Some Things I Hate More Than Others.

Some Things I Hate More Than Others.

I dread exercise.

I basically despise healthy food.

I loathe what the scale reflects back at me when I step on it.

But more than any of that, I hate hate HATE how I look and how I feel in my own skin.

*Flashback to about 30 days ago*

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see the person I used to be OR the person I want to be. I see someone who has been comfortable just “being” and not someone who has a goal to work towards right now.

I was a dancer forever. I was thin with a great booty and fabulous boobs (sorry daddy). I was in shape and could contort my body all manner of ways. Then I hit college. And got married. And then I had babies. And life, and blah blah blah excuses blah blah blah.

After Charlie died, I was diagnosed with anxiety and PTSD, started taking an antidepressant and anxiety medication, and the baby weight just kinda stuck around. I didn’t care about anything, especially that. In fact, I jokingly called the extra 15 pounds I was carrying around “a souvenir.” The comfort food and dinners we ordered for delivery almost every night, combined with an overwhelming sadness made any desire to care about my looks just go away. I didn’t care about myself, just what I was missing with my son not here. 

And then you know what happens when you kept 15 pounds of souvenir baby weight from your first child and then you get pregnant again and gain 40 pounds? All of a sudden you are paralyzed by the extra weight you need to take off. Some came off naturally, and some from building a house and working outside in our new yard and then some? Some just stuck around. 

I became content and complacent and ok with where I was.

Four years ago, I woke up one morning, and like Forrest Gump, I started running. I was done being stuck. I was going to do something  My goal was to run a 5k and that very quickly turned into a goal of running a half marathon. I ran and ran and ran some more. 

I trained. I got fit (but not super fit). I felt amazing. And then I proceeded to run four half marathons and ten 10Ks and who knows how many 5Ks in four years. Hell, I even ran a 10K and a Half on 2 consecutive mornings. Something I never would have thought I could do. But I did it because I said I was going to do it. And maybe because I’m a little crazy.

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Then I quit. I quit running. I quit it all.

My knees hurt. My toes hurt. My arthritis was really bothering me. 

And then I got a divorce and became a single mom. The decision was mutual between us, but apparently, even if you KNOW that everything’s ok and happy and friendly, there’s still a sadness and grieving period that lingers over the newly divorced. 

And y’all, do you know how single moms (at least this one) eat? Well, ones who don’t want to cook two separate meals because their kid is a picky eater just suck it up and end up eating whatever junk is in the house. Or cereal. Or sometimes both. The easier the dinner, the better. And we all know that “easier” and “delicious” are slang for “pretty shitty for you.”

Ok. You can flashback to now. Flash forward. Whatever.

Anyway, now here I am. 40 and a half. Single, and ridiculously happy.

But I am so incredibly freaking uncomfortable in my own skin.

I’m pretty sure the last straw for me was somewhere around mid-April when I was ordering my Listen To Your Mother dress from eShakti and had to measure all over my body. When I saw the numbers that came back from a measuring tape, I literally cried because those numbers didn’t lie. I couldn’t fudge those numbers like I could the scale for things like “I’m wearing clothes” or “I’ve not pooped today” or any other reason to take 2 pounds off the number.

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That was when I realized how much weight I needed to lose. And how many inches needed to be gone. And how I really just wanted to feel more like myself inside my skin.

Here’s where I tell you my big secret: I don’t consider myself fat. I consider myself uncomfortable, a little fluffy, shapeless, and quite honestly, miserable. Now by some standards, I’m obese. By others, I’m still seen as normal. Whatever. It’s my body. I don’t like it.

I decided it was time to try something… anything. Just make a change.

Like they were reading my mind, I happened to receive an invitation to a take a VIP spin class at a new cycle joint in Dunwoody, CycleBar, and thought to myself, “Hmm. This is my chance to be like Jill Kargman on Odd Mom Out and all the UES women who sell their souls to the instructors at SoulCycle and beg to be yelled at and told to ‘man the eff up, warriors, so you can be thin and hot and sexxxxay’ and yes yes YES! I’m in!”

So I signed up for a free class.

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Well, my class just happened to be two days after I started the 21 Day Fix program my friend Sara told me about and sold me on. 21 Day Fix is a Beachbody program that basically tells you to “stop eating so damn much, girlfriend” and makes you exercise for a half hour each day. The first two workouts kicked my butt. Literally. My butt felt like it had been sno’nuff kicked by a zebra for hours on end.

