It's Not Me - It's You: 5 Tips for Taking a Break From Running

Hello to the HeiferHood! Y'all know I love sharing content with other awesome blogs - and today is no different.  My BFFs over at Hey Little Rebel were kind enough to share my article on taking a break from running.  Here it is below, of you can click the link above.

5 Tips for Taking a Break From Running


What if someone, or everyone, is telling you to take a break from one of the most important relationships in your life?

What if that relationship isn’t with your boyfriend or wife or new bestie at work? What if that relationship is the one you have with running?

In every runner’s career, even those of us who embrace plenty of walking and sometimes never get above a slog, someone will tell us, “you need to take a break.”

It might be a doctor. It might be a therapist or a friend. It might even be ourselves. Nearly every runner out there will have to slow it down or stop completely at some point, and for a lot of us, that’s really, really hard.

Running is definitely a relationship. It can be a crazy, drama-filled relationship with all sorts of colorful characters. It can be a sweet romance that is hopeful and new. It can be a friendship of many years, where you take each other ugly parts and all. But for everyone I know, it’s a solid relationship.  Like every relationship I know, it has its ups and downs. There are the good times, when you can’t get enough of each other.  There are the boring moments, when you look elsewhere (cycling, I’m checkin’ you out). There are the tough times when you hurt each other and have to retreat to your corners and lick your wounds (or tape a heel). It’s a fluid relationship that takes work, commitment and sometimes a little time apart.

Whatever the reason for the break (an injury, an extended work trip, illness), there are ways to make the time off better and to come back stronger, healthier and ready for the next stage of the relationship.

So, what do we do when we have to cut off the relationship for a while? What do we do after we’ve said the famous phrase: Um…I need a break?

Here are my Top 5 Tips for Taking a Break From Running:

Realize the Reason

Look, any challenge sucks a little less if you have a clear idea why you’re doing it. It’s the same with taking a break from running. Most times, when we have to take a break, it’s not because we want to; there is a reason outside of ourselves suggesting it, pushing for it, screaming sometimes because we didn’t listen to their early, calm and rational pleas. If we look at the reason for the break, understand the value of it and embrace that it exists, we can bide our time a lot better.

Anger, frustration and irritation are normal feelings when we’re injured or sidelined, but they don’t help us get back in the game any faster. If you’re injured, realize what led to that injury and focus on building new habits to avoid it in the future. If you have life events limiting your schedule and thwarting your running routine, look at those events and understand why they’re important. You might be investing in family time or building a career. Taking a break from running to invest in something equally good isn’t always a bad thing. If you take a sec and dig deep (I know, you can roll your eyes), you can find a lot of motivation in using the time wisely instead of just slogging through.

Get a New Girlfriend

You know when a guy breaks up with you and gets a new girlfriend a week or two later? Yeah, do that. Make her kind of shiny and new.  Seriously, though, when you’re a regular runner and you have to take a break, there is a gap. That gap needs to be filled. We run for all sorts of reasons beyond burning calories and getting our hearts pumping. Running calms some of us down from the chaos of life (have I mentioned I have 4 kids?!). I know people who run to sort through work issues or decompress after a long day. Whatever the reason(s) you run, there will be a gap to fill when you take a break. Think about how you want to fill it because if you don’t fill it, that break will really suck. This might be just the time to try cycling, swimming, walking or weights. If you’re physically able to try something new, do it.

Embrace the Break

There will be the times your doctor says to lay off all physical activity for a while. It sucks. Slathering it in frosting won’t make it any better; you just can’t sugar-coat this one. You have to sit out for six weeks and heal.  You’ve got two choices here: resist or relent. I’m not normally one to relent, but in this case, resisting isn’t going to get me anywhere. If I have to take a full-on exercise break, I try to focus my energy on a new project. This helps keep my mental state in check, because as well all know, running is as much a mental game as it is physical. I focus on my piano or a new book or a project at work. I throw myself into it with some serious gusto, which helps the time pass quicker and lets me forget that I’m benched. And I realize that in embracing this break, I’m letting myself heal properly so I can avoid the same thing in the future.

