#i learned that much when I was twelve and my mom got refused birth control for her migraines because she was in menopause

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

Me, pre-surgery: That's ludicrous - how am I supposed to know if I'm on my period if I'm not bleeding?

Me today: I'm craving nothing that's good for me for the past week, any amount of exercise flares up my fibro, I think I injured myself walking at a sedate pace on even ground in sensible shoes, my emotions are all over the place with most tendencies towards terror, wailing and/or fury, I'm so bloated none of my underwear fits, every part of my abdomen is trying to cramp up around an organ that's no longer there and no amount of skincare or clean bedsheets will stop my face from trying to break out. Yeah, no, I get it.

[holylulusworld]

My Little Bird

Summary: Now that Dean found you will he finally see you suffered or will things go worse?

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, Benny Lafitte, OFC’s

Warnings: angst, language, mobster business, pregnant reader (sue me), protective Dean (overprotective bordering on possessiveness), soft Dean (he tries at least), comforting

Sequel to: Little Bird

Dean did not let you go. While Benny drives the SUV out of the parking lot Dean holds you carefully in his arms.

“My little bird will have a baby.” Whispering the words Dean smiles at his friend in the rear-view mirror. “Isn’t she the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Boss, you should go easy on her.” Benny’s features soften as you tremble in Dean’s arms. “She’s not wrong with what she said…”

 “I tried to protect her. Nothing wrong with protecting my wife.” Grumbling Dean places one hand onto your belly and his eyes lit up. Looking at you in awe his features soften.

“That is great, Dean. Just do not stress Y/N. It’s bad for the baby and all.” Benny knows about a woman’s condition, hormones, and emotions during pregnancy as his wife gave birth to twins not long ago. “She needs stability and love.”

“I love her.” Muttering Dean strokes your belly, not taking his eyes off you. “Oh…Oh…” Wide-eyed he looks at you. “There was…I don’t know. I felt something.”

“He kicked.” Mumbling the word, you move your hand over your belly. “I guess our baby boy is awake now.”

“A boy!” Sniffling Dean presses his lips to your temple. “Benny! “The baby kicked me! It’s a little boy…” Humming you dare to meet Dean’s eyes for the first time and your breath hitches in your throat.

A single tear rolls down his cheek and you do not know how to react. “I got an ultrasound picture in my wallet.”

“Can I see it, please?” Nodding you look for your purse in the backseat, remembering Dean put it into the trunk.

“It’s in the trunk.”

“Oh—shit…” Stammering Dean tries to avoid more curses. “Sorry. I will try to not curse when the baby is around. My mom always said, ‘no cursing in front of Sammy’.”

“s’okay. I cursed this morning too. I burned my finger and…” Dean pants heavily. His nostrils flares as he checks on your hand, looking at your finger.

“We have to get the doctor! She burned her finger.” Getting his phone out Dean wants to call Alex, but you stop him before he can dial her number.

“Dean, it is fine. My boss put some ointment onto the finger, and I got a plaster. Look.” Pointing at the Winnie the Pooh plaster you try to convince Dean your life is not in danger. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It hurt…crap. We need to make sure you’ll never get hurt again.” Dean looks at the plaster around your finger, sighing heavily. “I let you out of sight and you got hurt.”

“Boss, it’s a burned finger, not a broken neck. Calm, take a deep breath and let the protective beast sleep for a while.”

Knowing Dean too well Benny tries to calm his friend. “I know you are worried, but Y/N is not Cassie. You protected your wife well so far. I think Y/N can decide some things on her own, Dean. Give her space to breathe.”

“Space…” Glancing at your baby bump Dean tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “What if anyone tries to kidnap her or worse? I can’t let her leave the house alone.”

“You can at least let her do some things she likes to do. Your wife makes the best omelets I ever ate.” Not giving in Benny keeps in arguing. “I told you to not suffocate her any longer. I can’t see you suffer again.”

“Suffer.” Glancing at Benny you gulp as your friend nods. “Dude didn’t stop whining about how much he misses you. He played with a gun more than once, drank too much and even let Sam take over the business for a while.”

“Gun…wait!” Panting you look up at Dean. “You tried to kill yourself? DEAN!”

“I felt hopeless without you. I lost you, couldn’t hold you tight enough, my little bird.” Nuzzling you Dean hums as you gently touch his face.

“I tried to escape as you held me too tight, Dean. I never wanted to leave but you acted as if I cannot do anything right. Then you let that woman…” Sniffling you look at the wedding band at his finger. “You cheated on me with that woman…”

“I swear, it was only this once and…” Shaking his head Dean closes his eyes. “There is no excuse for breaking my vows. I am sorry.”

“Let’s get the lady home and you can regret your shitty behavior for the rest of your life if she’s willing to forgive you.” Dean’s eyes search your face as you refuse to look at him.

“I…I could try to…” Dean’s words come out in pants as he is not used to losing control. He never could show emotions and the one time he did – Cassie paid the price…

“I can run you a bath and you can relax. Do you want to eat something?” Reluctantly walking into your bedroom, you can see Dean did not change a thing.

The book you read months ago lies abandoned on your nightstand. The silver necklace you forgot is draped over the fairy figurine he gave you to your birthday and the nightgown you wore before you ran away is placed onto your side of the bed.

“I…I didn’t change anything. You can do so.” Dean nervously cups the back of his neck, rubbing his sweaty palm over the skin. “I will prepare the bath for you. I bought those lilac bath bombs you like so much.”

“You remembered…” Sliding your fingers over the little figurine you take the silver necklace.

“I remember everything you like, little bird. I just…” Looking at you with sad eyes Dean shrugs. “Maybe I never learned how to express my feelings. My mom was soft and warm, just like you but my father…”

“He was a hard man, I know.” Stepping closer to Dean, the necklace still in your hands you press it to your heart. “I heard from it.”

“He taught me, no us, to not show emotions in our business. I followed his order, always.” Opening the top drawer of a commode Dean removes the false bottom to get a hidden box out. “I kept a few things from my mom. Look.”

Dean never talked about his mother or Cassie. All you know is that his mom got killed when he was around four and that his father was not the best at parenting.

“She was pretty.”

“We never got to know how she died. Dad told us the story but over the years, he changed details until it was more a fairytale than a story. Sometimes I even believed it was him killing her as she tried to leave him.”

Dean’s word let your heart drops as you look up at him. For the first time, you see something vulnerable in Dean.

The little boy from back then is still inside of the tall man in front of you and maybe, just maybe you can get a part of him back.

“What about Sam? Did he ever…I mean…”  Nodding Dean hides the pictures in the box before he shows you one of Cassie and him when he was younger.

“Sammy never believed dad’s story about mom’s death. We drifted apart for a few years as I followed dad’s order and Sam left the family business.”

Stepping closer you look at the box. You would like to have a look at all the things Dean is hiding in the box, but he opened up a bit, so you don’t push your luck.

“I see. Sam mentioned he was away for a while. I am sorry your father was…” Sniffling you peck Dean’s cheek. “Must have been hard to grow up with a hard man.”

Dean’s eyes sadden as he can read your mind. You believe he will not be a good father to his son, so he gets another picture out. It’s a picture of Dean and his bride, Cassie.

“The reason I am so worried, so protective is that I lost Cassie at our wedding day.” Your hands start shaking as you take the picture out of Dean’s hands. “I know that I told you we divorced but…”

“She died?” Your eyes drift toward the picture of Dean’s first wedding and you feel a cold shiver run down your spine. “How…Dean?”

“We came out of the church and Sam; he called my name as I dropped my phone. I kissed Cassie’s cheek, told her to wait for a moment and went back into the church. It was barely a minute, but it was long enough…”

Dean takes a deep breath before he shows you another picture. It’s an ultrasound picture and he gives you a sad smile.

“I heard a gunshot and ran out, Sam and dad tried to hold me back, told me to wait but all I could see was Cassie dropping to the ground…”

“Dean…” Grasping for his hand you press it to your swollen belly. “I am so sorry…”

“Do you remember when you asked me about the scars at my stomach and shoulder? I lied and told you it was an accident when I was eighteen but the moment I tried to get to Cassie I got shot. Twice.”

Your eyes meet Dean’s and you can see the pain in these green orbs. “I hit the ground and all I saw before losing consciousness were her lifeless eyes and her ruined white dress. I lost my wife and child on the same day.”

Carefully placing the pictures back into the box Dean gets an envelope out. Your name is written in tidy letters on the white paper and there is a tiny bird next to it.

“I kept it…all of it.” Getting the love letter out you wrote Dean at the age of ten he smiles as you open the letter with shaking fingers. “I got the flower you gave me with twelve and the ticket from the movie we watched when we were fifteen.”

“After that, my dad and I moved away…” Nodding Dean looks at the letter in your hands. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I met Cassie and was ready to start a new life with her, but I never forgot about you. I always remembered my little bird.” Cupping your cheek Dean brushes his lips over yours. “I should get you some food while you have a warm bath. It’s getting late.”

Just like that Dean put his secrets back into the box and you nod, wondering if he will ever be able to open to you completely. “Dean…I am sorry for what happened to Cassie and your mom.”

“I know, Y/N.” Pressing a soft kiss to your temple Dean gently strokes your back. “I’ll get you something from the kitchen. Any wishes?”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Whining you look up at Dean and he snickers at your choice of food.

“Still a peanut butter jelly girl…”

The water relaxes your sore body. Working as a waitress while being six months pregnant is exhausting. Your feet hurt, just like your back but the emotional exhaustion is even worse.

Dean telling you about his past is a new level in your relationship, but you are still not sure if he will be able to grant you more freedom.

You can understand he is scared to lose you but keeping you in a golden cage will not do any good.

“My wife needs something to eat.” Grumbling Dean looks at his cook. She smirks, already getting the porridge out.

“I said…” Gritting his teeth Dean points toward the fridge. “My wife wants food, not your rubbish. She hates porridge, you know that.”

“I want her to eat healthily…” Slamming his fist onto the counter Dean shakes his head.

“We do not need you any longer, or rather…” Smirking Dean tilts his head. “You are fired.”

While the cook leaves the kitchen, Dean gets a plate out to make you a peanut butter jelly sandwich. He is carefully removing the crust. Nodding to himself as he cuts the sandwich into two halves.

“Perfect…” Benny snickers as he steps into the kitchen. “Maybe give her an apple too.”

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’ Dean takes the plate to walk out of the kitchen. “Y/N wants this sandwich, she gets it.”

“Good…that’s good Dean.” Humming Dean looks at his friend, licking his lips before he looks at the sandwich.

“Benny…thanks for your advice. My little bird needs more sunlight I guess. When she wants to go out, go with her. Never leave her alone.” Dean grumbles, but he knows he got no other choice than granting your more freedom.

“How do you feel, Y/N?” Dean’s voice makes you jump as you hold your wedding picture in your lap. “You’re wearing my shirt…”

Dean’s eyes roam your body. You are wearing one of his favorite shirts and you look adorable to him. “Nothing suits me any longer. I am too big…”

Laughing Dean hands, you the plate and you smile as he removed the crust as your mom did for you. “You can have all of my shirts, but you can drive to town and buy new clothes, little bird.”

“Oh—okay.” Nodding you take a bite of your sandwich, moaning at the taste. “I could just ask Ellen. She has great taste and could get me the clothes I need. I would like to spend the day with you…”

“Yeah? You want to?” Sitting onto the bed to watch you eat your sandwich Dean smiles to himself. “We could go too. I could come with you and help you chose. We need a nursery too. Maybe Benny can help us.”

“Dean, do you think we can make it?” Placing one hand onto your belly Dean nods silently. “I’d like to try but I need more…”

“Freedom…I know…” Dean whispers as you eat the other half of your sandwich. “My little bird needs to fly.”

“I want to get to know more about your life too, Dean. I want more honesty and freedom. I promise to be careful. I would never risk our child gets hurt.” Rubbing your belly Dean sighs but he nods.

