Why I’m at Peace with My Weight Gain

Posted in training for my first half ironman with tags , , , , , , , , on August 31, 2021 by runmyssierun

“Resistance keeps you stuck. Surrender immediately opens you to the greater intelligence that is vaster than the human mind, and it can then express itself through you. So through surrender often you find circumstances changing.” ~Eckhart Tolle

I took a deep breath, feeling the recent change in my belly. I pinched at my belly rolls. They were familiar, I’d had them before, but recently I had gone through a period of over a year where I was in a smaller body. Now I was gaining weight again.

This is the reverse of what a “before and after” photo should be – but it’s real and untouched and all me.

I refuse to step on the scale, so I don’t actually know how much weight I’ve gained. I can just feel it in the extra belly rolls and the snugness in some of my clothes. In my mind, I have two choices: to wage war on my body or to surrender to the weight gain.

Surrender is the ability to let go of the crushing weight of societal and personal expectations. It’s waving the white flag, signifying I’m giving up all the diet culture methods I’ve tried so hard to make work. I’m acknowledging that they actually never worked in the first place. This option isn’t always so easy, though.

For some context, I’m a body positive and fat positive activist. I advocate for acceptance and health at every size. I tell others they’re worthwhile just as they are. Though when it comes time to put them into practice within myself, it’s very challenging.

I still have days where I suck in my stomach, hoping to appear skinnier to the world and to myself. I try to shrink to become small enough. I feel as though my worth lies in the number on the scale (even though I’m a stranger to it now).

I lie to myself and say that my husband will leave me if I keep gaining weight. I beat myself up about the food I’ve consumed and I compare myself to other people.

My body positive journey is far from perfect; I struggle with all of these things. One big reason is internalized weight stigma or fatphobia. It infests my mind and can take over if I’m not careful.

I mean, look at the world: We fear and despise fat. People are bullied and discriminated against because of being in larger bodies. Fatphobia is very real. It’s ingrained subconsciously; our society trains us to be this way.

The Body is not an Apology outlines some ways in which fatphobia rears its ugly head. In jobs, fat employees tend to be paid less for the same work. In dating, they often deal with people who fetishize them rather than seeing them as humans. In fashion, there are rarely sizes available beyond a size 16. In medicine, doctors see them as weak-willed and lazy.

This is not surrender in our society. This is bullying and prejudice. No wonder it’s hard for people to accept their changing bodies—there are so many consequences for being fat.

The irony of fat-shaming in the name of health is that it actually causes adverse health effects. According to a survey done by Esquire magazine, two-thirds of people report they’d rather be dead than fat. Can you imagine the damage this amount of stress does to one’s system?

No wonder we’re terrified of gaining weight. We let those messages infiltrate our minds, and they drive us to pinch at our belly rolls as if we’re the worst people ever.

On the other hand, being thin means being accepted, flying under the radar, even being complimented. It means that life is easier because you’re not oppressed in this way. Still, fatphobia manages to creep into all of our minds.

When you’re scared to death of what other people are going to think of you, you’re carrying your own sense of internalized fatphobia. This phenomenon even impacts those who are in smaller bodies because of the negative feelings they have about themselves and the world.

It makes sense, then, that my first reaction to my body admittedly isn’t always unconditional love. Rather, the old messages in my mind were saying, “You’re not good enough. You’re disgusting. No one will ever love you. You’re a failure.” They were loud and unrelenting. I was familiar with these messages.

For many years I waged war with myself. I was stuck in cycles of binging and restricting that wreaked havoc on my body. I thought I was being “healthy,” but really I was very sick.

I was obsessing over every little thing I consumed, making sure to track seventy-two calories of butter to my MyFitnessPal app and being hysterical when I gave into a Twix bar. Weight control owned me. I was constantly thinking about food.

Binging and restricting create terrible health risks—getting physically sick from too much or not enough food and brittle hair, not to mention the emotional consequences that occur like stress, obsession, and the absence of joy.