So I saddled up at CycleBar for my class, alone and scared and so excited I could hardly stand it, but already unable to move from the 21 Day Fix workouts. I planned on sucking it up, going all in, and being the unicorn during the class so I could then going home to declare, “I LOVE EXERCISE!”

photo: WSJ

Jill Kargman, Odd Mom Out. Photo: WSJ

Only, ouch.

I was hungry and tired and so sore I couldn’t brush my teeth and I wanted my mommy. And then I realized, no. I don’t want my mommy. I want the body I had when I was 25 years old. So I did what any woman would do. I signed up for another class. And then another.

Now here I am. After completing a full 21 days of 21 Day Fix and 3 CycleBar classes, I can say that I am still not anywhere near my 25 year old body, but I’m down 5 full pounds and 17 inches (no, that is not a typo). If you feel like it, click HERE to see my before and after photos.

As far as cooking and eating right, while single, on 21 Day Fix? Well, I’ve started cooking my weekly meals on Sundays before Henry comes home and I’m ready for the week with lunches and dinners (for the most part). That gives me more time to spend with Henry during the week, to get in the daily workouts, and even hit the pool (because tan fat is better than pasty fat, right?) with the kid.

I still hate exercise and I still basically hate eating healthy because oh my gosh Krispy Kreme donuts are like little round bites of heaven and way better than a salad, but I love the direction this is going.

Because you know what? I hate feeling this way in my own skin WAY worse than I hate eating baked chicken and plain greek yogurt.

**Disclosure: This post contains affiliate links and a link to my personal Beachbody Coach site. If you have questions about Beachbody or 21 Day Fix, feel free to email me at janasthinkingplace@me.com.**

2016: Filling My Life With Passion

2016: Filling My Life With Passion

Passion: noun – a strong feeling of enthusiasm or excitement for something or about doing something

Passion. It’s been right there, right under the surface, tickling my skin to get out. It’s been on the horizon, waiting, lurking, stalking me until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The word has been taunting me for weeks. I’ve made lists of options for this year’s word that will, hopefully, guide me through the 366 days of 2016. None of the words stuck out like passion. They just didn’t grab me by the arm and run through a field of poppies with me like PASSION did.

It basically chose itself.

But if I had to guess, passion does that. When you have it and it infiltrates every part of your life, it chooses its own path and guides you along.

This year, I want to parent with passion. I want to love with passion. I want to be passionate about work and maybe even find that *thing* that fills my soul.

In looking back over the past years, I can say that the words that I’ve chosen to guide my year have impacted my life. They’ve become little guys that sit on my shoulder like those good angel/bad angel guys in cartoons. And even years later, they stick with me.

So here’s to adding Passion to the growing list of life-guiding words.

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(Adding this to Nicole’s One Word post)

2015: The Gloriously Weird Year of Finding Myself, Divorcing, and Turning 40

2015: The Gloriously Weird Year of Finding Myself, Divorcing, and Turning 40

What a weird year this has been.

I mean, I knew it was weird, but then looking back through my photos and calendar… wow. It’s been a doozy.

I’ve been rather quiet here over the course of 2015, my words few and far between. Much has gone on that hasn’t been for public consumption. My (now) ex-husband and I have never made our private matters public, especially in this space, so starting now would have been odd. When we decided very early this year to separate, that things weren’t ok, my words left me. My mind was on overdrive and well, elsewhere.

The year started very restlessly. I was restless and unsettled. I was unhappy. He was unhappy. And in somewhat of short order, all things considered, we remedied it with separation and then divorce. Not that it’s anybody’s business, but none of this life-changing event was a spur of the moment decision. There was talk and therapy and energy sessions and crying and rethinking and in the end, our guts and hearts won out. We knew what we had to do.

Jason and I are better friends now than we have been in years, probably. He’s still my cheerleader and I’m still his. We spend holidays together and do things as a family, because let’s be honest, we always will be one. We share children and memories and grief and joys that only the two of us can ever share. We want the best for each other. We are so much better for Henry this way and our only goals are for him and for each of us to be happy. That’s all anybody wants, right?

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I want to take you on a journey through 2015, though.

Let’s talk while we walk through the year, shall we?

January 2015

January 2015

January was kicked off with a Resolution Run with Sharon that I believe we both resolved to never EVER again run. It’s miraculous we survived. Henry won “Cubmaster’s Choice” at the Pinewood Derby for best looking car. Yes, it’s sushi. No, it’s not edible. Yes, it’s badass.