“I’ll try to be less overprotective from now on. I love you and the baby boy in your belly. I will make sure my little bird can spread her wings…”

>> Part 3

Tags will be added to the reblog.

[carnistcervine]

Here’s Yume in my Twin Avatars AU. :’)

Info under the cut~

Given Name: Yume Surname: Genso Title: Dark Avatar Nation: Fire/Water(halfbreed) Age(depicted): 116 Abilities: Firebending, Airbending, Waterbending, Earthbending, Communication with spirits, Channeling spirits, The Avatar State Family: Yuna Genso(Mother/Water), Akon Genso(Father/Fire), Yuki Genso(Sister/Halfbreed), Kona(Grandmother/Water), Hanouk(Grandfather/Water) Residence: Nomad Allies: Previous dark Avatars, Light Avatar Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, Suki, Zuko, Yukki, Hideki, Draco(her dragon/spiritual companion), Appa, Momo National Allignment: Avatar Moral Allignment: Chaotic Somewhere-Inbetween-Good-and-Neutral Spiritual Allignment: Dark

Personality: Chaotic and highly mischevious, Undyingly loyal, Highly empathetic, Extremely hostile but rarely resorts to actual violence, 'A little' nihilistic, Tends to hold back/Rarely uses full power to take down foes, Highly mad, Nice when she chooses to be, Really sweet to the few she's able to befriend, Sassy as fuck, Lonely, Self-doubting/self-critical, Hides pain with mischief, Playful, Loving to a fault, Superficially aloof Strengths: Dogged loyalty, a kind soul deep down, able to be a terrifying foe Weaknesses: Worst-Diplomat-Ever, She handles grief by not handling it, emotional instability Fears: That she'll loose control, failure, that deep down her only value to others is that she's the Avatar, DOLLS(to the point where she has an actual phobia)

Personality In Depth: Yume is a mischevious soul, often pranking or toying with others. While she likes to taunt people, it's often in jest. And Yume will refrain from doing so if she feels or knows that it will genuinely hurt the target. While she usually doesn't show it outwardly, she's highly empathetic and feels deeply for those around her. It's even to the point that she'll hide her own pain for the sake of not hurting or worrying others. Yume is also exceedingly loyal to her companions, she is willing to follow those she truely believes in through the depths of the inferno and back. As an Avatar, she is keenly aware of how much power she is capable of unleashing and rarely ever goes full out on any opponant, even when they are going full out on her. The reason for this being that she holds a firm belief that striking down anyone weaker than you is true cowardice and unforgivable. However, unlike the pacifistic Avatar Aang, Yume will not hesitate to kill if she thinks it's nessisary. While Yume can be very kind and polite when she wants to, she also has a tendancy towards hostility. She's often patient and kind to those that need her help or those that are weak/in bad situations, but will become hostile towards people with status or wealth if they even slightly ruffle her feathers. Especially those who refuse to show empathy towards others. While the young Avatar often acts aloof and emotionally detached at times, deep down she's very lonely and craves companionship. While very empathetic, if those she's trying to help scorn her bad enough, she will become hostile.

Theme Song: In The End by Linkin Park Song Quote: "What it meant to me, will eventually be a memory..." General Quote: "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'" - Edgar Allen Poe "The Raven" Character Quotes: -(To Zuko)Flameo, Hotman! -(After losing Draco)How I feel about Draco is irrelevant, right now we need to focus on getting to Ba Sing Se. -(To Zuko)I'd tell you to stay flamin', but honestly you need to chill. -Even the most vicious winter cannot kill the flowers of spring. I am more than my flesh and bone. You cannot kill me in a way that matters(totally got this part from a shitpost about mushrooms).

-Each of us is a speck of light that shines in an eternity of darkness. Although our lights will all fade and blink out, it does not matter that the darkness lasts longer. What matters is that we were there to defy it in the first place.

General Notes: -Uses outdated Fire Nation slang. -As much as she says "Fuck the World", she cares very deeply about it and the people in it. -She does eventually make peace with herself and learns how to bend lightning. -A bit of a nihilist. Also fairly existential. Lets just say, don't engage her in a philisophical conversation or contemplate your place in the universe with her. You will regret it. And existence in general.

Backstory: Somewhere, Mina the Dark Avatar drew her last breath. And just like that, Yume drew her first. Yume was born to Yuna and Akon in the Fire Nation. Soon after her birth, Akon broke off his relationship with Yuna, who moved back to her parents in the Northern Water Tribe with her two children. When Yume was two she got separated from her mother. Lost and afraid, little Yume wandered about until she came across a tall man in red. Normally, tall strangers would scare Yume, but the man was familiar. She didn't know why, but she knew that his name was Roku, and he was safe. She tugged on him and despite being in a serious meeting, he took a break to find Yume's mom and reunite the two. When the elder Avatar was questioned, he claimed that the child was the newest incarnation of the Dark Avatar. When Yume turned five, she showed her first signs of bending: Sparks. Yuna realised that Yume would likely have to leave for the Fire Nation soon, as no fire masters lived in the North Pole. And an uncontrolled firebender is a disaster waiting to happen. When Yume was six, she was taken in by the Fire Sages. The official reason was just firebending training, but even Yuna found it strange the Sages wanted a random half-breed from the North Pole. But of course the real reason for their intervention was yes, firebending training, but also because Yume was the Fire Nation Avatar and they had recieved a dark omen concerning the Avatar. They thought the best course of action would be to keep a close eye on her and protect her. Once in the Fire Nation, Yume is finally freed of the stifiling cold of the north and no longer has her excess energy going towards keeping herself warm. So naturally she becomes a little bit of a terror in the temple. She pulls constant pranks on the Sages and apprentices, but they love her anyway. She keeps the Sages young. When she turn's eight, the Sages surprise Yume with a dragon egg. The egg hatches and eventually becomes her life-long companion: Draco. At age twelve, Yume first meets Aang, a small Air Nomad boy. The two are fast friends. Yume makes an effort to hang out with Aang everytime he visits the Fire Nation. When Yume turns sixteen she finally masters firebending and the Sages reveal to her that she is the Dark Avatar. She takes the news okay, she isn't sure how to feel about it. She supposes it isn't all bad, maybe she'll get to see Aang while airbending training. However, she's kidnapped by the spirits and sent to the void before her training can begin proper.

[mollyraesly]

Time with Wolves -- Chapter Twelve

They didn’t have sex that night in the Glass Gardens. Part of her wanted to, particularly when his mouth was on her collar bone and his fingers were curling inside her. But she wasn’t ready, and he said that was fine and that they had plenty of time to do other things—which were quite pleasurable in themselves.

Preoccupied as they were, they didn’t have sex until several months later in December, after Edric had met both her parents, come to dinner nine times, learned several new tricks about moving on wheels from Bran, lost seventeen rounds of rock, paper, scissor to Rickon, met Robb once, and had accompanied Sansa to three of Arya’s fencing tournaments. When they did have sex, it was in his bed while his mother and stepfather were away on a trip. She could tell he’d spent extra time making the bed and had cleaned up his room. Sansa had asked her mother weeks before if she could go to the gynecologist and start a birth control prescription; it had been a difficult conversation for them both. But Edric has used a condom anyway.  He’d had it planned, just as she had. Sansa liked that. And she liked how earnestly he’d whispered in her ear how stunning she was when he entered her the first time and kissed her hard to distract her from the pain. She liked that he waited patiently until she told him to move and that he held her hand as he did so. She liked that he did his best to go slow, and that he’d gotten her off before they began. She liked that when they were done, he held her close and asked if she was okay. She liked that when they had sex the next few times, he watched her closely to see what she responded to the most and made sure to keep doing those things. She liked that he tried to make sure she came first and was honest about his preferences, just as he encouraged her to be the same. She liked that they didn’t just have sex every time they were together and that he still came to eat dinner with her family. She liked that he didn’t take it for granted that they would just go to junior prom together but asked her formally and then brought her flowers, wore a tux, and told her how stunning she was in her dress. She liked that when she told him he made it herself, he asked if he could look at it letter to sketch a design. She liked that he presented that sketch to her in a box with a bow on a random Tuesday, but remembered it was the day they first started working at the restaurant together. She liked that he continued to give her his drawings and would still surprise her sometimes with dessert. She liked that when his mom got transferred back to King’s Landing their senior year, they mutually decided to break up, as she was headed off to college and he wanted to find work in a mechanic shop and take art classes. She liked that the last time they had sex, he told her how much she’d meant to him and how he’d always remember her fondly—that he valued what they had together. She liked that she could say the same. And when he left Winterfell, she liked that she cried, not because she loved him, but because she wished she had. She’d liked a lot of things about Edric Storm, but she was never sure that like had ever fully become love. She’d never known romantic love before, so she wasn’t quite sure. But she was nonetheless grateful that his leaving didn’t break her. That fact alone maybe was enough for love. When she thought of him, she only wished him well and found herself smiling at the remembrance of his lips. She finished her senior year by joining the debate team and learned she had a surprising knack for politics. She volunteered more at the wolf reservation. She took Arya, a sophomore, as her date to senior prom, and they took the best photos she had ever seen. Slowly, she let her hair transition from blonde to strawberry back to red. She had to ditch the red lipstick, but it was worth it to look in the mirror and see an older but familiar image of Sansa Stark again. The summer before leaving for college, she spent more time with Robb than she had in a couple of years. She found she missed him, and it was nice to benefit from his experience as she was about to leave home for the first time. Robb had stayed somewhat close, attending Winterfell University. Part of her was surprised that Robb didn’t come home more—perhaps to get their mom to do his laundry every other week. But the more time she spent with Robb, the more she realized how much more mature he’d gotten. He worked more, went out with girls less, helped their father. He was even growing a beard. She liked talking to Robb again. She missed him when she left for school. It’d been a very teary goodbye when her parents left after helping her get settled in the new dorms. Despite her poor skills in math, she’d been accepted to Citadel University, very old and very prestigious, as well as King’s Landing U, both of which she’d turned down. She also, after many pro/con lists, had turned down Winterfell University and opted to go to Twins College in Riverrun, where her mom had gone. It was far enough away that she felt that she was experiencing something new but close enough that she could still come home, even if just for the weekend. At least, that’s what she told Ghost when she visited him last. She was paired up to room with a girl named Meera Reed. Meera wanted to study engineering; she had incredible drive, fierce loyalty, and fantastic curly hair. She reminded Sansa of both Arya and Bran, whom she missed dearly. Meera was outdoorsy, and she loved to hear Sansa’s stories about Ghost, whose picture she had framed and on her dresser along with other family photos. Sansa, in turn, pestered Meera for tales of her adventures with her little brother Jojen, whose antics made her laugh and helped dull the ache of not being with her own siblings. Sansa also, though surprisingly, befriended her dorm’s RA Brienne Tarth. Brienne was a junior and played on the rugby team. She was quite unlike Sansa in many ways: physically tough where Sansa was soft, blunt where Sansa was politely euphemistic, and unapologetic where Sansa was people-pleasing. But they were both quite tall for women, and that was enough to bond them in the beginning. Sansa liked spending time with Brienne—and her friend Podrick, who always blushed when she was around. She had nice friends and chosen interesting first courses on civil wars, history, writing, and gender studies—so grateful to be done with math. The workload was more than she experienced before, but she bought a lot of flashcards and made it through her midterms—without even needing to really on coffee. She’d always preferred lemon tea. Coming home for Thanksgiving was a blessing and a curse, as she wanted nothing more than to spend time with her family and yet knew she couldn’t lose focus or she’d never finish her final papers on time. Somehow, she managed both, and was feeling quite proud in mid-December as she packed up to go home for the winter break. She’d done it—lived on her own for months—and she’d done well. She only had the one exam left—which she knew she’d pass with flying colors—and plans to have a celebratory dinner with Meera. She was putting on her earrings when her phone rang. “Arya!” she sang into the phone. “I’ve only got a few minutes before Meera and I are going to gorge on the last of our dining points for the semester. I hope they have those little cakes I like. I plan to eat forty of them. But I’m so glad you called! I miss you! I can’t wait to come home. Just three more days! How are you? Did Gendry finally take his head out of his—” “Sansa—“ Arya heaved a sigh. “Hey? What’s wrong?” “I’m not sure I should tell you.” “Is it about my Christmas present?” Sansa asked with a laugh as she grabbed a sweater from her closet and put it on. “Cause you never can keep that secret. Remember when—“ “No—it’s not—it’s—it’s about Jon.” “Oh.” Sansa sat down on her bed. “I know it’s against the rules—to bring him up—when you didn’t ask.” “Yes,” Sansa agreed; her eyes flirted to her picture of Ghost, but her eyes felt too out of focus to see him clearly. “Sansa—you there?” “Yes, sorry. I’m here.” “I wasn’t sure I should say anything—but I wasn’t sure—you still have exams—but I thought maybe you’d like to know—I—“ “Arya,” Sansa interrupted, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “What is it that I should know about Jon?” Arya didn’t answer right away, and Sansa repeated her name insistently. “Jon’s been wounded. I don’t know how bad, but his mom says he’s in intensive care and unresponsive, so...” Sansa didn’t need her to say the rest. She was clutching the phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. She switched hands. “Does his mom know anything else?” “No—not that I know of at least.” Sansa nodded. “Will you tell me—if—when she does?” She could hear Arya crying on the other line. “Of course. As soon as I hear something.” “That’s—that’s good. How—how long has he been in the hospital?” “Three days.” “Three—gods—wow—okay. Do—do you know what happened?” “He was stabbed.” “Stabbed?” “Multiple times.” “Where?” Sansa croaked. “In the chest—near the heart.” The news made Sansa feel as though she’d been dealt the same wounds. She felt tears fall down her cheeks as she listened to Arya’s hoarse explanation. When she finished, Sansa felt like she couldn’t breathe. Meera, back from the bathroom down the hall, came into the room then. “Hey, wolf girl, you ready?” Sansa wiped away her tears. “Arya, I have to go,” she stammered. “Will—will you call me? As soon as you hear more? I mean, the minute you hear—I want—I need to know.” “Of course.” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Sansa didn’t eat anything with Meera; she barely spoke for the next three days. She didn’t study, didn’t pack, didn’t brush her hair. Meera tried to get her to go outside, but Sansa refused. She just stayed in her room and waited by her phone. Until finally, it rang. “Hello?” she answered raggedly. “Sansa.” “Arya?” “Sansa, he’s awake. He’s gonna be okay.”