I loathed my very existence, and I definitely was fighting a war against my body and myself. I thought that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. It was utterly exhausting.

I started to think that there had to be another way to relate to my body.

When I was twenty-two, I discovered the body positivity movement. I began with a program called Bawdy Love, which was all about being a revolution to loudly declare that every body is worthy and no body is shameful.

I began to follow body positive influencers online like Megan Jayne Crabbe, Tess Holiday, Roz the Diva, Jes Baker, and hashtags like #allbodiesaregoodbodies. Fat women filled my feed. They were beautiful and unapologetic. They taught me that fat isn’t bad and that people in larger bodies aren’t lazy, unhealthy, or unlovable.

Now, I must say, I’m in a smaller body. I have privileges that many people do not. My level of weight gain so far is still keeping me in a body that’s relatively accepted by society. I don’t know what it’s like to face discrimination based on my size.

I do, however, know what it’s like to hate your body and think that you’re broken. I know what it’s like to do the opposite of surrender. When I’m living this way I do things like workout until I’m ill, take my favorite foods out of my diet, and berate my body in front of other people. This is what waging war looks like.

Instead of doing this, I chose to surrender to weight gain. I make this choice every single day. I try to let go of my expectations and preconceived notions. I’m throwing my hands up in the air.

This isn’t a happily-ever-after story where everything is perfect. Rather, body acceptance takes rigorous work as well simply just letting myself be.

I’m continuing to enjoy my food free from disordered eating. This means no restricting; every single food is available at any time. You won’t hear me talking poorly about my body or about anyone else’s. I refuse to diet and I refuse to indulge others in their diets.

To counteract the voices that tell me I’m not good enough, refute them with “You’re worthy and lovable just as you are. Weight is just a number. You’re okay.”

Eventually, I started to believe these thoughts are true. Part of me thinks that maybe, just maybe, my existence on this planet isn’t for nothing. In letting go of the self-pity, a beautiful sense of self begins to bloom.

Surrendering is harder than you may believe. Internalized weight bias runs deep.

I think at times I come off as someone who’s super-confident in myself and in my relationship with my body, but it takes a whole lot of work to get to the point of surrender. The point of being free from the grips of diet culture.

I still poke at my belly, but mostly it’s with curiosity. If I feel disgust, I quickly try to turn my thoughts around to have compassion and confidence. I notice when my thighs are pressed against a bench. I smile, feeling thankful that my legs move me around.

I don’t step on the scale because I know that it can’t tell me anything about my worth. The numbers are irrelevant. I open my arms to weight gain, though sometimes taking a deep breath first. Accepting it means healing from a disordered relationship with my body and food.

Weight gain is an indicator that I’m living with joy in my life. I’m enjoying meals out with friends, snacking on treats at work, and taking seconds. I’m eating when I’m hungry, what a revelation.

I’m taking deep care of myself, and that may not look like other people’s definitions of self-care. That’s okay.

Fatphobia may say that I’m being stupid, but I choose surrender today. For me, that means throwing out lifelong conceptions that I’m not good enough. It means no longer running in circles chasing my tail, trying to lose weight. It’s opening up to the idea that there’s another way to go about this. It’s peace and joy.

The above was written by Ginelle Testa in a post on Tiny Buddha however every single feeling behind every single word came verbatim from my soul – although I changed the part where she mentioned attracting a boyfriend to adjust to me retaining the adoration of my husband. I felt it so much that I was compelled to copy it here for others to feel the taboo conversation that has led me to an enlightening that is so wickedly dangerous that it challenges every insecurity I was ever TAUGHT to have.