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February 2015

Oh, February. Jason and I decided over Valentine’s Dinner that we should separate. We’d been back and forth on it, but Valentine’s dinner, while everybody was oohing and aahing over each other at the two-top tables around us, we decided we had to do it. And then we toasted each other. Weird.

Miranda and I held auditions for the Listen To Your Mother Show and I finished my 4th half marathon. Barely. Let’s not discuss the race, but instead let me say how much fun I had with Rachel, Sharon, and Melissa that weekend (and #TeamRMHC)!

The Toomer’s Oaks were replanted in Auburn and we headed over for that big occasion. And then it snowed. And the city of Atlanta shut down.

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March 2015

March saw us figuring out the logistics and details of our separation. We were still living together because of those logistics. That may have been the strangest period of the whole deal. Knowing that you’re apart, but you’re still in the same house. We had distractions, though. Scout things, the boys camping, my niece and I going to NYC to celebrate her birthday. Jasmine and I had the best time! Columbia, Serendipity, Shopping, Broadway!

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April 2015

And then there was April. I don’t think I was even at home during April. Ten days after being in NYC with Jasmine, I was back for the Listen To Your Mother book launch. How much fun was THIS? It was such an amazing 24 hours, I don’t even know where to start! So I won’t bother. But it was amazing to hang out with Neil and Alexandra, Ann, Taya, Melisa… the list goes on. It was a 24 hour trip but so much good was squeezed in!

Then we had our second Listen To Your Mother Show in Atlanta. Which was so beautiful. We had a fantastic cast of 13 women who delivered some of the most heartfelt stories I’ve ever heard. So thrilled to bring it back this next April.

Then there was drinking (much) bourbon with Vikki (and others) at Mom2.0 and visiting with my friend Andrea in Phoenix. Such a busy month!

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May 2015

Basically, in May, I had superpowers that would make me lazy and we celebrated what would have been Charlie’s 12th birthday. May was apparently the opposite of April!

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June 2015

June saw a new family of ducks in our pond out back, a weekend with the girls, and a trip to my sister’s. So clearly “family” was the theme!

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July 2015

July is Peach Month. That’s when the best peaches are available. So we ate them almost right off the tree. I don’t think I’ve eaten as many peaches before as I did this past summer. Henry went to Camp Winnataska again and loved it.

I spent a weekend in NYC again, this time with Neil. I guess you could say this was about when our long time friendship was turning into more than just friendship. (Again, not really anybody’s business, but Jason and I agreed that we could date people while we were separated. So we both did.)

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August 2015

Back to School, with a saxaphone, in August. Plus another trip to NYC and just doing life, one day at a time. We decided to file for divorce.

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September 2015

September was obviously full of fun because the only picture worth posting was of flowers I bought myself at Whole Foods. Which means I paid way too much for them, but whatever, they’re gorgeous and made me feel good. Jason and I, still married technically, celebrated our 17th anniversary with a high five and a PBR because we’re classy like that.

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October 2015

Football game with my mom and Henry. Type A Conference in Atlanta. Henry got a job walking the dog next door after school. Neil came to Atlanta for a long weekend. And I donned a blue wig for Halloween. Oh, October!

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November 2015

November started off with Henry’s 11th birthday party. Another Game Truck party which is God’s gift to moms across the country or wherever Game Trucks are. Seriously. They back in and open the doors and PARTY!

In November, I watched one of my dearest friends say “I do” to the man she loves. I taught my niece how to properly watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. And while at my sister’s house for Thanksgiving, my family celebrated my 40th birthday (a little early).

November 18, our final divorce decree was signed and stamped and official. Again, we celebrated with a high five.

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December 2015

Oh, December. Henry and I found and loved and decorated our own tree. We did it all by ourselves and were so super proud! We made a few new traditions in the process.

I celebrated my FORTIETH birthday on December 9. (I know, I don’t look a day over 27) I was in New York with Neil and we celebrated at dinner with some friends we both know through blogging and Listen To Your Mother. It was such a fun night and weekend.

Christmas came, on schedule. Santa came. Jason joined us and we Christmassed together and it was nice. We had clearly been good this year. I guess Santa liked how well we’ve handled ourselves throughout the year.