[marie-dufresne]

Up From the Gutter

Though most of my RPs are from The Dufresne Legacy, we can’t forget gutter!Marie because she’s just as important :)

Cut for length so as not to clog up your feed too badly.

Six.

Marie Dufresne had always been a tactile girl, lucky to have parents that never said ‘don’t touch’. Claire and Arthur figured it was best she learned the hard way. Or maybe it was just that they were too lazy to properly parent.

Marie Dufresne was also an affectionate girl, latching on to anyone who showed her any sort of attention which, oddly enough, never seemed to be Arthur or Claire. 

This did not deter her efforts, particularly when Claire was in a state of inebriation, or sick from a prior state of inebriation, and as she draped a blanket over her mother’s half sleeping form, Marie pulled on all the sides, making sure she was properly covered from shoulders to toes. When she was certain the woman would be able to nap properly, Marie knelt on the floor, resting her chin on her arms. 

“Do you want me to cuddle you, Mama?”

Claire’s brow wrinkled and her mouth turned down in disgust, a hand coming out from the blanket to push her daughter away.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” she muttered, gripping the fabric around her and flipping over to the side, giving Marie her back. 

“If you want cuddles, go find a boy.”

Eight.

“Claire cut the shit. Your kid’s right there.”

Marie looked up from the bar top and the ragged deck of cards she’d been practicing her solitaire skills with. She was the only child at the bar, (she always was) and at Nate’s scolding, her attention was drawn to the other end of the counter where her mother had helped herself to the lap of a young man in a motorcycle jacket.

Drunk and without care, Claire Dufresne also ignored the bartender’s reminder that she was married. The man whose attention she’d captured didn’t seem to care either, pulling down the neck of her camisole with a devilish grin and Marie went back to her game.

Another boyfriend? She sighed, flipping over a card to reveal nothing more than a dead end and she gathered them all up, shuffling them primitively by mixing them on the bar, not yet having mastered the proper technique.

“You should head on home, kiddo.”

Grey eyes rose to the weary concern of the older man’s face and Marie shook her head, her untamed mess of hair not moving as it should, matted and knotted to oblivion.

“My dad came back,” she told him softly, “he’s got a bunch of friends there now.”

Being at the bar with her drunkard flirt of a mother was infinitely better than her father and his crew. He didn’t ever stay long, always onto his next scheme or the latest pair of breasts that passed him by. Anyone was better than his wife, really.

Marie herself didn’t yet understand the intricacies of adult relationships, but she knew there were kids at school who had divorced parents. If hers hated each other so much, why didn’t they divorce?

With a curious glance down at the little girl, Nate filled up a glass of juice, setting it down before her. He wasn’t one to meddle in all the business he heard, but damn his heart went out to this kid.

“Your old man,” he asked, “he doesn’t…he ain’t touchin’ you is he?”

Marie’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked her this. It wasn’t the second time either but she shook her head.

“Only when he whacks me,” she told him factually, “but not where I think you think he does. They just watch.”

Watch? Watch what? But Nate was not one to meddle in the business he heard, so he didn’t ask, and he didn’t mention it again.

Maybe he should have.

Ten.

Motorcycle Jacket came and went just as much as Arthur did. There were always men in between and no matter where Claire uprooted them from and dropped into, he found her. He called himself Leo for no reason other than it was his star sign, and made it no secret he didn’t like baggage. 

Marie was baggage. 

“Come on,” he whined, plopping down on the couch amidst several crinkled beer cans, shoving them off to the side and onto a pink zebra striped blanket, “go to your room or something. Your mother and I have grown up shit to do.”

“I don’t have a room,” Marie pointed out, giving a flourishing gesture to the apartment they were squatting in, the tenant and landlord both at an extended stay in prison.

“Then go,” Leo pressed, fitting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, “wherever the fuck it is you sleep.”

Her hair was short now, chopped off from its lack of care and she could not flip it over her shoulder like her attitude cried out for her to do so instead, she put her hand on her hip, shifting her weight in a manner she’d seen on television.

“I sleep on the couch,” she said, “that’s my blanket.”

With an annoyed grunt, the dark haired man pulled the blanket up and balled it, throwing it at her. 

“There you go, Princess. Find a spot.”

She slept in the stairwell that night. 

Twelve.

“I want you on birth control.”

Marie jumped at the voice, shoving the weekly newspaper ads—and her clippings—under the recliner, away from her mother’s eyes. 

“Why?” she asked, “I’m not like you.”

“You,” Claire snorted, dropping herself onto the couch and reaching for her cigarettes, “are exactly like me. Probably why I can’t stand you.”

The blatant stating that she was disliked did not hurt anymore. It was almost a game to her at this point. Mom can’t stand me. Haha, we’re so close it’s our joke, right? 

Right?

“I’m not having sex,” Marie told her truthfully, pulling her elastic headband down to her neck to fluff out her hair, steadily growing and better kept now that she was old enough to know how, “I’m not ready. Besides I…”

She didn’t bother to finish, her cheeks red at the idea of discussing getting her period with someone like Claire. 

“Sure not ready now,” her mother offered, “but what about in a month? Six months? You can’t afford a fuckin’ abortion, Honeybutter and you’ll end up just like me.”

She leaned forward to flick some ash onto the carpet by Marie’s knees and swiped at the neckline of her peasant blouse, peering down at her developing chest. 

“Those boys will be stuffing you like a Thanksgiving turkey so believe me, the pill will be the best thing to happen to you.”

Pushing away the invasive hand, Marie pulled out her advertisements and clutched them to her chest along with the rusty pair of scissors she’d been using, eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

“I am not like you.”

Fourteen.

Marie politely declined the cigarette that was handed to her, sliding off the bed in search of her skirt. 

“Looks like I paid up,” she said grinning as she took her time bending over, continuing the show for the young man on the bed, “your turn.”

“My turn,” he muttered, taking a drag and leaning back, “babe I just emptied my balls, let me breathe.”

But Marie did not want to ‘let him breathe’. She was in a precarious enough position as it was, having lied to him about her age to sleep with him. The longer she stayed, the easier it might be to give herself away and with a violent man nearing thirty, hearing he’d been fucking a high school freshman for the past three weeks was unlikely to go over well.

“Pleeeasseee,” she begged, flopping onto the bed and shining a sunny smile up at him, her pink lipstick and thick lashes sucking him into everything she wanted. 

Almost everything. 

“Fine, fine fine,” he conceded, “you fucking junkie, take your damn dope.”

She did not feel satisfied when she left; she never did, but with the drugs nestled safely in her bra, she wondered if Claire would hate her a little bit less. After all, Marie was doing this for her. 

Fifteen

Billy wasn’t Marie’s father, but she wished he was. 

His name wasn’t even William, it was Wilford, but Billy thought Wilford was an old man’s name and seeing as he was not yet old, he opted not to use it. 

By this time Marie did understand a great deal of the intricacies of human relationships and though at first she couldn’t quite figure out what this man saw in Claire, after a while it became clear. 

He was a fixer. 

There was no fixing her mother, but Marie didn’t make note of this when Billy moved the two of them into his modest apartment. He gave Marie her own bedroom and when the two of them journeyed to the hardware store to pick out paint, he did not look at her like so many of the other boyfriends did. He asked about her interests and did not make any snide comments about having to paint the room pink.

He bought a waffle iron and taught her how to cook a little bit. 

He attended open house night at her school, and signed up for a routine parent-teacher conference. 

When Claire beat on him, he rode it out, waiting, and never fighting back. In confidence he told Marie her mother was like an abandoned animal that just needed the right amount of love and patience. He suggested therapy when Marie confided in him about the things Claire had done and said all the years prior, but she refused. 

Billy was a good one. He was the only one Marie cared to remember, but it was Marie herself who destroyed it all. 

“He’s basically my dad,” she’d said. An offhanded comment while she poured the waffle batter into the iron, stocking up to freeze for the week’s breakfast (and some to-go for quick bites at school). 

There were police at the house when she arrived later that afternoon. There were questions and then there was court. 

Nobody listened when she cried. 

In the one time the justice system seemed to benefit the victim, an innocent man was imprisoned, for a grown man’s semen on a fifteen year old’s panties spoke louder than Marie’s protests that he’d never touched her. 

He hadn’t. 

After the verdict, Claire called her a jealous slut and moved them away. A slut Marie may have become, but it was Claire who was jealous. 

Viper.

Seventeen

Partway through her senior year, Marie sat in her guidance counselor’s office, announcing to him that she was dropping out. 

She’d already told her English teacher and the previous year’s Math teacher. Those two weren’t requirements for leaving, of course, but her situation was a precarious one and she wasn’t taking any risks. The Math teacher didn’t seem threatened by her, but there was a fat check sitting in the bottom of her backpack from the young scholar just at the beginning of his career. 

“Sorry Billy,” Marie muttered, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and looking back at the school. He’d asked her to finish school, to be better than her mother, but she couldn’t do it. Instead, she’d repeated the cycle. 

Sex too early, sex for currency, sex for shelter, baby at seventeen. 

Marie, however, had not married the man who knocked her up. Truthfully she didn’t know who it was that was responsible for the little nugget in her womb, but at seventeen, she’d decided that blackmail was a better option than marriage. 

If generally-harmless-yet-easily-seduced Mr. Stevenson wanted to keep on his career path, he’d just have to support her until she could get on her own feet. It was a fair trade, really. 

Marie Stevenson was a horrible name anyway. 