In my teens and 20’s, I was surrounded by an environment that both shamed and encouraged – in fact, downright demanded – restriction and the pressure for someone so young was too much for it to not haunt my psyche for decades. Back then, the vocabulary was “anorexia” and “bulimia” or “binging and purging” and it was shameful to be caught yet expected of society to be accepted. Even before me, I remember reading the love notes that my grandmother had written to my grandfather telling him that when he returned from whatever trip he was on that she would be slim and trim for him because of her new diet pills. She died at the age of 45 of a heart attack – although my father says she was born with a heart condition, I think diet pills from back in the day were not tested like they are today and likely caused fatal damage. Today, the same behavior continues yet the terms have morphed into a glamorized version of “fasting”. The damage I have done to my body is permanent and the profound guilt I carry from it is heavier than double what it could ever show on the scale.

I now see the only people who have issues with my weight gain are those who have deep seeded issues themselves about weight/physical appearance. At first it’s hurtful the way they think of me… but then the hurt quickly turns to frightening pity because I know first hand how it feels to be a prisoner of disordered eating and body dysmorphia. Isn’t it a shame we all don’t become wiser in synchronicity?

So when someone criticizes me about my weight gain, it stings a bit but nothing in comparison to the joy I am just learning to explore. Imagine that — I experience joy. Even while being shamed by someone else. Re-reading this back to myself makes me smile because I can see how much I’ve truly matured internally.

10 Years and a Broken Heart

Posted in Mom with tags , , , , , on April 8, 2022 by runmyssierun

It was 10 years ago today, right this very moment, that I crawled into bed with my Momma, held her hand, smoothed her hair back and whispered into her ear that it was ok to let go of us and stop the pain she was in. I remember hearing what the hospice nurses called the “death rattle”. I was the only one in the room with her in the end.
A few nights before, she had become quite antsy and restless. It was difficult for her to walk but she was adamant about going from her bed to the living room to watch TV on the couch. I lifted her up and walked her over, carefully holding her under her shoulders just incase she fell along the way. It was about 3:00 a.m. This would be the last time that she would have a conversation with me.
“I’m so sorry you have to see me go through this,” she said.
After I gathered my will and a bit of silence passed, I responded “I’m so glad it’s me you allowed to see you go through this.” I laid my head down on her frail bony shoulder as we sat on the couch together and she held me in her arms for the last time that night.
April 8, 2012, Easter Sunday, ten years ago today… If you believe in the biblical story of Jesus Christ and know about the time when he began his journey of suffering, of crucifixion and death…it matches exactly the same time frame that Momma followed that day. I truly believe in the deepest part of my heart that she chose that day and that time to join her Lord and Mother Mary for that reason. I wish with all my might I could have faith and strength like hers.
I held her hand as she took her last breath.
No other honor in my life time can ever surpass that honor. I now live my life trying to smile like her no matter how hard it gets. I now live my life reflecting all that she taught me no matter what anyone else tells me. I now live my life like hers so that my children can feel the love that I felt for her.

If you ask me if time makes it easier to deal with great loss, I will answer with a quick resounding NO.

When my father remarried, he gave me his wedding ring. My mother had already given me hers before she passed. I took them to a very talented local custom jeweler. I had trained with his wife and step mother at the time for several triathlons and had heard of my journey. He melted both rings together into a solid heart with her little “chip” diamond right smack in the center. I never take it off for reasons of symbolism and honor. Her heart, above mine, always leading me forward. Always.

But the brutal reality is that time doesn’t stand still nor is it ever at any time predictable. Since the untimely death of my baby brother, my father and I have been in a state of grief. It was too late for me to recognize and understand was that we grieve differently. However, what is identical while in the state of grief is the rash decisions we made during our depression stage. What my father and I both recognize now is the aftermath and consequences of those decisions and the impact it has made on our family… what’s left of our family to endure. Most profoundly, my youngest son. How unfair and unintentional those ramifications have been for him. Learning how to forgive myself for all he lost will likely take my lifetime. For me, mourning the loss of my father while he is still here on Earth – but so far removed from our lives – has been the most excruciating agony of my life.

Fast forward to this week, as I was making plans for Easter and the 10 year anniversary of my mother’s death, I said aloud how disappointing it is to be away from family at this time. And then it happened. My mother’s heart broke. Literally and figuratively.

