like the intensity of sbd fart in a crowded room. We find plenty of times where the phrase "just say no" is so applicable and easy to utter. Talking to a teenager about peer pressure and drugs and alcohol--Just say NO, to an already intoxicated friend reaching for another cocktail--Just say NO, to our weight conscious friend reaching for the slice of chocolate cake--Just say NO, to the fashion impaired husband who thinks he needs another Hawaiian shirt--Just say NO. In these instances the word 'no' rolls off our tongue with ease and precision, without issue, cutting right to the point. There is no uncertainty that in any of these situations our opinion is clear, no ambiguity, the answer is NO.
This is the same case with my children when strolling through the store every item on the shelf is cue for the request "Can I have this?" Often times with them not even knowing what 'this' is. NO. "Honey there is a great deal on a 52" HDTV, don't you think we should get it while it's on sale?!" NO. It seems so easy...why then is it so difficult to utter this small little 2-letter word when it really matters? When we really have no interest in participating in a certain event, purchasing a particular product or even performing a voluntary task? Let's be honest, how many times have you gone to yet another home party, knowing full well that you had no need, interest or desire to purchase any of the product being offered, just because you were too chicken to say no? How many times have you begrudgingly given up a Saturday to help a friend move for the 15th time in 3 years just because you couldn't utter the word no, or worse you made up some stupid sorry excuse as to what other task you had to accomplish just to avoid saying no? How many times have you gotten roped into the 20 minute presentation for the Dead Sea Salt Scrub at the mall kiosk because you didn't just say no? I'm not judging...I do it too.
I've always felt anxiety over this word. I guess it's the natural tendency to try and be a people pleaser. Not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, I've always consented to things that I didn't want or didn't want to do. It wasn't until recently that I was placed on the receiving end of the response that I've found a new confidence with voicing my disinterest.
Working with Team Beachbody it is my job to present fitness and nutrition products and the coaching business opportunity to people who may or may not be interested, and there is really no way to know if someone might have an interest until I offer it to them. I can't tell you how much frustration I am met with when someone feigns interest. For those of you who have never worked sales of any kind there is a buzz phrase that is "The fortune is in the follow-up." So, plain and simple, if you act like you're interested, I'm going to talk to you about it again, but if you just say no, the conversation is over--not our friendship, just the conversation. I won't hassle you about it any further, I won't try to convince you that the opportunity is everything you've been looking for or the products with revolutionize your life (though I believe that they will). I'm not in the business of pressuring people, I don't want to waste your time or mine if you aren't interested, because while I'm sending you the 10th email about Shakeology, I'm missing my friend's post requesting weight loss tips--another opportunity. Yet even while I know this, and I feel this way, I still find myself pretending to be interested in an embroidered diaper bag when I usually just throw a diaper and wipes in my over-sized purse! I flip through a Pampered Chef catalog, even commenting on how cool some of the products are, knowing full well that if I try to cram even one more pineapple corer or cherry pitter into my over stuffed shoe box sized kitchen it will probably burst at the seams. I stress over rearranging my schedule and finding a sitter so that I can attend another meeting or party with people I don't even like that much.
So, I say to you and myself, have confidence in your voice, put on your big girl panties and "Just Say NO" I promise you that no real friend will end your friendship because you didn't buy a cherry cobbler scented candle.
This is the same case with my children when strolling through the store every item on the shelf is cue for the request "Can I have this?" Often times with them not even knowing what 'this' is. NO. "Honey there is a great deal on a 52" HDTV, don't you think we should get it while it's on sale?!" NO. It seems so easy...why then is it so difficult to utter this small little 2-letter word when it really matters? When we really have no interest in participating in a certain event, purchasing a particular product or even performing a voluntary task? Let's be honest, how many times have you gone to yet another home party, knowing full well that you had no need, interest or desire to purchase any of the product being offered, just because you were too chicken to say no? How many times have you begrudgingly given up a Saturday to help a friend move for the 15th time in 3 years just because you couldn't utter the word no, or worse you made up some stupid sorry excuse as to what other task you had to accomplish just to avoid saying no? How many times have you gotten roped into the 20 minute presentation for the Dead Sea Salt Scrub at the mall kiosk because you didn't just say no? I'm not judging...I do it too.
I've always felt anxiety over this word. I guess it's the natural tendency to try and be a people pleaser. Not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, I've always consented to things that I didn't want or didn't want to do. It wasn't until recently that I was placed on the receiving end of the response that I've found a new confidence with voicing my disinterest.