Twenty-Two

In a quaint apartment above a tattoo parlor, Marie sat at her chic, remodeled white desk, glittery pen poised over her checkbook. A couple walked their pug below, people milled about a cafe a few units down. 

It was nothing like the places she’d grown up in. It wasn’t a coveted area of town; it was far too old, but it was clean and safe, the sort of place people like her flocked to to get the best shot for their social media feed. 

This was particularly convenient for her as that was exactly how she made a large portion of her living. A rent-a-gramer if you would. For a handsome fee, basic bitches from all over the country could hire her for the day and get all the best photographs at the must-have spots, and even some only locals like Marie would know about. 

She didn’t have any children; she’d lost her baby early on in her pregnancy, but had never told Mr. Stevenson, promising herself that though she’d dropped out of school, she’d make it up to Billy, the only person who had believed in her, using the checks to fund herself in the building of her own career. 

As per their verbal agreement, after five years the checks had ceased, but she didn’t mind. She was on her feet, and while Marie had, without a doubt, engaged in many criminal activities, she did not like to consider herself a bad person, and intended to pay back every cent she had stolen from her high school English teacher. 

One check at a time. 

[lifestones]

Episode #01: The Last Days of Childhood

Characters: Red Pendragon, Innes Lennox, Basile Pendragon

POV: Red Pendragon

Warnings: Exploration of Red’s childhood, the forcing of young girls to grow up to fast, sexuality, and sex, along with mentions of incest, sexual abuse, and teen pregnancy. Red has a really dark backstory I’m sorry

Everyone dreaded that day in school—the day they had no choice but to skip gym. The class was split between the boys and girls, each going to a separate classroom. Ellie remembered being confused, wondering what that whole thing was about. That day, they learned about puberty... about menstruation and pregnancy. It was terrifying, really, to learn that they had that to look forward to in the future. Serena had been grossed out, Innes a little worried, but for Ellie, it gave her answers. 

Not long after their first sex ed class, it came. It was spring break, and the Lennoxes had invited the Pendragons and Proulx family over for a barbecue. Already, puberty had been kind—or not so kind, depending on perspective—to Ellie. She already wore a training bra, much to Innes’s jealousy, though Serena was indifferent about the whole thing. Nevertheless it was a surprise when she went to the bathroom and found brown blood on the inside of her underwear. Despite the lessons, she panicked, trying to hide it from her mother, until she eventually found out. Diana was not surprised that it had arrived so soon, and tried to console her daughter. “You have a woman’s body now,” she said. “If you have sex, you’ll get pregnant. Be careful, sweetie.”

A woman, Ellie thought. Something about it was enthralling and terrifying at the same time. What did it even mean? That she could finally be more like Mom? She admired her mother so much—for her beauty, for her talent, for her success. It wasn’t long before she started asking for makeup, cute training bras, and trying to dress more mature.

It only got worse when she turned eleven. Puberty hit her hard. She was an early bloomer, surpassing her friends. She was already a B-cup, an awkward mix of gangly limbs and curves that no eleven-year-old should have. She quickly grew self-conscious, comparing herself to teenagers and even the actresses her mother worked with. It wasn’t long before she became curious about adult things—such as where babies came from and how sex worked. Dial up internet was a pain in the butt, but she persevered, venturing onto areas of the web no child should see. It was in that way that she learned about sex, about how women were only meant to exist to please men, and how her value came only from her sex appeal. 

For years, she had crushed on girls, admitted to liking girls, and suddenly she was unsure of herself—if it was possible, that she wasn’t mistaking it for friendship. No, she needed to like boys. That was normal. Right?

Twelve years old marked the beginning of middle school, the beginning of a new era. Ellie tried to dress like older girls, like the teenager she would be in a year. She was still scrawny, but was starting to fill out—or so she liked to think. She dolled herself up, putting on makeup (which she practiced with Innes), shaving her legs, and wearing shorts that rode up her thighs, no matter how much her parents tried to convince her otherwise. She refused to wear anything else. No, she had an image to uphold. She had to look sexy. 

Serena bragged of getting her first kiss. Oh, she was so jealous. Why couldn’t someone kiss her? Innes suggested they practice on each other, so when they finally found boys to kiss, they’d be really good at it. Ellie agreed. It was awkward. They fumbled. But it felt... good.  

Seventh grade came in a flash. Ellie hit another growth spurt. The curves came as soon as she hit thirteen, pushing her up to a C-cup. Her hips finally filled out, her thighs grew thicker. She was sexy now, right? Her periods were getting worse, for whatever reason, but Mom didn’t want to put her on birth control. That was only for sluts, wasn’t it? Ellie wasn’t a slut. She was good. She was getting into less trouble at school now. More boys liked her. It was fine.

Then, one day, they had a sleepover at the Pendragon mansion. Serena couldn’t come due to some family event, but Innes came. The house was mostly empty. Mom and Dad were out at a party, with only Mamoru and the maids present. But that was okay. They liked having the whole place to themselves. But Innes had been acting odd for a few days, so Ellie decided to finally ask what was wrong.

Innes evaded the question. She tried to not answer it. But finally, she caved. She hated lying to her best friend, after all. “I... had my first kiss,” she confessed, her freckled cheeks flushing as bright as her hair. “With... with a girl. But it... didn’t feel the same... like when I kissed you.”

Ellie was confused. That wasn’t how it worked. They had just bee practicing. For boys. It was true she had felt... something during those times. Innes was her best friend. She couldn’t possibly have feelings for her. But Innes continued on, confessing her feelings to Ellie, admitting that she had had a crush on her for years now. That she thought she liked both boys and girls. That she wanted to do more than kiss. 

Ellie had to admit, the thought of kissing girls... of doing other things with girls, was more appealing than guys. She had gotten enough dick pics to be sure she was absolutely repulsed by male anatomy. And Innes... meant a lot to her. Maybe her feelings weren’t platonic like she thought. It was true that she might have enjoyed their kissing practice too much—that she might have put in more effort than necessary. But if Elysia Pendragon was one thing, she was impulsive. And so she kissed Innes.

Neither girl really knew what they were doing. They had read things about how sex between girls worked, but actually doing it was another thing entirely. It was awkward. It hurt a little. But Ellie didn’t really care about that. Making love to Innes felt right, answered all the questions she had been avoiding about herself, and she knew then she liked girls, and only girls. They decided to date, but kept it a secret, afraid of coming out to their families.  

Then Dad died. 

It was horrible. In the blink of an eye, her entire life crumbled. The months went by in a blur. Uncle Basile stayed to help Mom with Clarisse and manage the household. Ellie cried herself to sleep many nights. Mom was distant. Clarisse didn’t fully grasp what had happened. Ellie grew distant to her girlfriend and friends. They tried to be supportive, but she didn’t make it easy. 

One day, shortly after her fourteenth birthday, she was working on homework but struggling with it. Math was not her strong point. So Ellie sought out her uncle for help. He agreed to help, and sat down to work on her homework with her. All was fine... until he touched her. It was innocent enough at first—a hand resting on her knee. But then he slid his hand up her thigh, underneath her skirt. It shocked Ellie, scared her even, but what could she do? 

And it only escalated from there.

It started late one night. Ellie had wanted to sleep over at Serena’s, but Mom refused and ordered her home, leading to an argument. She reluctantly came home, to be greeted by her uncle, who claimed Mom had already headed to bed. When she tried to walk by him, he grabbed her by the wrist. She tried to pull herself free, but he was too strong. He was too strong.

It happened almost every night after that. Eventually, she stopped fighting it. She tried to enjoy it. Everything about it felt wrong. It was everything she had read about. But she was powerless. She tried to tell her mother, but she was called a liar. She accepted it after that. And she grew addicted to his love, his sweet whispers of promise. She needed him, as much as he needed her. They were in love, weren’t they? She was what he wanted—she was sexy. This was what love was supposed to be, not the falsehood she had with Innes. 

She broke up with Innes, completely cutting off ties with her old friends.

Ellie turned 15. She met Charlotte. The other girl didn’t seem so bad. Perhaps it would be nice to have a friend in school again. 

But then... her period was late. Terrified, she asked Charlotte to go with her to buy a pregnancy test. Charlotte spent the night at the mansion, too. She took the test, and it came back positive. 

Ellie hadn’t been this scared in years. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t have his baby. It was... wrong. So very wrong. How wrong it was didn’t truly sink in until that moment. Basile was her uncle, her father’s brother. How could he love her? How could she love him? In that way? How could any of that be true? After everything he had done to her, the nights of pain, taking advantage of her grief.

She hated herself. She hated her body. She hated everything. She had to escape. She couldn’t live like this anymore. Mom and Clarisse would be better off without her, wouldn’t they? She had only ever caused them trouble. 

They made a plan. First, they would go the Plan Parenthood for Ellie to get an abortion, to free herself. And then they would run. Oh, they would run. And they would never come back.

Their days of childhood would never come back.

[beautiful-nowhere]

    I don’t know when it started, when the meat balls stopped. I guess when I was around twelve years old, maybe a little sooner. Just, eventually, the meatballs in the meal were less and less. I was getting older, too, and was noticing more of the adult things. More arguments, more stress, more anxiety among the family members. I was at that teetering point of entering my early teenage years. Still, I didn’t have many friends. The absence of the meatballs seemed to be a symbol of something still. The meatballs were gone and so was the tranquility that blanketed the household. That was the lie, of course, that everything was perfectly fine so long as the meatballs existed.

    In truth, it had never been fine. My parents had always had issues. Many of which my mom liked to blame on my dad, but I guess it went both ways. My father in particular was not a nice man. He tried to raise us right but he was too hard on my stepbrothers and too soft on me. I was a sheltered youth. While they got cars and dirt bikes and were taught the essentials of mechanics, I was shielded behind the home life.

    When I turned sixteen I didn’t get my own car. Instead, i got a computer and my own phone line for internet. Sweet sixteen, right? Except, it only created an addiction that I even now battle with. Technology, internet. It was a crucial point in my life in which I should have learned to drive, made friends, tried my first summer job. None of that happened. My mother still blames my father for it. He refused me these few luxuries, despite buying things for himself, and then wondered why I had trouble finding a job later in life. People wonder why driving terrifies me. I never learned. I never learned when I was young and now my anxiety screams at me that I’m going to kill someone if I try to drive. It’s honestly horrible.

    There were a lot of things my father did that left an impression on me. Some of which I will not disclose here, though they were certainly things that make me the reserved person I am today. The lack of meatballs seemed to open my eyes to just how bad he was, how bad family life was. How abusive the whole situation was. I was only twelve, though, and all I could do was draw a picture for my mom when I saw her crying. Because a child just isn’t equipped to help a parent cope with a toxic, abusive relationship.

    Not that he ever hit her, that I am aware of. It was the manipulation, the words, the way he spoke to all of us. It bled into other areas too. The way he treated our animals (beating, kicking, starving to “tame” them), the way he spoke about other people. I began to learn how bigoted he was. How racist, misogynistic. It was odd as a child to realize that my father was full of hate. Not the love I had grown up with in my early years. These revelations caused a pretty big wave of turmoil in me.

This was my “Daddy”. He was there for me. He picked me up and kissed my boo-boos and comforted me when I was afraid. He taught me how to dip my bread in milk and have a snack. I learned to fry chicken and potatoes and make pinto beans. We’d hunt and fish together, he taught me how to clean my prey… But none of that mattered once the truth came out.

There was one particular day that I decided I hated him. He never took our animals to the vet (which is another thing altogether) and let them breed as he would. So one of our dogs had birthed a litter of puppies the night before. I was ecstatic, as any little girl would be. So, on my way to our bus stop, I lingered and snuck to the shed to see them. Why wouldn’t I? They were bound to be precious weren’t they? Except, what I saw instead, was my father cruelly beating the female puppies on the ground. This was his birth control.

    Being so young, I of course went on to school and cried the whole way. That night, I wrote a nasty note and pasted in the fridge telling him how much I hated him for what he did. He didn’t really improve, but he did let me give away future puppies instead of killing them at birth. It gave me hope. Hope that was later dashed by other events. Because no matter how much I tried to see the good in him, I tried to cling on to those early memories, my world continued to fall apart.