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This past year has taught me some things. Mostly that my gut and my heart are always right. I’m grateful to my energy healer and the therapist I briefly saw, for helping me realize the difference between what my heart was telling me and what my head was telling me. Often, your head tells you the easy thing, not the thing that will make you the happiest and take the most courage.

At the end of the day, 2015 was absolutely glorious, and taught me that I’m far more brave and far more resilient than I ever dreamed. I’m not scared of being a single mom. I’m not scared of not being able to live the life I’ve lived for the last 17 years. I’m certainly not scared of the future. I’m excited. Super. Freaking. Excited. Do I know what it holds? Hell no. Do you? If so, I’d like for you to read my palm and tell me some lottery numbers!

I’m ushering in 2016 knowing that anything — ANYthing — can happen. It may be amazing or it may be mundane, but it will be done my way. It will be full of so many things and I plan to do them all with passion and mindfulness and the realization that THIS moment IS life. I only get one and I plan to make it good.

So cheers to a fresh slate, a new decade of life, a blank page in a new notebook, and a new pen.

Let’s do this, 2016.

One Last Anniversary

Seventeen years ago, on September 26, 1998, standing on a St. Augustine lawn at The King and Prince Resort, two people agreed to love, honor, and cherish each other til death do them part. It was out of a fairy tale, if you had a fairy tale with leftover tropical storm winds, fresh and soggy sod down the aisle, and humidity that made the cake (that was inside) start melting and toppling over.

Lighthouse Wedding

The night was beautiful. Planned around football schedules, everyone who was able to attend did. We even had a few wedding crashers! My dad’s band played as long as the hotel would let them and the next morning, from the “round room” we watched the sun rise over the ocean as Mr. and Mrs. Anthoine. It was perfection.

Over the years, life happened. Loss happened. Life kept happening, good and bad.

Laughter filled rooms that were later filled with tears.

Events were celebrated in high style and others were marked simply with grace and honor.

Life changed us. For better and for worse.

We lost our way, and in it, our passion for one another.

Today marks our last anniversary.

September 26, 2015.

We’re technically still married, though divorce papers are filed and waiting for a FINAL stamp that will replace “til death do us part” with “til the judge says we’re no longer married.”

We stood before God and everybody seventeen years ago and took vows we thought we would never break. In fact, we sat in the “oh shit” room in a hospital and swore we would never “be a statistic.” But here we are. Now we have new vows to carry us through the future.

We vow to love each other in the way only parents who share the loss of a child can.

We vow to respect each other in the way only parents who have the same hopes and dreams for their son can.

We vow to co-parent with grace and dignity and promise to never speak ill of the other in front of Henry.

We vow to help each other in a time of need.

We vow to find happiness that was lost between us. It’s out there for both of us to find.

We vow to remember the 6210 days between our wedding day and today as they were, not with regret.

We vow to love, honor, and cherish Henry and the memory of Charlie til death do us part.

Happy seventeenth anniversary, Jason! Here’s to whatever’s next for both of us!

Apart. Part 2.

A few months ago, I wrote about Jason and I deciding to separate. It wasn’t an easy decision or one that was come to quickly. Much thought was put into it and much care was taken to do it the best way possible for both of us and especially for Henry. It has worked very nicely.

The boys took a vacation. Henry and I spent lots of time together. We all three did a few things together. Pretty sure we even laughed, cried, and got a little pissed off at some point.

But after a summer living apart, we’ve decided we like “us” this way. Apart. So apart we will stay.

(yes, you can read into that that we’re getting a divorce)

I can say with 100% certainty, being apart has brought us closer. Not closer as husband and wife, but closer as friends. And more importantly, closer as parents of Henry.

So here’s where we choose to go — our separate ways, which aren’t really separate at all. We will always be connected and always hold a certain love for one another.

There are things that no other person in this world could ever share with us that we have shared together. Only the two of us will ever be able to share the moment when we were told our Charlie would die. Only the two of us will ever be able to share Henry’s first cries and first broken arm and first days of school. Only the two of us will be able to share all our professional ups and downs of the last 17 years, our health ups and downs, and even our emotional ups and downs.

September 26 will be 17 years since we said “I do” on the St. Augustine lawn at The King and Prince in St. Simons. I’m not sure if we will still be married then or if it will all be final, but for the rest of my years, I’ll remember the feel of that grass under my feet as a 22-year-old Jana married the man she loved.

He will always be special. Always be part of me. Always be loved.

But now we both get to go and find our new happy, new life, and hopefully even new love.

Wish us all luck!

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