I felt something drop inside my blouse, brush down my belly and clang on the floor by my feet. The heart pendant that had been hanging over my heart and split in two and fell just as I had mentioned my family sorrow. I need to also mention that this pendant is ONE solid piece. The pendant clasp was soldered into the charm so there are no moving parts that could or would NORMALLY break off… but it did. And perfectly and precisely in half no less.

The solid heart charm had been severed in half.

And fell.

Mom & dad’s heart had broken.

Spooked? If you don’t get it, you might want to read this all over again and then read between the lines.

Remember my signs?

Ya….. I got scared. I felt I disappointed my Momma so I showed up on the doorstep of my dad’s house. Picked him up and told him I was on my way to go take flowers to the cemetery and asked him if he wanted to go. He said he was working on the yard and I gave him a look. I told him, “You don’t need to get dressed up to go to the cemetery.” He chuckled and said, “Well Donny would mind.” *meaning that Donny, my baby brother who is buried next to my mom, took extra care of his looks. But then it dawned on me… he forgot. He was thinking it was Donny’s death anniversary. *his is on the 11th – today is the 8th

And then it dawned on him. He knew I wasn’t going to take NO for an answer and I made sure he got into my car to go with me to visit Momma…. and everyone else buried around her.

While with him, we had a really good talk. I asked a lot of questions I should have asked a long time ago. While sitting by her gravestone, we contemplated so many scenarios of what they would be doing if they were all still here. He stated that he went to church only because it’s what Momma would have done. I stated that I agreed to serve on all these committees only because it’s what Momma would have done. We both laughed and I said “It’s really hard to be like her.” He agreed. I’ve realized things I should have seen a long time ago. I think he’s still hurting and heavy with guilt. I think I’m still hurting and heavy with guilt. I know we still love each other. I know we both wish we had made better choices along the way. I know we both wish things were different.

I’m learning all about trauma responses and how it all manifests in our bodies. I’m also learning that I must take care of myself first before trying to take care of someone else. I believe I got my co-dependency nature from him and do NOT want my children to receive it from me. So… back to square one. How do you fix yourself in the constant battle towards growth and make sure your loved ones don’t get hit by the shrapnel? Answer: I don’t know but I cannot afford to sit back in ignorance and not try to do better. Ten years from now, I hope I re-read this and tell myself I’m glad I worked on my self and figured it out for my family.

Shannon Jewelers fixed my heart charm. No charge. It’s never coming off again.


I love you Momma.

Hey sugar boo

Posted in Uncategorized on April 3, 2022 by runmyssierun

I have an inner gansta. It took a long time and a whole lot of therapy to get her to chill. I’m not going to blow all that effort on the gossip they spew.

Cool thing is people recognize that person’s insecurities and the motivation behind WHY they were saying those things about me.

I’m actually shocked at my own reaction to my haters and the immense amount of pity and empathy I have towards them. But I’ll still keep a distance… because THEY aren’t ready.

Realtor of the Year 2021

Posted in Mom, real estate, training for my first half ironman on January 1, 2022 by runmyssierun

For you

Posted in training for my first half ironman on December 10, 2021 by runmyssierun

This is just a loving reminder for my Ladies who need to hear this today. ❤️

It is ok to love yourself, right now, the way you are. It’s ok to love your body the way it is with surgery, without surgery, with weight loss, and weight gain. It’s ok to love your body and yourself before kids when you have been preyed on by corporate America to feel less than because someone told you that you weren’t “perfect”. It’s ok to feel fearlessly confident and sexy after kids when you’re drowning in chicken nuggets and laundry, and possibly have been living off of baby wipes and dry shampoo to get through the grind. It’s ok to love your laugh lines, your gorgeous maturing body that has more confidence and wisdom than any 20 year old out there. It’s ok to accept limitations from disabilities or health issues, and know you’re still a goddesss. Because you are stunning , right now, with no makeup on or with a full “ beat” face. You don’t need permission to love yourself.