    It was as if... the meatballs were gone. So I stopped believing the lies.

[momwifeeducator]

A Busy Mom’s Tips for Getting Healthy and Loving Yourself Again

June 30, 2017

I should begin by telling you what I am not. I am not a registered dietician. I am not a doctor or nurse, nor do I pretend to be.  I am by no means, an expert on weight loss. In fact, I am only about halfway to my goal weight and fitness level. However, I have felt like I could stand to lose weight for about as long as I can remember. Was it easier to keep it off when I was younger? Sure. But I’ve never been super thin. I’ve never really been in shape and I don’t consider myself to be athletic. I despise running and in general, exercise is usually the last thing I would chose to do.

What I am is a mom and a wife. I have a fulltime job (other than being a mom and wife; which is a fulltime job in itself). I am over-scheduled and over-stressed and feel like I never get enough sleep. I am all of those things. And I’m guessing you probably are too.

Let me back up. I should tell you that the idea for this blog did not begin today, but one year ago. My husband and I were on a dream vacation to St. John, without our kids, enjoying the beautiful weather, endless blue ocean, and amazing snorkeling. Because the island is very hilly, we rented a small SUV to navigate the island. One night, Michael suggested we walk to dinner, which was as short, but steep walk up and down a couple hills. At the time, it felt like the worst idea ever. Walking in that heat up and down those hills? I’ll never make it, I thought. And if I do make it, if I do survive, I’ll be a dripping, sweaty mess for dinner. Yuck.

We did it anyway. It was easily the most humiliating activity I’d done since running the mile in middle school PE class. I had to stop several times because my legs were burning and I was out of breath.  I just felt like crying. Though it was never Michael’s intention, it was easily my worst moment of the trip.

When we got back from vacation a few days later, something inside me changed. That was it. I had had enough. I was tired of being overweight, out-of-shape, and tired all the time. I was tired of feeling disgusted in my own body and feeling like I couldn’t fit in any of my clothes. It was embarrassing that I couldn’t even go for a walk on vacation because the hill was too steep. I felt disgusted with myself. How did I get here? I asked myself several times a day.

I’ve had some time since then to think about that question; How did I get there? I got there because I got pregnant and gave birth to three gorgeous boys, each time not really losing all the baby weight. I got there because I truly hated exercising and never did it, though I knew I should. I got there because I told myself I was always too busy for the gym and that I actually wasn’t as out of shape as I thought. I got there because I love eating yummy, delicious, not-so-healthy food.

Gaining weight affected all parts of my life. For starters, my confidence level dropped dramatically. I never thought I looked good in anything, unless it was loose and baggy clothing. I never wanted to try anything new because I automatically felt that I wouldn’t be good at it. For example, my sisters and dad would go golfing for Father’s Day every year. I never went because I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hit the golf ball, nor did I have an appropriate outfit that fit me. I refused to exercise because I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up in the class. I thought everyone would look at me and wonder why I was so out of shape.

The drop in confidence affected my work too. Ever hear the saying “dress for success?” What I wore affected how I felt about myself and my ability to teach. I dressed for teaching every day in frumpy work clothes. Though I was still a good teacher, I never felt motivated to go above and beyond. I felt like the students noticed every flaw about my body. I even had students ask me if I was pregnant…multiple times.  After having kids, my stomach was the first to bulge out if I put on weight.

My lack of confidence affected my marriage. My husband would get excited about a dress or shirt he bought for me and I didn’t even want to try it on. It was if I somehow knew it wouldn’t look good on me or it would be too tight. He bought me a FitBit for Mother’s Day, which I first felt a bit offended by (but now a year later, I see that present as a total life saver).

Anyway, that hike in St. John was the moment; the eye-opener that I needed. The week we got back, I strapped my FitBit on my wrist and made the decision to lose weight and to get healthy. Here’s what the past twelve months have taught me and some tips I still use that work for me.

Tip #1: Put Exercise On Your Calendar

I have a very Type-A personality. I am always busy. Though I complain about it sometimes, I think I actually like to keep busy. Therefore, I always thought that if I kept busy playing with the boys or making dinner or cleaning the house, I’d lose weight, because after all, I was still moving. Surely, I thought, the only moms who gain weight are the ones who sit around all day. I was wrong. I managed to gain 20 pounds after having my third son, even though I was still busy every day.

However, that first week after vacation (June 26th - July 2nd, 2016), I actually wrote the name of each exercise class and the time it was offered on each day of the week on my calendar. You see, I already had a membership to our local YMCA, I just didn’t utilize it. In fact, Michael had asked about canceling it because we never went. That week I went to five exercise classes (and I know this because it’s all stored on my FitBit app). I started taking Zumba classes because I had lost weight doing so a couple years earlier and I love to dance. I burned an average of 400 calories each time I went to the gym, and I was proud of that. Now don’t get me wrong, I was a complete sweaty mess the whole time. I was out of breath most of the class and I couldn’t do all the dance moves because my body just wouldn’t keep up. It was hard. But it was something.

I found that when I wrote the class and the time on my weekly calendar, it felt like I had to go. I kind of live by my calendar. It’s the only way I can stay organized with the boys’ varying school schedules, my work, my husband’s work, and our various sports and activities. Therefore, when people would call to see if we were free Tuesday night to get together, I had to say no because Zumba was at 7:30.

A year later, I still do this every week. On Sunday night, I look at the YMCA class schedule for the week (it helps to have the paper schedule right next to the calendar and I also keep the schedule open on my phone too). I write in what classes I will attend and I make sure nothing else is scheduled during that time. If the boys have an activity for school or a basketball practice, I make sure I chose a class that fits around it.

I won’t lie. At first, it was hard to make myself go some nights. It still is hard some days. After teaching all day, sometimes the last thing I want to do is race home, make a quick dinner, feed the boys, clean up, and head to the gym. But I still do it five to six nights a week. I do it rain or shine or snow. And after the first three or four weeks, it got easier to find the motivation to get to the gym.  And by now, the guilt sets in if I don’t go.

Tip #2: Change into Workout Clothes Right When You Wake Up/Get Home from Work

This seems like a small thing to do, but for me, it really makes a huge difference. If I sit around in the clothes I wore to teach that day, I feel unmotivated to change and get to the gym. However, if I come home from work and head right upstairs and change, I feel like I’m already dressed for the gym, so why not go? (I actually just had to take a break from sitting and typing and walk/jog around the house to get some steps in. True story. I may be slightly addicted to getting my steps for the day on my FitBit.)

On the same token, if it is a weekend morning, before even going downstairs to make breakfast for the kids, I put on my sports bra, workout shirt, and yoga pants. That way, there is no excuse to not be ready to go to my exercise class.

Tip #3: Choose to Exercise OR Eat Healthier (Only One at a Time)

Unless you have way better self-control than I do, I recommend choosing exercise OR healthy eating. If you know me, you know I love to eat. I love foods that are especially unhealthy, not because they are unhealthy, but all my favorite things happen to be loaded with calories and fats. For example, I love cakes and cookies. I love Mexican food and Italian food. I love love love bread. I love all those foods the doctors tell you to give up. And I knew in my heart of hearts that if I had to exercise (which I hated) and give up the foods I loved, I’d never stick with it.

So, I chose to tackle my hatred of exercise first. I did so by going to the dance classes first. I took Zumba and Werq and ReFit. After I started to learn the routines, I actually started to like going to these classes. They were fun and they got my butt moving. Plus, my FitBit showed me that I always burned an average of 400 calories and I liked seeing that. I swear my FitBit is the one thing I wear every day, all day. When I have to take it off to charge it, I try not to move because I don’t want to miss counting my steps (an exaggeration, but I actually don’t like to do much without it).  During this time I didn’t make much of a change to the way I ate.

Around month two of exercising four-five days a week, I started to feel like I could start eating healthier and still maintain my level of exercise. My husband and I actually did two weeks of eating no to low-carb. It was really hard and I lost three pounds. I’m not sure I would want to do it again, but I am able to keep up with small changes to my diet. For example, I try to eat healthier options as much as I can. No, I never eat as many vegetables as I should and yes, sometimes I still eat bread or a bit of cake. I just eat way less of it. I choose grilled chicken over hamburgers and order salad if I go out to eat. But if I want cake, I eat cake. I just eat a bite or two, not a whole piece (or two). I’ll have a couple spoonfuls of ice cream, not a whole bowl. After a few months of eating like this, I’m actually to the point that I don’t want more than a couple bites. If I eat a whole piece of cake, my stomach feels kind of crummy afterwards. The amount of sugar doesn’t agree with my body anymore. I still eat Mexican food and Italian, I just eat one or two enchiladas, instead of three or four. I try to avoid carbs, but I still eat them. One day, I think I will bump up my healthy diet again and try low-carb or make a goal or eat a lot more veggies every day, but I’m not there yet. I push myself, but not too far that I break. I have to make decisions that are attainable and doable for me.

Tip #4: Get A FitBit

When my husband bought me my FitBit Blaze for Mother’s Day, I didn’t automatically like it. I actually had asked for one, but getting one made me feel like, crap, now I have to actually exercise.  But from day one, I was hooked. Every day I felt like I needed to get more steps. At least that’s how it started. Later, when I actually starting taking exercise classes, I loved to see how many active minutes I had earned or how much time I had spent at the cardio/fat burn/above levels (I still check my app after exercising every day). It actually feels fun to burn calories.

My Type A personality makes me competitive, though I don’t usually like to compete against other people. I choose to compete against myself. When I first started working out, I always wanted to get all “green” on my FitBit app (when you hit your goals for calories, steps, exercise, etc. they turn green on the app). When I lay down for the night, I check my app. If I am short a few steps or a few flights of stairs, I actually get out of bed and walk around or go up and down the stairs until I hit my goal. I consider myself my biggest competitor and I always want to do better than the day before.

Tip #5: Join a Gym with Childcare

This one is a given for busy moms. I get it. It feels like there is simply no time to exercise what with Jimmy’s basketball practice, Tommy’s swim lessons, cleaning the house, making dinner, doing laundry, etc. etc. etc. There was no way I could join a gym that didn’t have childcare because my husband is only home in the evenings, and that’s not counting the nights when he has to work late and isn’t home until after the kids have gone to bed and all the exercise classes are over.

We are very lucky that our YMCA has a great childcare center where my boys actually enjoy going. The boys ask to come with me and since becoming regulars, they know the teachers and have friends who are in there at the same time they are. Plus, this allows me an hour of child-free time, which is good for my sanity too.

I’ll admit, however, that sometimes I feel a lot of guilt when I’ve just come home from work and I feel as though I should be spending lots of time with my kids and yet I’m rushing off to exercise. But, I try to tell myself that I’m getting healthy so I can play more with them and so I can be around longer when they get older. I think being healthy and having confidence makes me a better mom. If you are good at motivating yourself, I think doing work out videos at home would be a great compromise because I’ve heard of other moms that exercise at home and their kids even join in. Unfortunately, I need the class to motivate me so working out at home isn’t an option right now.

Tip #6: When You Feel Ready, Push Yourself to Try New Classes

Even though my husband tried to tell me early on that I should push myself and try the more difficult classes (ie. weight lifting or heavy cardio interval classes), I hesitated. I really didn’t think I’d be able to keep up in those classes, as I wasn’t in good enough shape yet. So I stuck with my dance cardio classes because I was good at them and I liked them. However, around month three, I started to feel like my Zumba classes weren’t pushing me enough. I still enjoyed the class, I just felt like I should probably make the most out of my hour of exercise. I finally felt ready to try something new because I was feeling in better shape and my confidence was rising enough to push myself out of my comfort zone.