Working with Team Beachbody it is my job to present fitness and nutrition products and the coaching business opportunity to people who may or may not be interested, and there is really no way to know if someone might have an interest until I offer it to them. I can't tell you how much frustration I am met with when someone feigns interest. For those of you who have never worked sales of any kind there is a buzz phrase that is "The fortune is in the follow-up." So, plain and simple, if you act like you're interested, I'm going to talk to you about it again, but if you just say no, the conversation is over--not our friendship, just the conversation. I won't hassle you about it any further, I won't try to convince you that the opportunity is everything you've been looking for or the products with revolutionize your life (though I believe that they will). I'm not in the business of pressuring people, I don't want to waste your time or mine if you aren't interested, because while I'm sending you the 10th email about Shakeology, I'm missing my friend's post requesting weight loss tips--another opportunity. Yet even while I know this, and I feel this way, I still find myself pretending to be interested in an embroidered diaper bag when I usually just throw a diaper and wipes in my over-sized purse! I flip through a Pampered Chef catalog, even commenting on how cool some of the products are, knowing full well that if I try to cram even one more pineapple corer or cherry pitter into my over stuffed shoe box sized kitchen it will probably burst at the seams. I stress over rearranging my schedule and finding a sitter so that I can attend another meeting or party with people I don't even like that much.
So, I say to you and myself, have confidence in your voice, put on your big girl panties and "Just Say NO" I promise you that no real friend will end your friendship because you didn't buy a cherry cobbler scented candle.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Understanding your "why"
There is this buzz phrase among Beachbody coaches that's all about "Understanding your 'why'" and the concept is that you have to regularly revisit why you got into the business, and what your goals are so that you don't lose momentum. When I first chose to become a Beachbody coach, I went along with the trend and considered my reasoning, but since then I've felt a compulsion to assess this in the other areas of my life.
I've been thinking about the "why" a lot since last night. While watching the Biggest Loser, we got into a discussion about why so many of the contestants ultimately fail and gain the weight back after the finale and they go back to their 'normal' lives. The problem is that often times the contestants aren't committed to the journey for the sake of their health, but rather the cash prize at the end. I understand that competition is a great motivator, but I think in many of the contestants cases, that becomes the goal, not reclaiming their lives. Their "why" is out of whack! I said in that moment, that I was glad that I never had a quick fix, an easy solution or a big cash prize that I was working for on my journey. I have literally had to fight for every pound that I've lost. I've calculated every calorie, measured every ingredient, and sweated out every calorie with hours of cardio. This is not about me saying that I'm better than them, it's that I know that going back is never an option for me, it's been too hard to get where I am, but the only reason that I've been able to get where I am is because I have a clear "why".
When I started trying to lose weight, I was miserable. I hated myself and rarely left the house because I was so embarrassed of my size, and most of the time I didn't even get out of my pajamas. When I finally decided that it was time to lose the weight, it wasn't just about looking better, and while that was obviously part of the motivation, it had a lot more to do with other bigger factors. I've been overweight my whole life. Even as a very young child, I was overweight, and by the time I was a teenager I was clearly obese, and growing up as a "fat kid" is one of the most emotionally crippling experiences. Plain and simple, kids are mean. I remember daily coming home from school in tears because I was called "fat" or yet another joke was made about it not being over until the fat lady sings, and being taunted to sing, or the group of boys grimacing in disgust as they taunted one of their own telling me that he liked me. Never being able to shop at the same stores as my peers, wearing "old lady clothes" instead of the trendy teenage clothing because nothing came in my size. There was no "Juniors Plus" department when I was a kid. Long story short, it was painful. I hated every minute of my chubby childhood, and I didn't ever want my children to experience that same sort of pain, but how could I expect them to eat healthily avoid the junk food and be active when I wasn't setting that example?!
Another big factor comes back to one of 3 books that top my list as changing my mentality fundamentally. Almost 4 years ago now, I read the book "For Women Only" which I had received as a wedding gift. From page 1 I was engrossed in this book, but the final chapter is what rocked my world. This last chapter discusses how not taking care of yourself can show your spouse that you don't care about them, and of course I'm not doing it justice by clearly not explaining the concept as well as it is in the book, but the point is that just like in our relationship with God, we honor our spouse, when we take good care of ourselves. On the more physical level, men are visual creatures, this is why the porn videos are a multi-billion dollar industry with the vast majority of the patrons being men. A man will be more attracted to his wife when she is taking care of herself because not only does it show him that she cares for him, but tends to amplify her confidence, and flat out, confidence is sexy. For me, this struck right to the heart. I have an overwhelming love and respect for my husband. I whole-heartedly believe that he is the most amazing man currently living on the planet. Had Christ never lived as a man, that last sentence would have read "the most amazing man that ever lived." The point is that I know even at my lowest he loved me and I didn't ever want him to be embarrassed of me. I wanted him to always find me attractive, and to be happy to introduce me to co-workers or friends, and I didn't ever want him to be the butt of jokes because of his "fat wife." My "why" was clear. It was for my husband and my girls, and that has never changed. Sure there has been extra push to lose weight for particular events, but that's never been the destination, just another stop on the journey.
Anyway, I tell this story because I think this is an important concept. Why do you invest your time in the things that you do? Why lead a particular group? Why try to lose weight, or make extra money? When you have a goal with a firm "why" you want to achieve it, you will be more successful in achieving it and a reason not to give up when the journey gets tough.
I've been thinking about the "why" a lot since last night. While watching the Biggest Loser, we got into a discussion about why so many of the contestants ultimately fail and gain the weight back after the finale and they go back to their 'normal' lives. The problem is that often times the contestants aren't committed to the journey for the sake of their health, but rather the cash prize at the end. I understand that competition is a great motivator, but I think in many of the contestants cases, that becomes the goal, not reclaiming their lives. Their "why" is out of whack! I said in that moment, that I was glad that I never had a quick fix, an easy solution or a big cash prize that I was working for on my journey. I have literally had to fight for every pound that I've lost. I've calculated every calorie, measured every ingredient, and sweated out every calorie with hours of cardio. This is not about me saying that I'm better than them, it's that I know that going back is never an option for me, it's been too hard to get where I am, but the only reason that I've been able to get where I am is because I have a clear "why".
When I started trying to lose weight, I was miserable. I hated myself and rarely left the house because I was so embarrassed of my size, and most of the time I didn't even get out of my pajamas. When I finally decided that it was time to lose the weight, it wasn't just about looking better, and while that was obviously part of the motivation, it had a lot more to do with other bigger factors. I've been overweight my whole life. Even as a very young child, I was overweight, and by the time I was a teenager I was clearly obese, and growing up as a "fat kid" is one of the most emotionally crippling experiences. Plain and simple, kids are mean. I remember daily coming home from school in tears because I was called "fat" or yet another joke was made about it not being over until the fat lady sings, and being taunted to sing, or the group of boys grimacing in disgust as they taunted one of their own telling me that he liked me. Never being able to shop at the same stores as my peers, wearing "old lady clothes" instead of the trendy teenage clothing because nothing came in my size. There was no "Juniors Plus" department when I was a kid. Long story short, it was painful. I hated every minute of my chubby childhood, and I didn't ever want my children to experience that same sort of pain, but how could I expect them to eat healthily avoid the junk food and be active when I wasn't setting that example?!
Another big factor comes back to one of 3 books that top my list as changing my mentality fundamentally. Almost 4 years ago now, I read the book "For Women Only" which I had received as a wedding gift. From page 1 I was engrossed in this book, but the final chapter is what rocked my world. This last chapter discusses how not taking care of yourself can show your spouse that you don't care about them, and of course I'm not doing it justice by clearly not explaining the concept as well as it is in the book, but the point is that just like in our relationship with God, we honor our spouse, when we take good care of ourselves. On the more physical level, men are visual creatures, this is why the porn videos are a multi-billion dollar industry with the vast majority of the patrons being men. A man will be more attracted to his wife when she is taking care of herself because not only does it show him that she cares for him, but tends to amplify her confidence, and flat out, confidence is sexy. For me, this struck right to the heart. I have an overwhelming love and respect for my husband. I whole-heartedly believe that he is the most amazing man currently living on the planet. Had Christ never lived as a man, that last sentence would have read "the most amazing man that ever lived." The point is that I know even at my lowest he loved me and I didn't ever want him to be embarrassed of me. I wanted him to always find me attractive, and to be happy to introduce me to co-workers or friends, and I didn't ever want him to be the butt of jokes because of his "fat wife." My "why" was clear. It was for my husband and my girls, and that has never changed. Sure there has been extra push to lose weight for particular events, but that's never been the destination, just another stop on the journey.
Anyway, I tell this story because I think this is an important concept. Why do you invest your time in the things that you do? Why lead a particular group? Why try to lose weight, or make extra money? When you have a goal with a firm "why" you want to achieve it, you will be more successful in achieving it and a reason not to give up when the journey gets tough.
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