End of Public Service announcement.❤️

Ok – it’s me. I’m the one that needed to hear this today and posting it here so that later when I come back a year from now to re-read my excerpts, I’ll know it’s future me that I’m talking to.

Lessons in Giving and Receiving

Posted in ACTS with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2021 by runmyssierun

This week, today mostly – I spent the majority of my time preparing for the annual Homeless Picnic in McAllen with the Emily’s Meals crew. Now – let me be clear – this is not one of those humble brags so don’t be rolling those eyes at me. I’ve learned a thing or two about charities and God’s work over these last few years. Some of us need reminding every now and then so when they see a friend like me post on my social media account that some organization is in need of coats or foster children are in need of teddy bears or another group needs two more volunteers to help deliver food to the homeless, they step up and get the job done… had they not seen the post, they would have been on their recliner watching football all day. THIS is what this is now. It’s a reminder – not a brag. We can all do something – large or small – it’s not a competition – but together we can all make a huge dent in any crisis and create a whole lotta happiness around us that wasn’t there before.

So – back to my story – I was in this little storage room packed to the brim with donations sorted in plastic bins with colorful labels stating “men’s jeans”, “toiletries”, “school supplies”, etc. when the gentleman in charge calculated that we were short on coats and jackets, women’s clothing, socks and undergarments. “But most of all we need volunteers”, he said.

“How many do we need?” I asked

“We’re going to need at least 8 more groups to man each table that we have.” Denise, my prayer sister beside him responded. I felt like that Winona Ryder meme with the confused look on her face as I calculated in my head 8 groups of at least 2-3 people per table…. that’s about 15-30 more people… I can get my kiddo, ask the agents in my office, round up some of the WCR Realtors & affiliates and maybe reach out to the YPN members at the up coming mixer and post on social media I thought to myself…

“I’m on it!” I quickly yelled out.

See, what you should know about me is that I’m not super rich, nor am I highly educated. I’m not politically powerful but I DO know a lot of really, really good people. People are one of my super hero powers. (*Forgiveness is the other super hero power I have but that’s another story)

If I’ve considered you a friend of mine, that means I see something really good in you. I hope that you’ve befriended me in the same manner. Good people usually stick together. We may not be similar in lots of ways but there’s usually a common denominator of goodness among all my circles of friends. And let me tell you… they did not disappoint!

Within 48-hours, my inboxes were flooded with people who were offering help. Those who couldn’t be there personally offered to donate coats, jackets, feminine hygiene products, socks, scarfs, and other warm clothing. People gave what they could. I had friends from way back in the day show up on my doorstep with jackets, mittens and beanies. My women friends from the office called and said they were cleaning out their closets and found clothes with the tags still on them that they wanted to donate. I mean everyone was showing up with the most generous hearts ever! All it took was a simple ask.

Be the voice for those who feel they can’t speak. Stand up and show up. Be the example so others can follow. To those who matter, your good deed will inspire a new behavior among your sphere of influence and serve as an example of what one person CAN do and a reminder that we can all do small things with great love and together those small things become exponentially powerful and enough to empower immense change.

I had to be mindful of my own finances since a few of my closings didn’t happen so I was a bit off budget and to find ways to tighten my spending belt, I went to a local dollar store and found some really thick and nice quality knitted scarfs, plush blankets and prepackaged individual toiletries. I knew if I just looked hard enough, I’d find something within the amount I could spend and still be able to provide warmth and comfort for someone else in need…. and guess what? God provided with just enough.

Savvy shopper 🙂

Simultaneously, the Women’s Council of REALTORS® McAllen Network made a call out for their annual Teddy Bear drive that I had been donating to since 2005.

Yep – that’s me and the staff of Mujeres Unidas back in 2005 with the bears I had donated. It’s truly a great cause that I believe in whole heartedly.