Turns out, I started to really like those new classes. I started taking a strength training, weight-lifting class a couple times a week and it’s been great to see how much stronger I am getting. My arms, which once were flabby and gross (to me, at least), are starting to show some muscle definition. Yes, I had to get over the fact that weight-lifting type classes show less calories burned on my FitBit, but sometimes I don’t think it’s all that accurate. Large muscles burn more calories, but you aren’t hopping around and dancing in those classes, so it registers less calories burned on your watch. I’m okay with it now because I know the strength training is good for my body. I have a good friend who is in far better shape than I am and she pushes me sometimes to come with her to cardio interval classes. These get my heart rate up and keep it there. And trust me, those classes still push me and I’m exhausted. And yet, I don’t give up like I might have done a few months ago. After twelve months of exercising 5-7 days a week, I’m finally to the point where my heartrate may be up and I may be dripping sweat and my muscles may be burning, but I can still breathe. I can still catch my breath, which I never used to be able to do when I worked out. It’s an amazing feeling.

A few months back, I also decided to start running – an exercise I don’t believe I’ve ever liked or ever been good at.  But after about 8 months of consistent exercising, I felt like I needed to set a new goal – running a 5K.  I ran my first 5K in early June 2017 in the Cosley Farm Run in Wheaton, IL. Although I wasn’t the speediest one there – by far – I completed the race in 37 minutes and almost cried as I approached the finish line.  Not because I was in pain, but because I did it.  And now I’m signed up for two more 5K races. I still don’t love running, and honestly, I’m more of a slow jogger – but it feels good to be finally able to do it.

Tip #7: If You Have Trouble Motivating Yourself, Take Classes at the Gym

Though my gym has a large area for ellipticals, treadmills, and free weights, I spend very little time there (unless it’s raining and I want to run). You see, I find it very difficult to push myself and I get very bored just going on one machine or the other. Taking a class works so much better for me. This way, I have an instructor who is like my personal trainer, showing me what moves to do and how long to do them for. I can learn dance routines that make the time pass quickly. I get to listen to loud, energizing music to keep me going. And most importantly, I am surrounded by other people who are trying their best too. For me, it’s just way more fun to be in a class with others, than sad on a treadmill by myself.

Tip #7: Get Yourself a Cheerleader

This is my favorite tip because it’s simply the best part of getting healthy. My husband is the best cheerleader I could ever ask for. He’ll stay home with our boys so I can go exercise and supports my diet changes. He tells me how beautiful I am every day (he’s always told me this, but I’m finally starting to believe it). He even helped pick out some new clothes when I started losing weight and complimented me and my work ethic. He tells me daily that I am the best mom and wife he knows and that he and our boys are so lucky to have me. As if the extra confidence boost wasn’t enough, working hard for him gives me that extra push I need somedays. It’s an extra motivator when close friends or co-workers notice a difference. Their compliment not only pushes me harder, but makes me truly feel so good inside and proud of my accomplishments.

General Thoughts

You may think that I forgot to mention how great it is to work out with a friend. And yes, it definitely helps and I love the times that my friends happen to be at the gym too. However, my friends are also busy moms and busy moms don’t always have time to take the same classes as me.  So think of workout buddies not as a necessity, but as a nice bonus every so often.

I asked myself today, why am I even writing this? Isn’t it a little embarrassing sharing my private thoughts about my weight?  And I decided that I’m writing this in hopes that someone reading would get inspired to become healthier.  As the saying goes (though it’s absolutely, honestly true this time), if I can do it, so can you. I’m writing this because I feel like a new person. I feel like I can try any class, try any sport, and I won’t fail miserably. Or maybe I will fail miserably, but that’s okay. I got golf clubs for my birthday and we go to the driving range often.  I’ve even golfed a 9-hole course and an 18-hole course and I finally went golfing with my dad and sisters this past year. I’m wearing two sizes smaller in pants and one size smaller in shirts. I like trying on clothes again.

Some days I am afraid that I will go back to old habits. I’m scared that one day of skipping the gym will lead to two days, which will lead to three days, and so I make myself go to the gym every day, if possible. When I stayed in a hotel downtown Chicago with my husband, I actually worked out at the hotel gym. When we went on a family vacation to Florida in January, I was nervous that I’d gain some of the weight back. However, I tried to do more physical activities like run through the sand, or chase my kids on the beach.

I wish I could put the way I feel about myself and my body into words. I’m trying my best to do so. I am a happier person. And when I lose the rest of the weight and really get into the best shape of my life, I can’t imagine how great that will feel. I’ve never really been healthy. I’ve never really been in shape. And even though I am just halfway there, it feels so good.

We are halfway through 2017.  I am excited for the future, but I also think 2016-2017 was one of the most important years for me. I turned 33 and I started to love myself again.

[lisaraewrites]

A Busy Mom’s Tips for Getting Healthy and Loving Yourself Again

June 30, 2017

I should begin by telling you what I am not. I am not a registered dietician. I am not a doctor or nurse, nor do I pretend to be.  I am by no means, an expert on weight loss. In fact, I am only about halfway to my goal weight and fitness level. However, I have felt like I could stand to lose weight for about as long as I can remember. Was it easier to keep it off when I was younger? Sure. But I’ve never been super thin. I’ve never really been in shape and I don’t consider myself to be athletic. I despise running and in general, exercise is usually the last thing I would chose to do.

What I am is a mom and a wife. I have a full-time job (other than being a mom and wife; which is a full-time job in itself). I am over-scheduled and over-stressed and feel like I never get enough sleep. I am all of those things. And I’m guessing you probably are too.

Let me back up. I should tell you that the idea for this blog did not begin today, but one year ago. My husband and I were on a dream vacation to St. John, without our kids, enjoying the beautiful weather, endless blue ocean, and amazing snorkeling. Because the island is very hilly, we rented a small SUV to navigate the island. One night, Michael suggested we walk to dinner, which was as short, but steep walk up and down a couple hills. At the time, it felt like the worst idea ever. Walking in that heat up and down those hills? I’ll never make it, I thought. And if I do make it, if I do survive, I’ll be a dripping, sweaty mess for dinner. Yuck.

We did it anyway. It was easily the most humiliating activity I’d done since running the mile in middle school PE class. I had to stop several times because my legs were burning and I was out of breath.  I just felt like crying. Though it was never Michael’s intention, it was easily my worst moment of the trip.

When we got back from vacation a few days later, something inside me changed. That was it. I had had enough. I was tired of being overweight, out-of-shape, and tired all the time. I was tired of feeling disgusted in my own body and feeling like I couldn’t fit in any of my clothes. It was embarrassing that I couldn’t even go for a walk on vacation because the hill was too steep. I felt disgusted with myself. How did I get here? I asked myself several times a day.

I’ve had some time since then to think about that question; How did I get there? I got there because I got pregnant and gave birth to three gorgeous boys, each time not really losing all the baby weight. I got there because I truly hated exercising and never did it, though I knew I should. I got there because I told myself I was always too busy for the gym and that I actually wasn’t as out of shape as I thought. I got there because I love eating yummy, delicious, not-so-healthy food.

Gaining weight affected all parts of my life. For starters, my confidence level dropped dramatically. I never thought I looked good in anything, unless it was loose and baggy clothing. I never wanted to try anything new because I automatically felt that I wouldn’t be good at it. For example, my sisters and dad would go golfing for Father’s Day every year. I never went because I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hit the golf ball, nor did I have an appropriate outfit that fit me. I refused to exercise because I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up in the class. I thought everyone would look at me and wonder why I was so out of shape.

The drop in confidence affected my work too. Ever hear the saying “dress for success?” What I wore affected how I felt about myself and my ability to teach. I dressed for teaching every day in frumpy work clothes. Though I was still a good teacher, I never felt motivated to go above and beyond. I felt like the students noticed every flaw about my body. I even had students ask me if I was pregnant…multiple times.  After having kids, my stomach was the first to bulge out if I put on weight.

My lack of confidence affected my marriage. My husband would get excited about a dress or shirt he bought for me and I didn’t even want to try it on. It was if I somehow knew it wouldn’t look good on me or it would be too tight. He bought me a FitBit for Mother’s Day, which I first felt a bit offended by (but now a year later, I see that present as a total life saver).

Anyway, that hike in St. John was the moment; the eye-opener that I needed. The week we got back, I strapped my FitBit on my wrist and made the decision to lose weight and to get healthy. Here’s what the past twelve months have taught me and some tips I still use that work for me.

Tip #1: Put Exercise On Your Calendar

I have a very Type-A personality. I am always busy. Though I complain about it sometimes, I think I actually like to keep busy. Therefore, I always thought that if I kept busy playing with the boys or making dinner or cleaning the house, I’d lose weight, because after all, I was still moving. Surely, I thought, the only moms who gain weight are the ones who sit around all day. I was wrong. I managed to gain 20 pounds after having my third son, even though I was still busy every day.

However, that first week after vacation (June 26th - July 2nd, 2016), I actually wrote the name of each exercise class and the time it was offered on each day of the week on my calendar. You see, I already had a membership to our local YMCA, I just didn’t utilize it. In fact, Michael had asked about canceling it because we never went. That week I went to five exercise classes (and I know this because it’s all stored on my FitBit app). I started taking Zumba classes because I had lost weight doing so a couple years earlier and I love to dance. I burned an average of 400 calories each time I went to the gym, and I was proud of that. Now don’t get me wrong, I was a complete sweaty mess the whole time. I was out of breath most of the class and I couldn’t do all the dance moves because my body just wouldn’t keep up. It was hard. But it was something.

I found that when I wrote the class and the time on my weekly calendar, it felt like I had to go. I kind of live by my calendar. It’s the only way I can stay organized with the boys’ varying school schedules, my work, my husband’s work, and our various sports and activities. Therefore, when people would call to see if we were free Tuesday night to get together, I had to say no because Zumba was at 7:30.

A year later, I still do this every week. On Sunday night, I look at the YMCA class schedule for the week (it helps to have the paper schedule right next to the calendar and I also keep the schedule open on my phone too). I write in what classes I will attend and I make sure nothing else is scheduled during that time. If the boys have an activity for school or a basketball practice, I make sure I chose a class that fits around it.

I won’t lie. At first, it was hard to make myself go some nights. It still is hard some days. After teaching all day, sometimes the last thing I want to do is race home, make a quick dinner, feed the boys, clean up, and head to the gym. But I still do it five to six nights a week. I do it rain or shine or snow. And after the first three or four weeks, it got easier to find the motivation to get to the gym.  And by now, the guilt sets in if I don’t go.

Tip #2: Change into Workout Clothes Right When You Wake Up/Get Home from Work

This seems like a small thing to do, but for me, it really makes a huge difference. If I sit around in the clothes I wore to teach that day, I feel unmotivated to change and get to the gym. However, if I come home from work and head right upstairs and change, I feel like I’m already dressed for the gym, so why not go? (I actually just had to take a break from sitting and typing and walk/jog around the house to get some steps in. True story. I may be slightly addicted to getting my steps for the day on my FitBit.)

On the same token, if it is a weekend morning, before even going downstairs to make breakfast for the kids, I put on my sports bra, workout shirt, and yoga pants. That way, there is no excuse to not be ready to go to my exercise class.

Tip #3: Choose to Exercise OR Eat Healthier (Only One at a Time)

Unless you have way better self-control than I do, I recommend choosing exercise OR healthy eating. If you know me, you know I love to eat. I love foods that are especially unhealthy, not because they are unhealthy, but all my favorite things happen to be loaded with calories and fats. For example, I love cakes and cookies. I love Mexican food and Italian food. I love love love bread. I love all those foods the doctors tell you to give up. And I knew in my heart of hearts that if I had to exercise (which I hated) and give up the foods I loved, I’d never stick with it.

So, I chose to tackle my hatred of exercise first. I did so by going to the dance classes first. I took Zumba and Werq and ReFit. After I started to learn the routines, I actually started to like going to these classes. They were fun and they got my butt moving. Plus, my FitBit showed me that I always burned an average of 400 calories and I liked seeing that. I swear my FitBit is the one thing I wear every day, all day. When I have to take it off to charge it, I try not to move because I don’t want to miss counting my steps (an exaggeration, but I actually don’t like to do much without it).  During this time I didn’t make much of a change to the way I ate.