Factor in Food

Many of us use running as a checks and balance system that goes something like this: I run three miles so I don’t have to eat like a bird when I go out to the Cheesecake Factory. I know I can’t outrun a donut, so I don’t ever think I can ignore diet, even if I’m running. But I do know that running burns several hundred calories. If I ignore that fact while I’m taking a break, the scale will creep back up. This is when we have to adjust our sails (which makes me sound like I’m writing for Chicken Soup for the Soul).

Seriously, though, it’s worth looking at our food intake and finding a few hundred calories to cut for a few weeks. It’s not forever. And it’s not about restriction or punishment. It’s just a tweak or two, and it’s for a specific period of time. Cutting out a snack or eating a smaller portion will limit the snowball effect of overeating and lack of exercise, which is hard to get back on track. Adjusting calories-in can help compensate for a break in exercise or for the fact that we’ll be moving slower and maybe less for a month or two.

Focus on Healing

If I’m sidelined from running because of an injury, I try to focus on healing. My body is telling me something that my doctor is probably also telling me, and if I don’t listen, I’ll be hearing this story again in the near future. The story is simple: heal. Rest. Stretch. Rehab. Focusing on anything else is misusing our energy. Sure, it’s okay to find a new exercise routine or assess snacking, but the overall focus really does need to be on healing. Doing what my doctors and therapists tell me to do is key. I’m no physical therapist or exercise therapist. I’m a mom with four kids and two dogs and a husband, hustling all over Phoenix, trying to survive 120 degree heat. I want to keep myself healthy and fit, which means pushing when I need to push and pulling back when I need to do that. I focus on healing in the moment so I can focus on pushing in the future.

Relationships aren’t always rainbows and sunshine. They all have ups and downs. Our relationship with running is no different. There will be frustrations, plateaus, injuries and splinters from being benched. That’s life. That’s what it means to be in a relationship. But like all relationships, if we can stick out the tough times and embrace the struggle, we come out stronger in the end.

These 5 tips help me remember the reasons I run, the importance of it in my life and the value of making the most of any break I have to take. By embracing the break and understanding the reasons behind it, I can actually use the time to heal my body, explore new projects or exercise and tweak my diet so my injuries or life events don’t spiral into a complete meltdown but might actually lead to something better down the road. Seriously, people, I’m turning that frown upside down!

Keeping Fit With Family Life: Three #NoBull Tips

3 #NoBull Tips for Keeping Fit with Family Life

Howdy, Heifers.! I’m greeting you from environmentally-friendly Phoenix, Arizona – where you don’t need an oven or stovetop to survive. All you need is a sidewalk or the dash of your car. Seriously. See my Twitter feed.

Speaking of feeds, I’m talking today about feeding ourselves well, maintaining a healthy lifestyle and sticking to our weight loss goals while living with a household of people who could not care less about whether or not we meet a five-fruits-and-veggies a day goal or get in an early morning run.

Yes, I’m talking about kids. I have four of them. They’re all teenagers. Do you know what this means? This means they care more about that status of their hair or their latest social media post than they do if I eat an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food or flop down after ten sit-ups and binge watch Bonanaza because I cancelled the cable subscription.  

Seriously. I don’t think they’d even notice. They’d just blow past me, prostrate on the floor, not even bothering to offer me a handful of Cheezits as they head back upstairs and into their dens of teenage angst.

Heifers, I cannot let my health depend on the people in my house any more than I can let it depend on friends who tell me to live a little and order the nachos, co-workers who suggest I skip an evening run and hit happy hour or neighbors who give me a raised brow when I run past them at 3:30 am.  As much as I have to tune out the opinions and behavior of the people outside of my home, I have to do the same thing, sometimes, with the people inside my home.

I know what you’re thinking. You’ve read the articles about healthy family living where nutritionists suggest making meal times fun by whipping up artistic creations with bananas, strawberries, raisins and a whole-grain toaster waffle.  These nutritionists suggest that if we just get our kids to help with meal preps, these kids will suddenly dive into a bowl of zucchini with gusto, the pride and sense of accomplishment from chopping said vegetables overriding their desire for pizza.  These articles show pictures of families on bike rides along scenic trails with a beach landscape in the background, everyone properly outfitted with helmets and knee-pads.

Maybe it’s just me, but that’s not what happens in the RHR Household.  My kids don’t care if I make them cut up squash and roast it by hand in the Arizona heat. They still don’t want it. They don’t care if I air up the tires in our bikes, shine the helmets and suggest (in a Disney princess voice) that we all spend some quality time together cycling to Whole Foods to stock up on quinoa and chia seeds.

They still want to eat entire Costco boxes of Fiber One bars and leave the wrappers stuffed between the bed and wall (true story) or play video games all afternoon before screaming a suggestion that we all have In and Out Burger and then hit Dairy Queen for dessert.

Heifers, the struggle is real. I mean that, too. It’s hard to eat healthfully and mindfully when we live with people who have different priorities and metabolisms.  So, instead of giving you princess tips to transform your household into a healthy living pamphlet complete with unicorns pooping rainbow skittles, I’m going to give you my TOP 3 NO BULL TIPS for sticking with healthy eating and exercise even if your family isn’t on board.  

  1. Do You - Like I’ve said before, if we want to be healthy and fit, we have to do it for ourselves and by ourselves. Period. I know we want everyone else to get on board and do it with us. It would be easier if our friends, family and co-workers also decided to give up hot wings and ranch dressing for a salad and fruit. But Heifers, this isn’t going to happen, and nothing can derail good intentions more than depending on other people to make them a reality.  In the end, you have to do it for you, hold yourself accountable, make your own choices and stop listening to all of the noise that comes from other people and their choices. This is true for family members as much, if not more, as people outside our homes. Our kids and spouses don’t magically change their eating habits just because we change ours. If we start a running program, it’s not up to anyone else to get on board and lace up to join us. And if we wait, hope or wish that the people we live with will make the same changes we’re making, we’ll fail.  We. Will. Fail. The only way to stick to a healthy lifestyle is to focus on our own health and stop being distracted by other people’s habits.  So figure out what a healthy you means. If it means a keto diet, fine. If it means gluten-free, go for it. If it means 3:00 AM workouts so that you can fit in the rest of your work, then kill it at 3:00 AM. Figure out what works for you and then make peace with that. When you know yourself and you know what your body and mind need to be healthy, you gain confidence and clarity in what exactly you need to do. You stop looking to other people for help or guidance or even companionship. Yeah, all of that is great. But it isn’t always reality. My teenage daughter isn’t going to get up and run with me. My son isn’t whipping up baked tortilla chips and fresh guacamole for us. That’s the reality. So when my kids are ordering dessert or still sleeping when I get home from a run, I don’t let that affect me. I know what I’m doing, how to do it and where I’m going. I do me. End of story.

  2. Comparison is the Thief of Joy….and Killer of Fitness Plans - You’ve heard it before, the Teddy Roosevelt quote: comparison is the thief of joy. It’s also a real killer of healthy living and any other goals that take time, effort and serious suck. When we compare ourselves to someone else, anyone else, we forget our own unique situation and start thinking the answer to all of our questions lies in what everyone else is doing. It goes like this: you see a fit woman at Starbucks.  Maybe she’s rocking skin-tight yoga pants. And maybe she’s eating a slice of lemon pound cake. It’s easy to go down the mental comparison path, maybe thinking that if a woman that fit and healthy can eat a slice of pound cake, I can, too.  Or maybe I’m at the gym and I see a woman walking casually on the treadmill for half-an-hour and then chatting with friends for the rest of her workout. I start to wonder why I’m gutting out a 20-minute leg workout that is killing me.  Same thing happens at home, with kids. Have you ever noticed that kids can eat a few slices of pizza and wake up the next morning and not say a word about bloating or weight gain or basically anything else except plans for the day that include you carting them all over town in the Swagger Wagon?  It’s easy to see your kids or husband eating yummy food that would kill your healthy eating plans and think: maybe I should do that too? They’re not overweight and struggling. Maybe I’ve got this whole healthy diet down wrong and need to just splurge a little.  Yeah, slippery slope, Heifers. Don’t even start down that road. Teenagers have crazy metabolisms that, for women, peak in our late teens and early twenties.  You heard me:  according to Women’s Health magazine, the fastest our metabolism is going to get is in our twenties.  So, comparing myself with my teenage daughter is not only crazy, it’s scientifically wrong. Eating like a teenager will result in some serious weight gain for a (coughcough) forty-something mother. Even eating like a man, a man of my same age, does me no favors.  Men have more muscle mass, heavier bones and less fat. Thank you, Mother Nature.  What all of this means is that comparing myself and my habits to anyone else will only kill my diet, exercise and wellness plans. I can’t eat like a teenager. I can’t eat like my husband. In fact, I’m a whole little unique ball of just me, which is pretty great when I honor that and make choices that reflect my own body’s needs.  Comparison is a thief and a mirage.

  3. Set the Example…and the Menu - Finally, as much as this smacks of one of those CDC articles on healthy family life, I do believe the example I set for my kids is important….but, I take a long-term look at just how important it is. Just because I eat a salad today doesn’t mean my kid will stop hoarding Fiber One bars or forgo dessert. But, what she will see (even in the very back of her teenage mind) is that her mother cares enough about herself to eat well and exercise. Maybe that lesson won’t impact her today or this week or even in the next year or two, but one day, when she might face her own struggles or begin to think about her health, she’ll have a solid example to fall back on. This means that when I make healthier choices for myself, I know that I am teaching my kids how to do that when they decide to make that choice for themselves. I don’t think every lesson we teach our kids sinks in that exact moment. Sometimes, even for adults, lessons take years to learn. Still, we have to have the experiences to see the lesson at all. When I make healthy choices, my kids see that, and it reminds everyone in our house that food is not the enemy and that healthy living isn’t a fad diet or a week-long boot camp that ends on Friday, forgotten by Sunday.  So, I set the example. Then, I set the menu. Somewhere in American culture we got the message that happiness is directly linked to pre-packed snack foods and sweets. I don’t have to subscribe to that bull, and I don’t have to set that example for my kids. I can choose what I buy at the store, what I stock on the shelves and what I offer for meals. I don’t HAVE to offer pizza and cookies and bags of chips. I can, and do, stock the fridge with fresh fruits, veggies, lean meats, healthy snacks and occasional treats. I don’t make a big deal of it, either. There are no lectures or nagging. I just don’t buy a ton of junk. If the kids get hungry, they have options. There are apples, bananas and string cheese. I set the example, and I set the menu. I don’t have to tempt myself with stockpiles of junk to be a good mom. I don’t have to stockpile seaweed crackers, either. I provide healthy food and a moderate amount of treats. Because love isn’t actually wrapped up in foil and loaded with a week’s worth of sugar.  

I know it’s not easy to stick to healthy lifestyle changes when the people around us don’t struggle with the same issues or feel compelled to change their own habits. It took a while for me to understand that I didn’t have to base my own choices on anyone else. In the end, that makes my own health dependent on someone else. That means I give away some of the power I have over my own health, and that’s never a good idea.

So, Heifers, think about the people in your life who have a direct impact on your healthy choices. It might be the family you cook for, the kids you pack lunches for, or the toddlers who ask for food every 22.7 seconds throughout the day. It might be the husband who keeps fit without thinking about it or the wife who has never struggled with her weight. Whoever it is, think about how they impact your habits and if you need to make some changes in how you interact with each other so that your own health and wellbeing don’t end up veering off track.  

Post your thoughts, experiences and ideas in the comments and let us know how you keep fit and healthy with a family in tow, and keep an eye on my Twitter account. Who knows what the AZ heat will cook up next.  

YOU DON'T CONTROL ME ANYMORE: An Open Letter to Fear and Shame

I wake up, the alarm blaring in my ear. The clock reads 3:30am. I have a run scheduled and a full day ahead. I close my eyes, stretch and, just before I toss back the covers, I see you. You’re sitting in the chair in the corner, by the door. You’re smug for how early it is, but then I remember: you never sleep. You’re always awake, always on watch.

I can hear you thinking, your mind racing, your thoughts reaching across the darkness as loud as the screaming alarm clock, flashing brighter than the light that reads 3:30.  You’re telling me to go back to sleep. I can afford a day off.  I can take a break and roll over and close my eyes and lull off again into dreamland. I don’t have to be so rigid, keeping to my schedule, making my fitness a priority. I can slack off a little and still be human.  

Your voice is so soothing. It’s so soft and gentle, just a hum really, as I close my eyes and listen to your words. I will hit snooze once more, twice at most. I’ll get up soon and maybe I’ll run five miles instead of seven. I’ll skip the cool-down if I have to. Sleep is necessary, after all. Your words tuck me back in, pulling the covers up to my chin, and I am almost asleep again before my own inner voice shrieks: NO! GET UP! Do not hit snooze. Do not go down this road. You’ve had your sleep. Now it’s time to get to work.

My eyes flash open. I reach over and flip off the alarm. I have no time for snooze. I throw back the sheets, swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I see you sitting there, your arms crossed, leaning back and sulking. I turn my head, walk to the bathroom and begin my day. You do not control me anymore.

I arrive at the coffee shop, hungry and tired from my morning run. I am glowing with satisfaction. I’ve been up and out before the sun is up, taking care of myself and moving my body so that I feel energized for the day. I stand in my running pants, tank top and new shoes, pressing my heel back for one last stretch as I consider what to order. There will be coffee, of course, but there could also be a croissant or muffin or oatmeal or smoothie.  The options are endless, but I know that my body doesn’t need sugar and empty calories. I know my body needs fuel and hydration, and as I press the other heel gently back behind me, I decide on coffee and a yogurt rather than the croissant. I feel a swell of pride creep through my chest that comes from knowing I’ve been working hard and making healthy choices.  I’m doing it. I’m letting go of the woman who thoughtlessly ordered sugary drinks and donuts, sending me into a spiral of shame and regret a few hours later. I hold my head high as I make better choices and commit to a healthier self.

I am almost to the register. I hear the espresso machine steaming milk and spitting out hot shots of dark liquid. The barista is taking orders like a drill sergeant. I’m rolling my head from side to side, stretching my neck, when I see you.

You’re in the corner, waiting. You sit quietly enough, not yet making a scene, but I can tell you want me to come over and join you. I hesitate. I always do. I can feel you pulling me to you with that familiar smile. I know you’re watching me, every inch of me, from the quiver of my chin to the flick of my wrist as I pull out my wallet and try to avoid your gaze. I feel you watching me even as I turn away, your eyes piercing the skin between my shoulders. I raise my chin and close my eyes and try to block you but it’s no use. You’re too close.

You get up, walking slowly so that I can hear you coming, one footstep at a time softly padding across the floor. You’re always so quiet when you come, like a lion stalking your prey. How many times have you crept up on me before I’ve noticed, before I’ve had a chance to turn and walk away?

I am hot now, my pulse throbbing in my neck. I won’t turn around. I won’t make eye contact or smile or listen to what you have to say. I don’t want to hear it.

You’re close now, inches from me. I can feel the heat of you beside me, like a second skin. I can feel your breath just beneath my hairline, at the base of my neck. My hands are sweaty and shaking. I am frozen in place. My legs are jelly again, and my feet are numb.

The line is moving. The barista waits. The guy behind me clears his throat. My heart thumps against the bones of my chest, beating like a flailing fish. I can hear you whispering to me, and even if I can’t make out exactly what you say, I know what you mean. I have your message memorized, tattooed on my brain.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and, my hands still shaking, step forward. The barista tilts her head to one side, smiles and says, “What can I get you?”

It’s a split-second, not longer than the blink of an eye, and in that sliver of time, I must decide. Do I listen to you, or do I listen to me?

I choose me. “I’ll have a regular coffee and a yogurt, please.”

Just like that, in less than sixty-seconds, in less time than it takes me to tie my shoes, you’re gone. I don’t hear you leave. I don’t see you go, walking out of the coffee shop. I don’t turn my head to see if you pause at the door, waiting for me to look over my shoulder one last time. You do not control me anymore.

Forgetting about you is surprisingly easy. I go on with my day. I hustle kids to school, get on with my work and meet friends for lunch. As we eat salads and drink iced teas, we talk about our upcoming summer plans and vacations. There will be beach visits, overseas flights and long-planned journeys. I feel my excitement build as the waitress takes my salad plate and slips a dessert menu in front of me. My friends begin debating the options: crème brulee, lemon chiffon cake, chocolate death-by-something and gelato. There are a lot of votes for death-by-something. I am listening and debating when I feel you behind me. You’re one table over, alone, by the window. You sit with your cup of espresso, smirking. You look at me and then nod toward the dessert menu and raise a brow.

You’re changing tactics now. You’re telling me that I don’t deserve a treat. You’re telling me these other women are naturally thin and don’t have to work at being healthy. You’re telling me they should eat the dessert and I'm not worth it, not even a bite. You’re telling me to slink back into my chair and wave off, to smile awkwardly and say I’m not hungry and can’t eat another bite even if it’s death-by-chocolate.  

But I turn back to the table, back to my friends, and I remember that I went from morbidly obese to healthy not from extremes but from mindful eating and moderation, even a few bites of chocolate now and then.

I remind myself that I can have a bit of dessert after a lunch without binging on it, locking myself in the bathroom and polishing off a sleeve of Oreos without anyone being the wiser. I set the menu down, order another iced tea and suggest sharing this chocolate heaven between the group of us. We agree and when the plate arrives, I dig in with gusto, not even bothering to check in on whether or not you’ve finished your espresso. You do not control me anymore.  

After lunch, I hit the mall to shop for our upcoming summer adventures. I pile clothes on my arm and continue sweeping through the racks. I’ve been working hard and feeling great, and what used to be a chore (shopping) is now actually pleasant. Gone are the days of trying to hide in the biggest mu-mu possible, afraid anyone will see exactly how much weight I’ve gained over the winter. I no longer walk with my head hung low or, when I can’t even bring myself to do that, order XXL t-shirts online.

I sift through the swimsuits and choose a few to try on, excited for days spent at the beach with my kids and husband actually playing in the water instead of sitting on a towel, hot and sticky in too many clothes, finishing off the bag of Cheez-Its I promised I was only bringing "for the kids."

This is going to be fun.

When the saleswoman asks if I need a dressing room, I quickly agree and hand her my pile of options. My arm is sore from carrying it all, and I’m glad she’s offering to take the clothes and leave me to find a few more items. The store is quiet in the early afternoon, and I am feeling satisfied with my day. I’ve gotten in a run, worked hard on a few projects and spent an hour with friends over lunch. As I grab two more bathing suits and a sundress, I float toward the dressing rooms and smile as the saleswoman points me towards my room.

Inside the dressing room, I sort the clothes and start to undress.  It’s only when I’m nearly naked, even my bra hanging on a hook beside me, that I see you sitting on that tiny bench in the corner, and my heart jumps into my throat as I follow your gaze.

You sit quietly, silent actually, but your eyes say it all. You take me in, one inch at a time, from the tip of my head where my hair is still pulled into a post-run bun, to my feet, my pedicure just starting to chip.

Damn. Why can’t I get to the salon on time? Why didn’t I bother to fix my hair before meeting friends for lunch?

Before I can answer, I see your eyes stop and hover at my belly. I instinctively cover my mid-section with one arm, shrinking into myself. I am a well-fed mother of four. What was I thinking with all these bathing suits? There’s no way these boobs will fit into a normal sized piece of cloth.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve lost over one hundred pounds and been killing it with weights. I’m still bigger than most women and certainly bigger than the flimsy pieces of material still dangling from the hangers. I am not bathing suit material and never will be.

I don’t have to see your gaze anymore to know the rest. I can look at my own body and see the flaws. I can see the sagging skin and cellulite that no amount of exercise seems to get rid of. I can see the stretch marks still clawing across my belly and thighs.

Before long, I can see those lost pounds creep right back on to my 5’4 frame. I am no longer the Melissa who lost one hundred pounds, runs half-marathons and suffers through one-hour oblique workouts. Nope. I’m the Melissa who is so overweight I can barely make it up a flight of stairs without stopping for a Mountain Dew swig, grasping the stair rail and telling myself I’ll probably die young of a heart attack or stroke.  

My hips begin swell in the mirror. My arms start to dangle with extra fat. My belly grows so big I can’t believe I thought I could shop at a store for regular-sized women. What was I thinking? Who did I think I was?

Then, just as I’m about to slip back into my bra, I see the bathing suit I snagged when I first walked in.  It’s black, a little slinky, with a built-in bra. It’s cut in a way that makes it sexy without being too obvious. It’s perfect.

I can hear you finishing my sentence: the bathing suit is perfect for a woman with a perfect body.

But before you finish, I put my hand up to silence you, close my eyes, and tune you out.

I grab the suit before I can talk myself out of it. I slip it on. It’s not even a struggle. I’m not hunched over trying to get it past my hips. I don’t have to tug at it in all the wrong places. I don’t even have to adjust the bra.

It fits.

I feel my breath catch in my throat as I look at myself in the mirror, expecting to be horrified and instead feeling satisfied at what I see.

Damn.  Seriously. I can do this. I can wear this! I don’t look like a swimsuit model, hair blowing in the wind, but I look good. I look healthy. I look fit.

I don't look like a woman who is struggling to make it up the stairs, clutching her Mountain Dew tumbler.

I feel you sitting there still, and I think you’ve taken up enough space already. I don’t have space in this tiny room for you. I grab my purse and toss it on the bench, and you scurry off, head down and shoulders slumped, petulant like a child. You do not control me anymore..

As I crawl into bed that night, I lie flat against the pillow and instinctively put my hand over my stomach. How many years did I refuse to do this, to even feel my body beneath the weight of my own hand? How many years did I pull the covers higher and try to block you out, even if only to get some sleep. Sleep was the only time I didn’t hear you, didn’t see you sitting in some corner, waiting, watching, silently mocking me.  

I’ve lived with you my whole life. I’ve listened to you tell me I wasn’t thin enough, smart enough, motivated enough, or good enough. I’ve let you creep into every decision I’ve made, from what I ate for dinner to which job I’d apply for to what kind of mother I thought I could be.

Sometimes I was able to talk over you, to remind myself I had value, to see my own worth. But more often than not, I listened to you when you said I didn’t deserve better, couldn’t work harder and wouldn’t ever make lasting changes.

I’ve let you control so many of my choices. I let you move into my house, help me parent my children, go on vacation with my family and even sleep beside me at night, taking up more space in my life than I had to offer.

But now, every time I choose to listen to myself and my own voice, I silence you once more and remind you that you have no place in my life. I have no doubt I’ll see you again. You like to lurk, as most cowards do. But now I see you for what you are: a façade. I see your name tattooed on your forehead, and the lettering is clear: FEAR. SHAME.

I see now, as I step back, that you’re not a friend, a loving confidant who will help me be my best self. You’re an illusion. 

I close my eyes and think of the summer ahead. I think of the time I’ll spend with my family, at the beach and everywhere else. Instead of thinking about the size of my thighs or the belly I worry will hang slightly from slack, I think of something better.  

I think of the workout I have planned for tomorrow morning, the coffee date I’ve got penciled into my calendar with a friend and the endless possibilities of the life before me. You do not control me anymore..