I took my son with me to shops all over town to get teddy bears and check the “snuggle factor” of each stuffed bear. Every bear we “tested” was judged on how well they felt when hugged them. We chose three that were top notch snugglers and were pretty proud of our selections. We hope the children that choose them are able to feel our hugs if they have dark moments over the holidays.

Elva Jackson-Garza, long-time personal mentor and role model of mine, also with Edwards Abstract and Title Company and current Membership Director for the Women’s Council of REALTORS® McAllen Network and me and my 3 bears being donated that passed the snuggle test

So here’s where the story gets really good…

While I was out and about doing these things for others, I came home to find a gift for me nestled safely in my front porch from my 7th Grade teacher at St. Joseph’s Catholic School. Now… keep in mind I haven’t been a 7th Grader for years… I’m talking decades!!! So for a teacher to remember her student and reach out the way she did today meant the world to me.

This is me and my 7th /8th grade teacher Fran Prukop at my 8th Grade graduation mass at St. Joseph’s Catholic School

See, in 7th grade, I struggled with Algebra. I honestly just couldn’t understand it one bit. This teacher spent her lunch hour and after school time to tutor me until I mastered it. Because it was a small private Catholic school, once a week, we would celebrate Mass together. This phenomenal teacher wasn’t just a teacher… she was a rock star! Well— she strummed guitar while singing hymns in church. Same thing. I remember just like it was yesterday, I was sitting third pew down from the pulpit as she sang my favorite hymn – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGHOtR-v4yQ

Songs have lyrics behind them. Hymns have prayers. There was something in the prayer sung by her that called out to my soul back then that never left. To summarize, it’s a prayer to God asking Him to use me as a tool to create peace. That’s what I wanted. My teacher – a brand new twenty-something newly licensed teacher sang that song and the prayer engraved itself into my being from that moment on. It’s the prayer best known as St. Francis of Assisi’s prayer for Peace. St. Francis is also very well known for loving all of God’s creatures… another thing that I was reminded of when I attended my first ACTs retreat, learned more about St. Francis and coincidentally (said sarcastically and looking up towards the sky with a smirk on my face) a bunch of doves and other birds came to me to be rescued and cared for.

Here’s Flutter the Bird perched on Harley the wonder dog – both no longer with us but forever in our hearts

I’ve posted a bit about this on my social media as it began with #flutterthebird and then escalated quickly. Unaware that it is considered illegal to care for wild birds without a license and proper training, I naively posted questions, updates and releases on my facebook and instagram. *I am now in the process of becoming the only certified dove rehabilitation center in the county – but not official yet. In these postings, I taught others what I was learning so that we could all help if a helpless bird was in need. A hurricane blew in and those lessons to the community came in handy. Hundreds of birds were saved and released healthy and happy because we all worked together for innocent creatures that would never be able to repay us for our care and hospitality. Ahhhh sweet story, right? But it doesn’t end there… this is how my 7th grade teacher found out about me. The teacher who sang about peace to her students found one of her students decades later who was still trying to become that instrument of peace for God.

Today that teacher left a statue of St. Francis of Assisi with the most heartfelt handwritten card on my front porch. Still learning from my teacher… still praying to be an instrument of peace.

When you give, you receive so much more. Great lesson today and so incredibly grateful for it.

Thank you Mrs. Prukop. He will be placed in my garden to watch over the birds and squirrels.

St. Francis of Assisi with the card she wrote me – my heart is full

Are you ok?

Posted in come back, empowerment, Mom, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 24, 2021 by runmyssierun

I credit my mother with super hero vision powers. She saw me. She could see through my words. She could see through my actions. She saw me when I couldn’t see what was right in front of me and when I was still trying to see who I was inside.

When I was in 6th grade, she got me a Judy Blume diary. She encouraged me to write down my feelings and express myself. It was difficult and took a while to catch on but deep down I knew it helped me.

I come from a family, a region and a culture that is predominantly Hispanic, stereotypically machismo and in my mother’s eyes had clearly hurt her daughter (and I feel had hurt my mother even more harshly). She and I were both raised in a culture where women were submissive, were unworthy of valued opinions, used for sexual entertainment, reproduction and daily maid services. she was a child of the 60’s — where the sexual revolution and women’s rights were promoted. I was a child of the 80’s — where latchkey GenX kids were left by themselves with highly processed foods, pop rocks, lawn jarts, Saturday morning cartoons and MTV because both parents either worked and were never home or were divorced and never home and forced their children to live out of a duffle bag as they jumped from house to house for visitation rights or were forced to live with grandparents until one parent could get their act together. My mother’s super hero 20/20 vision could see the conflicting messages both our generations were served in the world we were both raised in. Teaching me to journal was her way of empowering me with a voice to express my innermost feelings, something I think she may have struggled with herself as a child.

When I was a teenager, I endured chronic sexual trauma – this verbiage was carefully chosen to use, deleted and then reinserted again because I feel the words are both shockingly harsh and yet scientifically sterile and numbing (all feelings that correlate perfectly to the experience). The guilt and shame that came from it was nothing compared to the feelings I had later, after I had the courage to speak up and tell the two most trusted people in my life about it and then get blamed for it. So I locked it up inside of me. My mom saw me. She saw through me. I think deep down inside she knew something was terribly wrong so she arranged for me to speak to a psychiatrist. The term codependent entered my head and never left after that.

I remember a book shoved towards the bottom of our hall closet. It was called “Men who hate women and the women who love them”. My mom read tons of books daily… all of them Harlequin romance novels. So this book stood out even though she tried to hide it. All her other books were on a built in book shelf in her bedroom. But this one was hidden. And told me she struggled in the same ways I did. Did she recognize this in me in my early years? Did she see how I was always trying to impress my parents? Did she see how defeated I was when I never seemed to impress my father? Did she see the hurt in my eyes as I saw how bored, annoyed and agitated he was having to watch my ballet performance or piano recitals? I think she did. I think she recognized her own younger self in me as well. I wish I had remembered this sooner.

Your brain protects you as you try to heal from hurt by blocking certain memories until you’re able to deal with them. I feel stronger now, ten years later and now am remembering more and more. I wake up more often with bad dreams now but vividly remember them and I think this is my head telling my heart that I’m ready to deal. Memories of my mom encouraging me to write it all down and seek help – still in a family and society that keeps secrets – is making me feel like she’s giving me permission to push beyond cultural stigma. The really awesome thing about this is that if I talk about seeking ways to improve my mental health and being ok with it may empower someone else reading this to do the same. Are you ok? Because if you’re not, it’s ok to ask for help to become ok. Sometimes we can’t do it all by ourselves. Having a picture perfect Instagram or a to die for bikini body or fabulously waxed sports car isn’t all that if your mental health is mush. Priorities baby. Are you ok?

I’m Crypt Keeper Old This Week and Never Felt So Young!

Posted in come back, diet, empowerment, health & fitness, rgv, rio grande valley, Uncategorized, weightloss with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 21, 2021 by runmyssierun

So who was it that tried to convince me that 50 was old and no longer sexy?

Who decided that grey hair was unattractive and we needed to dye our hair all the time and damage it even more?

What bozo tried to convince us that we need plastic filled faces to eliminate wrinkles so we can hide the years of happiness carved into our eyes and stop us from smiling genuinely?

Who said Boomers can’t do what they used to? Because I’ve become better as each decade has passed.

This week I enter the 51st year of my life… and I’m not hiding it, lying about my age or what I choose to do in it.

You can diet, starve, gorge, exercise, couch potato like a pro, you can knit a pot holder at Burning Man, kick back as many drinks as you want (so long as it’s lactose free), and hold any opinion you want because it’s backed by personal experience so long as you’re a Gen Xer surviving. We are the children of Boomers and hippies. We are the parents of Millennials. If you’re in your 50’s you can do what you want. I’m doing what I want… and I really don’t care what YOU think about it.

I really don’t care if you think I’m fat or slow or weak or old or ugly. I feel pity for you if you don’t recognize my value and just focus on totally unimportant characteristics. I really don’t care if you think my political views are wrong. I voted. End of story. Move on. I’ll turn up the volume to my car stereo and sing melody, harmony and back up vocals to Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t care because you are not Simon Cowell. I’ve learned that every criticism you have of me tells me soooooo much about you. That’s wisdom right there. I’m liking it but it’s a double edged sword.

I’m pretty happy where I am in my own skin. I am amazed at the sudden wisdom and insight I have now… especially gained over this year. I remember as a kid opening up Cracker Jack boxes hoping I would finally get the ex ray glasses so I could see through things and be prepared for everything hiding out to get me. I now marvel in enlightenment as I can now see right through people… but now see how empty, sad, unfulfilled, envious, ignorant, codependent, narcissistic, materialistic, angry, neglected, rejected and confused they are… and I want to give my glasses back. I’ve been there. I was in each of those phases and didn’t enjoy them one bit. But I made it look good to others and convinced myself that it was a good thing for me to be like that.

But it’s true. With age comes wisdom and when you know better, you do better.

AND HONESTLY I CANNOT WAIT TO GROW YOUNGER NOW. I’m 51. Fifty freaking one!!!!

My baby brother lived to the age of 38. My grandmother and namesake lived to be 45. How incredibly blessed am I to have these days that they were never able to.

I cried when I turned 30 because I thought I was old. I laughed when I turned 50 because I realized my life is just now becoming my own!

I’m crypt keeper old and never felt this young!

How to go on when COVID has stolen all that you love

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on January 1, 2021 by runmyssierun

A few years ago I endured the loss of three close immediate family members within 12 months. It was a rarity to lose so many loved ones in a short period of time. I found solace and healing in writing this blog, turning to God and running for a cause that would benefit others, strangers I would likely never meet.

2020 brought to us the wrath of COVID and what was once a rarity is now far too common. If you’ve read this far because of the title of this blog, my heart goes out to you. Unfortunately there is no one size fits all band-aid for this kind of pain – but I can share with you what worked for me and help guide you to tomorrow. You are not alone.

It gets better. Trust me.

Fa La La La flop 2020

Posted in training for my first half ironman on November 23, 2020 by runmyssierun

It’s not the same. It never will be. It was never supposed to be. But I don’t think it was meant to be THIS different this year.

https://images.app.goo.gl/aMEpWdzHZvhe14cz7

I’m struggling with holiday season this year. 2020 is a $h!t show. Let’s just call it as it is. I don’t cuss but there really isn’t a better way to describe it. Over the last few years, the deaths of loved ones and the deployment of my son and husband not being here have gotten me used to holidays being… different empty meaningless lackluster and without tradition. I’ve always gone out of my way to convince myself and others to find the silver lining of it all and be grateful. I’ve always been good at that but now in hindsight, I see that I’ve set up my youngest son to expect big ticket items without family sitting on the living room floor, singing Christmas carols by the piano, eating tamales and sipping hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows on top and dressed in our Sunday best for midnight Mass. I feel I’ve failed him. I feel 2020 isn’t going to give me a chance to fix this.

Divorce and death and step-family and quarantine don’t seem to work well as ingredients to a happy festive holiday celebration. And as I look around, I don’t think anyone else has the playbook with the answer guide to what we should do to make it work.

So, here I go… trying to figure it all out.

I’m going to begin a GRATITUDE journal. There’s no room for a pity party in these times. That’s not what days like these are supposed to be. My youngest is 17 and this is likely one of his last Thanksgivings and Christmas’ here at home with me. I need to make it special and can’t do this by myself. I need your help. How are you making it meaningful for you and yours?

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