Around month two of exercising four-five days a week, I started to feel like I could start eating healthier and still maintain my level of exercise. My husband and I actually did two weeks of eating no to low-carb. It was really hard and I lost three pounds. I’m not sure I would want to do it again, but I am able to keep up with small changes to my diet. For example, I try to eat healthier options as much as I can. No, I never eat as many vegetables as I should and yes, sometimes I still eat bread or a bit of cake. I just eat way less of it. I choose grilled chicken over hamburgers and order salad if I go out to eat. But if I want cake, I eat cake. I just eat a bite or two, not a whole piece (or two). I’ll have a couple spoonfuls of ice cream, not a whole bowl. After a few months of eating like this, I’m actually to the point that I don’t want more than a couple bites. If I eat a whole piece of cake, my stomach feels kind of crummy afterwards. The amount of sugar doesn’t agree with my body anymore. I still eat Mexican food and Italian, I just eat one or two enchiladas, instead of three or four. I try to avoid carbs, but I still eat them. One day, I think I will bump up my healthy diet again and try low-carb or make a goal or eat a lot more veggies every day, but I’m not there yet. I push myself, but not too far that I break. I have to make decisions that are attainable and doable for me.

Tip #4: Get A FitBit

When my husband bought me my FitBit Blaze for Mother’s Day, I didn’t automatically like it. I actually had asked for one, but getting one made me feel like, crap, now I have to actually exercise.  But from day one, I was hooked. Every day I felt like I needed to get more steps. At least that’s how it started. Later, when I actually starting taking exercise classes, I loved to see how many active minutes I had earned or how much time I had spent at the cardio/fat burn/above levels (I still check my app after exercising every day). It actually feels fun to burn calories.

My Type A personality makes me competitive, though I don’t usually like to compete against other people. I choose to compete against myself. When I first started working out, I always wanted to get all “green” on my FitBit app (when you hit your goals for calories, steps, exercise, etc. they turn green on the app). When I lay down for the night, I check my app. If I am short a few steps or a few flights of stairs, I actually get out of bed and walk around or go up and down the stairs until I hit my goal. I consider myself my biggest competitor and I always want to do better than the day before.

Tip #5: Join a Gym with Childcare

This one is a given for busy moms. I get it. It feels like there is simply no time to exercise what with Jimmy’s basketball practice, Tommy’s swim lessons, cleaning the house, making dinner, doing laundry, etc. etc. etc. There was no way I could join a gym that didn’t have childcare because my husband is only home in the evenings, and that’s not counting the nights when he has to work late and isn’t home until after the kids have gone to bed and all the exercise classes are over.

We are very lucky that our YMCA has a great childcare center where my boys actually enjoy going. The boys ask to come with me and since becoming regulars, they know the teachers and have friends who are in there at the same time they are. Plus, this allows me an hour of child-free time, which is good for my sanity too.

I’ll admit, however, that sometimes I feel a lot of guilt when I’ve just come home from work and I feel as though I should be spending lots of time with my kids and yet I’m rushing off to exercise. But, I try to tell myself that I’m getting healthy so I can play more with them and so I can be around longer when they get older. I think being healthy and having confidence makes me a better mom. If you are good at motivating yourself, I think doing work out videos at home would be a great compromise because I’ve heard of other moms that exercise at home and their kids even join in. Unfortunately, I need the class to motivate me so working out at home isn’t an option right now.

Tip #6: When You Feel Ready, Push Yourself to Try New Classes

Even though my husband tried to tell me early on that I should push myself and try the more difficult classes (ie. weight lifting or heavy cardio interval classes), I hesitated. I really didn’t think I’d be able to keep up in those classes, as I wasn’t in good enough shape yet. So I stuck with my dance cardio classes because I was good at them and I liked them. However, around month three, I started to feel like my Zumba classes weren’t pushing me enough. I still enjoyed the class, I just felt like I should probably make the most out of my hour of exercise. I finally felt ready to try something new because I was feeling in better shape and my confidence was rising enough to push myself out of my comfort zone.

Turns out, I started to really like those new classes. I started taking a strength training, weight-lifting class a couple times a week and it’s been great to see how much stronger I am getting. My arms, which once were flabby and gross (to me, at least), are starting to show some muscle definition. Yes, I had to get over the fact that weight-lifting type classes show less calories burned on my FitBit, but sometimes I don’t think it’s all that accurate. Large muscles burn more calories, but you aren’t hopping around and dancing in those classes, so it registers less calories burned on your watch. I’m okay with it now because I know the strength training is good for my body. I have a good friend who is in far better shape than I am and she pushes me sometimes to come with her to cardio interval classes. These get my heart rate up and keep it there. And trust me, those classes still push me and I’m exhausted. And yet, I don’t give up like I might have done a few months ago. After twelve months of exercising 5-7 days a week, I’m finally to the point where my heart rate may be up and I may be dripping sweat and my muscles may be burning, but I can still breathe. I can still catch my breath, which I never used to be able to do when I worked out. It’s an amazing feeling.

A few months back, I also decided to start running – an exercise I don’t believe I’ve ever liked or ever been good at.  But after about 8 months of consistent exercising, I felt like I needed to set a new goal – running a 5K.  I ran my first 5K in early June 2017 in the Cosley Farm Run in Wheaton, IL. Although I wasn’t the speediest one there – by far – I completed the race in 37 minutes and almost cried as I approached the finish line.  Not because I was in pain, but because I did it.  And now I’m signed up for two more 5K races. I still don’t love running, and honestly, I’m more of a slow jogger – but it feels good to be finally able to do it.

Tip #7: If You Have Trouble Motivating Yourself, Take Classes at the Gym

Though my gym has a large area for ellipticals, treadmills, and free weights, I spend very little time there (unless it’s raining and I want to run). You see, I find it very difficult to push myself and I get very bored just going on one machine or the other. Taking a class works so much better for me. This way, I have an instructor who is like my personal trainer, showing me what moves to do and how long to do them for. I can learn dance routines that make the time pass quickly. I get to listen to loud, energizing music to keep me going. And most importantly, I am surrounded by other people who are trying their best too. For me, it’s just way more fun to be in a class with others, than sad on a treadmill by myself.

Tip #7: Get Yourself a Cheerleader

This is my favorite tip because it’s simply the best part of getting healthy. My husband is the best cheerleader I could ever ask for. He’ll stay home with our boys so I can go exercise and supports my diet changes. He tells me how beautiful I am every day (he’s always told me this, but I’m finally starting to believe it). He even helped pick out some new clothes when I started losing weight and complimented me and my work ethic. He tells me daily that I am the best mom and wife he knows and that he and our boys are so lucky to have me. As if the extra confidence boost wasn’t enough, working hard for him gives me that extra push I need some days. It’s an extra motivator when close friends or co-workers notice a difference. Their compliment not only pushes me harder, but makes me truly feel so good inside and proud of my accomplishments.

General Thoughts

You may think that I forgot to mention how great it is to work out with a friend. And yes, it definitely helps and I love the times that my friends happen to be at the gym too. However, my friends are also busy moms and busy moms don’t always have time to take the same classes as me.  So think of workout buddies not as a necessity, but as a nice bonus every so often.

I asked myself today, why am I even writing this? Isn’t it a little embarrassing sharing my private thoughts about my weight?  And I decided that I’m writing this in hopes that someone reading would get inspired to become healthier.  As the saying goes (though it’s absolutely, honestly true this time), if I can do it, so can you. I’m writing this because I feel like a new person. I feel like I can try any class, try any sport, and I won’t fail miserably. Or maybe I will fail miserably, but that’s okay. I got golf clubs for my birthday and we go to the driving range often.  I’ve even golfed a 9-hole course and an 18-hole course and I finally went golfing with my dad and sisters this past year. I’m wearing two sizes smaller in pants and one size smaller in shirts. I like trying on clothes again.

Some days I am afraid that I will go back to old habits. I’m scared that one day of skipping the gym will lead to two days, which will lead to three days, and so I make myself go to the gym every day, if possible. When I stayed in a hotel downtown Chicago with my husband, I actually worked out at the hotel gym. When we went on a family vacation to Florida in January, I was nervous that I’d gain some of the weight back. However, I tried to do more physical activities like run through the sand, or chase my kids on the beach.

I wish I could put the way I feel about myself and my body into words. I’m trying my best to do so. I am a happier person. And when I lose the rest of the weight and really get into the best shape of my life, I can’t imagine how great that will feel. I’ve never really been healthy. I’ve never really been in shape. And even though I am just halfway there, it feels so good.

We are halfway through 2017.  I am excited for the future, but I also think 2016-2017 was one of the most important years for me. I turned 33 and I started to love myself again.

[authoramandawilson]

They say good things come in small packages.

And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic. Good things do come in small packages – my university acceptance letters did, my engagement ring (hehe!), and the countless books I ordered off of Amazon.

Good things do come in small packages.

But, there is one thing in my life that came in a giant package. Or rather, a cute black leather carry-on bag.

My baby girl, my drool-bag, my giant-ass English mastiff, Miesha!

This is a story about how a tiny bundle of fur slobbered her way into my life (and into my heart) like a force of nature. This is the story about how one sooky giant wrecked havoc on my house, destroying everything in her line of sight. This is the story about how after months of training, and destruction, and mischief, a large dog helped change my world.

It’s the story about how my English mastiff Miehsa helps me battle my mental illness.

Miesha Wilson-Thomas was born on November 20th, 2015 in Nova Scotia to a litter of ten other fur balls that were already the size of a small Chihuahuas after birth. It wouldn’t be until Christmas Day that I learned that this little wrinkly tribble (Star Trek anyone?) would officially be joining our family.

But Miesha came into my life during difficult circumstances. I had spent December in the hospital because I was extremely sick. I was due to have surgery in a few weeks and I was worried about bringing – in all sense of the word – a baby into the house.

But she was a gift from my fiancé, and after seeing the joy light up in his eyes, how could I say no? Even though, let’s be honest, he wanted her more than I did, but I wanted a dog. I was just worried about the timing.

But as the next week few weeks wore on, we planned our trip to Nova Scotia to bring home our quickly growing baby and I was getting excited. I was starting to feel a bit better and was released from the hospital until my surgery. Since I was on sick leave, I was looking forward to the chaos of being a stay-at-home fur momma.

And really, how could I say no after the breeders texted us pictures like this?

“She’s gonna have attitude,” I said to my fiancé one day when we went through the recent pictures that were sent to us. “I can see it in her eyes. She’s gonna have a big personality.”

“That’s just more to love,” Zack waved me off, melting over the photos.

But we were still excited. We made countless trips to stores stocking up and preparing for her arrival. The living room had morphed into a giant dog play room. Arty, our first cat, seemed curious and a bit alarmed by the recent additions to the household. By the look on is face, he knew something big was coming, but he had no idea just how big the surprise would be.

And the week before we were due to go to Nova Scotia, I got sick and ended up in the hospital again. To say we were stressed was an understatement. Doctors were talking about airlifting me to St.John’s and talks about doing mini surgeries before my big one were being discussed – and spending eight days drugged up on morphine and painkillers, I began to worry. I was stoned out of my trees, but I was extremely concered about bringing Miesha home while I was sick. Zack scrambled to change plane tickets as the breeders refused to hold her for an extra two days, and I watched the torture on his face as he had to choose between leaving me in the hospital by myself or giving up our girl.

There wasn’t a choice. I told him to get on the plane.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” I joked, shaking the hand that had my IV jabbed in it, smiling giddy besides being in a world of pain.

So Zack got on the plane.

 And a few hours later, he texted me a picture of our baby – rather our toddler (because she was already over twelve pounds)! Miesha was finally on her way home. And despite being pissed and upset that I was stuck in a hospital bed, I was happy she was finally on her way to Newfoundland to where she belonged.

I just had to focus on getting better, trying to get my gallbladder in check so I could get out of that stinking hospital and be home in my own bed with my baby mastiff. I spent the next few days in the hospital, and really I don’t remember much of what happened. But through the hazy memories, Zack did bring her to the hospital – hiding her in a carry-on and covering her with his jacket so no one would be suspicious.

I spent ten minutes with her, getting teary-eyed over the shivering wrinkly lump that sat next to me on my bed, her chocolate eyes looking at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you?”

Yup, no doubt about it. She was gonna be just like her mudder.

But a few days later, I was released and finally got to be home with my fur baby, finally understanding all the chaos Zack had explained to me during his visits.

“She snores. A lot.”

Great! I thought to myself, shooting Zack a look of dismay. Another snoring body in the house. Just what I needed.

But even though I was still sick and recovering myself, I got to spent a lot of time cuddling on the couch with my new baby girl. She loved armpit snuggles, and I soon learned she slept a lot. A dog after my own, lazy heart.

And as the weeks wore on and I started to feel better, I fell into my mother role pretty easy, even though the first day Zack left me at home, alone, I was terrified that I would suck at this.

“What if I accidentally kill her?” I looked at Zack worried, staring down at the wrinkly lump in my lap, who stared back at me with worried eyes. Really Dad? You’re gonna leave me alone with her?

“How will you kill her? It’s not like you can roll over a squish her to death.” Zack kissed my forehead and left for work.

“Ok, princess!” I smiled down at Miesha, “We can do this!” I cheered myself on, even though she seemed less that thrilled. She had imprinted on Zack first and I was the new kid on the block. We had some work to do.

She slept for the first three hours of official mommy duty.

Jeez. This seems to easy.

And boy was a right!

The next few months was a constant battle of understanding what twitches of eyebrows meant, and recognizing the signs for poops and pees. She was a chewer and I fretted that she would never grow out of this terrible habit. Our old green couch had fallen victim the first three weeks home and I wondered if I would ever be able to buy brand new furniture.

But it was exciting to be home and spending every day with her, watching her grow, learning her quirks, and training her myself. Zack had dubbed me “Mean Mommy” within no time and I became the disciplinary in the household.

It was controlled chaos. My couch lost its stuffing, she chewed through at least three full packs of toilet paper, she was gaining five pounds every week and hadn’t quite figured out just how much strength she really had – which resulted in several split lips on my behalf.

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I cried a lot, I got mad a lot, but I enjoyed watching her explore her newfound world (even though she refused to go beyond the perimeter of the driveway). She loved Cheez Whiz and peanut butter, and I soon learned I was going to have a counter surfer on my hands. Nothing was safe, including a beautiful cake I baked one afternoon, which suspiciously had a huge chunk missing from it when I left it unattended for less than two minutes.

I was right. She had personality…and attitude…and way too much spite in her bones.

But damn did she look like a cute little baby moose when she got a bath!

Miesha had drooled her way into my heart and despite all the chaos and yelling, I was glad she was a part of my life. She kept me from being bored and loved to sleep in my lap while I wrote or read. She was Dad’s girl but she was Mom’s sook. Dad was easy to give into treat begging but she loved to cuddle.

She gave me purpose.

And then April came.

Nothing could prepare me for the bad depressive episode I sank into because of my PTSD. Within a matter of days, I had crashed and starting losing control over my anxiety. The flashbacks came back. The night terrors resurfaced. I was filled with intense anger and frustration that had no rhyme or reason. And then the terrible thoughts came back. The worthlessness broke my wavering confidence and I thought about death. The suicidal thoughts were back and worse than before.

I wanted to die.

And there was no amount of dog cuddles or wet kisses in the world that could snap me out of it.

I was consumed with my dark thoughts. I never wanted to leave my bed and I had barely any energy to shower, let alone make effort to doing anything to keep my mind preoccupied. I was on a self-destructive path that I was quickly losing control over. I was pushing Zack away. I refused to speak to my family. I cut off all ties with my friends. I refused to answer my phone. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the world to swallow me up whole and put me out of my misery.

It wasn’t until one day that I was sat in the tub, the water having gone cold two hours before, that I stared at my pills on the counter and thought: I could end this. I could make this all go away. I could make all the pain and hurt go away forever.

And somewhere in those twisted and tormenting thoughts, my last bit of sanity broke through.

“Run, Amanda. You need to run.”

Miesha was curled up against the frame of the bathroom door when I pulled open the door and she looked at me with curious eyes.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go for a run.”

And we ran. We ran until my lungs were burning and I had a stitch in my left side and I wanted to vomit. We ran until I finally exhausted my chaotic mind into a numbed sense of being.

And a few hours later as I sat on the couch, Miesha (who was over sixty pounds by now) trying to squish her way into my lap, I made a decision.

April 2016. You can see how exhausted and tired I was.

I made a decision to keep fighting.

This was just another battle with my PTSD. This was just another tough stalemate that I had lost. I came out bruised and battered, but the war wasn’t over.

The was would never be over, but I knew I couldn’t raise my white flag yet. There was so much more I needed to do.

  So I made the decision to keep fighting.

The next day I went through the bathroom and tossed every spare razor in my house and got rid of anything (including painkillers left over from my surgery) that could give my suicidal thoughts intention. The first step to fighting my PTSD? Protect myself. And maybe it seemed strange or unreasonable, but I “Amanda-proofed” the house.

The next step? Get active. I was barely back to work since I was still recovering from surgery so I had a lot of idle time on my hands. With my mind on a precipice, I had to physically force myself to keep my thoughts from going haywire.

And that’s where Miesha came in.

If it was one thing we had in common, it was we both hated being stationary. Moving forward and keeping busy helped exhausted us into lazy couch potatoes. It was time to get to work. We went hiking, we went to the dog park, we lounged around in the city’s park. We did anything and everything to keep us out of the house, even if it meant going for long drives or sharing timbits from Tim Hortons.

And as spring bloomed into summer, and the days grew hotter, and the evenings grew longer, I was finally feeling better – I was feeling like myself again. Miesha was growing herself – she was still putting on weight, but she was slowly morphing into an adult dog. She was becoming tamer and friendly. She was my partner in crime, in everything we did, and even though she was outgrowing my lap, she was overflowing my heart.

She was helping me get better. She was making me stronger. And above all else, she was protecting me. And without question, she stayed by my side at all times, keeping a close eye on me – nudging my hand to get my attention to remind me to not stay idle too long. She kept a close eye on the both of us and she took her role seriously.

“Mudder. I’m sick of selfies! GAWD!”

But not everything was serious. Sometimes her attitude got the better of her and we had moments of indifference. She was still a puppy and had the devil in her. She had her defiant moments and had soon expressed her distaste for selfies.

And we had our quiet moments, too. Sometimes there were days the dark thoughts did win. Sometimes there were moments we needed to stop and just keep breathing  – to remember that it was just as bad day. Bad days had their times, but they weren’t in abundance anymore. The dark thoughts were slowly retreating back from whence they came.

And on those bad days, I had Miesha. I had my guard dog and protector. She would nudge my arm with her drooly snout and snap me out of the hard moments. And on the days I didn’t have the strength to venture outside or to go for a run, “Not today, girlie. Not today.” Miesha would simply wiggle her way into my lap as best she could and squish me with her hundred-plus pound body and remind me that it was ok –  to remind me she was there whether I needed to cry into her droopy ears or just needed a mastiff hug.

She would always be there with endless love in spades and countless kisses to share.

Looking back, it’s funny how life has a way of reminding us that there is still good out there. I had battle PTSD for five years before Miesha came into  my life. I thought I had it all figured out. I knew my illness like the back of my hand. I had fought the dark thoughts and had resources on hand. I thought I knew everything I needed when it came to throwing all my efforts at recovery – therapy, journal keeping, staying active, writing, support from loved ones.

What more did I need?

But they say the best things come in giant-ass packages.

Because what is a dog anyway? Man’s best friend. A faithful companion. A cuddle buddy. A lump of fur that creates chaos in our organized lives. We get dogs for pets, but they end up being so much more than that. They become family.

And if you’re really lucky, they become your protector.

And looking back, I can’t say for certain that Miesha did save my life that day. Was she in the right place at the right time? Most definitely, but the day I contemplated swallowing a bottle of pills, she (along with everyone else I loved) was the furthest thing from my mind.

So maybe I saved myself in that moment, but Miesha guided me through the following days. She proved to me something that I truly needed to understand – that I was needed. She relied on me for everything. And at the end of the day, I needed her too.

Because she’s family and family doesn’t let their love ones give up without a fight.

So maybe there are days she’s a little weird.

Sometimes there are days she’s an attention seeker.

And other times, she truly disregards any sense of privacy or personal space.

“What?”

But she’s a good big sister to Arty and Daeny (even though Arty begs to differ most days).

She understands that being lazy isn’t necessarily a bad thing (but a necessity).

Because life is not just about the big things, but enjoy the small moments. And even though Miesha could draw a crowd with her beauty and loving personality, she knew the best moments were the quiet moments, and we had lots of those days.

Because Miesha has taught me many things in less than her two years of life.

Maybe she turned my world upside down. And maybe she has truly tested the limit of my patience (and made me question my decision to have children). She has created chaos and stolen one too many chicken bones from the kitchen garbage. There are days her slobber and drool has caused my OCD tendencies to skyrocket out of control and other days drained my bank account with expensive vet bills.

There are times she’s so lazy my anxious mind contemplates if she’s sick and I’m misreading the signs. There are times she has almost broken my arm by trying to chase other dogs on our walks and there were times she convinced me she had squished Daney to death when she body slammed her, and has kept me up countless nights with her loud snoring just outside our bedroom door.

And there are times when I get angry and she refuses to cuddle me that I question if she even likes me at all and there are times when she’s snoring away of my office floor that I wonder if she loves her home. And on countless occasions she has made be gag when I hace to clean up vomit or wipe boogers from her nose or when her farts are so loud she scares herself with the sound.

Miesha is a lot of things and has done a lot of things. She has scared off strangers and drawn the attention of one too many dogs at the dog park. She sometimes instigates fights with the cats or gets on my last nerve, but when she sits next to me, panting away, I truly understand just how much I am thankful for the 130 pound dog that crashed into my life like a bat out of hell.

She’s got a big personality and a no-nonsense attitude just like me. She’s sometimes bad and impy but truly makes up for it in kisses and drool. Above all else, she loves and protects us with her big body and her large heart. Because she protects me from the bad days and relishes in the good days with me too. She’s a force to be reckoned with and is quick to give you a warning bark if you get too close to food dish.

And when all else fails, she knows how to tell a hilarious joke that can go a long way.

Because at the end of the day my big dog plays a “mastiff” role in my life. She may not have asked to take on the heavy burden of helping me through the bad days. She may not understand what PTSD actually is or why I have it, but she’s quick to the recuse when I’m crying and she knows how to snap me out of my intrusive thoughts.

And while the good days are winning and it’s been a while since I dragged her along with me on a run, trying to escape my damning nightmares, I know that when my PTSD decides to take up arms again, I know I’m prepared – because I have a secret weapon at my disposal. And it comes in the form of a very giant-ass dog.

And when the time comes that she can no longer be here to fight along next to me, when the day comes that my heart will be a bit broken and a little more empty, I will always remember the brown-eyed beauty that sat shivering on my hospital bed that night, looking at me with wide eyes that questioned my intensions.

But until that day comes, I will enjoy every waking moment I have with the drooly face dog that also relies on me. Because for now, her story i still being written, and she has many more chapters of chaos and adventures left before the epilogue ends. She has countless days left of begging for peanut butter crackers and snoring on my feet while I write novels.

Because good things don’t just come in big packages.

They come in the form of a happy, drooling, 130 pound English mastiff with a heart of gold.

And forever, I will always be thankful for my mastiff guardian angel. ❤

And as always,

Fight the good fight.

-A xo

Miesha and Me (and Battling PTSD) They say good things come in small packages. And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic.