Day 10...What's My Motivation?

I have high blood pressure. When I don’t take my medication, my blood pressure shoots sky high! Yesterday, my readings were about 164/105. Not good, considering I am only 37 years old. I say this to point out the fact that I’ve been lax with my medication and with my workout the past few days. I see now that, although I SHOULD be able to do this alone, I need to be honest with myself and admit that I just can’t. Not right now.

It’s a big step, admitting that I need help. I spent so many years dependent on someone else that I wanted to prove to myself and others that I don’t need anyone…but I do. Sometimes we just have to stop and ask for help.

Unlike most men I know, if I’m lost on the highway, I’m going to pull over and ask for directions. Why not have those same philosophies in life? Too many of us are lost in our lives and are too stubborn or proud to ask for directions.

My bible has been my road map, but lately, I have not been carrying it everywhere I go like I’ve been doing the past few weeks. Today, I realized that I have not brought my bible to work with me in over a week. I’m lost. I need to have my Bible with me at all times because when I feel like I need direction, I can always open my bible and find just the right motivation.

Philippians 4:13 is my favorite scripture. It says, “I can do ALL things through CHRIST who strengthens me.”

I’ve been relying too much on myself lately and not letting God take over the things I can’t handle. He IS the light and as much as he seems to be working through me lately, he also wants me to recognize when he places help in my path.

Like, the money I had set aside for that weave…

(sigh)

Yesterday I went to Body Fulfillment on 51st and Memorial for a free consultation with a personal trainer. Honestly, I just wanted to get my free consultation, find out my measurements, and go on my merry, broke, little way.

That all changed the moment Tara McGowan walked through the door. She was so nice to me and she was genuinely supportive as she took me through the many tests and measurements as she assessed my physical fitness. There was absolutely NO pressure and I felt so comfortable with her leading me that I took that weave money and decided to go with six personal training sessions instead.

Yes, I’ve been going to the gym, but besides crunches, treadmill, and elliptical, I honestly had no idea what else to do. I was building muscle without really losing any fat and I was NOT losing weight. I wasn’t really eating right either.

That’s where my next blessing comes into play. My boyfriend’s sister, Charone, is a fabulous woman who has a destiny waiting to be fulfilled. She is a wonderful cook who has the knowledge I need to survive this diet without starving. After a couple of conversations with her, I felt motivated and refreshed. She is giving me awesome food advice and helping me to understand that I can still eat good food as long as it is prepared properly and I DO have the strength to stay away from foods that are harmful to my goals. I don’t have to deny myself; however, since I’ve been talking to her, I’ve been checking food labels and asking myself if those calories are worth it. Are the calories contained in that slice of Dulce De Leche cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory worth blowing my entire allotment of calories for the day and going without meals? Suddenly it’s not. I hope that I can one day be as motivating to her as she is for me!

I’m going to be posting a BEFORE picture next week and I’m going to be honest and not suck anything in. While Tara, the personal trainer was taking my measurements, I said “I guess I can’t suck my gut in while you do this, huh?”
She laughed, but I could tell that she totally understood where I was coming from.

I must say, when she read me my measurements, I wanted to take a steak knife and a Vacuum cleaner and give MYSELF lipo!

Before my first child, I was 36-24-36.
After my second child, I was 36-26-36

(sigh)

Yesterday…..

I

Was

39.5-32.5-39.5

I may as well say 40-33-40

WTFF?

I’m not going to lie…I like the boobs.

I had a personal trainer a few years ago…when I was weighing in at 150 pounds. I told him that I wanted to get down to 135. I then had a sudden thought. I was a 36B bra size before gaining weight. At 150 pounds I was a D cup. What was going to happen when I lost weight?

I looked my trainer in the eye and said, “If I lose fifteen pounds, will I lose my boobs?”

“Did you have those boobs before you gained weight?” He responded with a question.

“Nope.” I answered simply.

“Well,” he said slowly, “You probably won’t be able to keep those.”

I bit my lower lip and looked down at my new best friends. I loved them. I couldn’t bear to see them leave me. My personal trainer could tell.

“What if we just tone up at 150 and forget about losing weight?” I asked him.

See, that’s how serious I was about my girlfriends. Now, at 163, I wear a Double D.

LOVE THEM.

But I gotta let that extra “D” go. It’s time to be the best ME I can be!

By the way…My sister’s scale was wrong. I thought I had GAINED 4 pounds. I have actually LOST 1! YAAAYYYYY ME!

Keep reading my Blog and keep holding me accountable! I love you all!

Day 9...Sigh

My son fell asleep holding my hand yesterday morning. The circumstances were not ideal but the action brought tears to my eyes. My child has asthma, and at 12 years old, he still hugs and kisses me, but only when the mood strikes him. Yesterday morning, when he called, wheezing and crying, I dropped everything to get to my baby. 4 puffs of his inhaler did nothing because by the time I got to him, he had begun hyperventilating. My first impulse was to take him to the Emergency room, but a voice inside of me told me to stay calm. I grabbed his breathing machine and gave him a round of albuterol. When that did not calm him, I gave him a round of pulmacort, which is an inhaled steroid. As he lay in bed with an oxygen mask on his face, inhaling his medication, I climbed into next to him and held him tightly. He grabbed my hand and as the steroid began to interact with the albuterol, his body relaxed and he sank into a deep sleep. I couldn’t let go of his hand. I couldn’t let go of him. So I stayed there, holding him close to me until I was asleep too.

My son was a preemie. It was a difficult pregnancy that threatened both our lives. I was always afraid of losing him during pregnancy…that did not change when he was born.

When I was pregnant with him, I found the perfect crib set at Burlington Coat Factory. It was a denim Winnie the Pooh comforter set that I knew was perfect for my baby. I couldn’t wait to save up enough money to buy it. On the day I ventured to the store, cash in hand, ex-husband struggling to keep up with me, I got to the baby section and found that all of the comforter sets were gone.

The sales clerk proceeded to tell me that the set had been discontinued and that there was no way to order more.

I remember sitting down in a glider rocker they had on display….and crying my heart out. I cried until my ex-husband couldn’t take it anymore. He asked them what they were doing with the comforter set on display if it had been discontinued. The sales clerk took one look at my tears and then saw the look of desperation on the husband’s face….without a word, she stripped the display of everything associated with that Winnie the Pooh set and sold it to us at a discount.

That baby never even NAPPED on that comforter set. As a matter of fact…he NEVER slept in his baby bed at all. He slept on my chest, every night for the next 2 years.

He’ll be leaving me to go and live with his father this summer. It’s breaking my heart. I don’t want him to go and yet, I know that he’ll be no good if he stays with me. I spoil him and hug and kiss him, and keep him a baby when he needs to learn how to be a young man.

But yesterday morning, when he snuggled into me and held my hand as he slept…I knew that he would always be my baby.

It’s the small things that make me smile.

Oh yeah, I’ve gained 4 pounds! WTH?

Day 5...Psalm 27

I really don’t feel like Blogging today and yet, here I am, typing away as if my life depends on it. Honestly, it does depend on it. Blogging is a commitment I’ve made to myself and I know that if I can push myself to maintain my normal routine on a day when I’m feeling under the weather, just imagine what I can achieve when I’m at 100 percent?

Too often I’ve used sickness or exhaustion as an excuse not to live up to my potential. I’ve lived with a victim mentality for far too long. I’ve allowed myself to dwell on the things that have happened TO me, instead of concentrating on making things happen FOR me.

I am sick as hell today. I have a horrible headache and I’ve been literally dealing with terrible nausea, vomiting, and other stomach problems ALL MORNING. All I wanna do is leave work and go back to bed, but if I allow myself to allow being sick to stop me from achieving my goals today…I’ve allowed sickness to happen TO me. Today, I am going to use my illness as motivation instead of a tool of procrastination. Today I’m going to look sickness in the eye and tell it to hit me as hard as it can…I’m a child of God and there is nothing an army of germs can do to keep me from my destiny. No weapon formed against me shall proper. I’m wearing God’s gas mask so just keep playing, devil. Your germ warfare ain’t got nothing on my God’s Grace.

Psalm 27:3, New Living Bible Translation:

Though a mighty army surrounds me, my heart will not be afraid. Even if I am attacked, I will remain confident.

Traditionally, this is how it happens. I start going to the Gym each day. I miss one day, and I get sick. If you read Day Three of my Blog, you will understand what I mean by that.

I pushed through Day three of my workout; however I skipped day four, not because I was being lazy, but because I had a very important task to complete.

My brother-in-law is marrying a wonderful woman and I love, love, love her. When she sent me a text asking for my help in making wedding invitations, I skipped my workout to make that happen.

This morning, I woke up sick. See…the devil sometimes uses sickness as a way to keep me from being at my best. For once, my first impulse was NOT to call in sick to work and climb back into bed. Instead, I brushed my teeth a few more times and drove to work. When my symptoms hit me again as I was sitting at my desk…I took a short break, did what I needed to do, and went back to work. I’m not leaving. I’m not running a fever, I’m not contagious.

When I felt that familiar “woe is me” mentality creeping into my thoughts…I went to Pandora.com and started playing my gospel radio station. When I surround myself with the WORD, nothing can approach that force field without being rebuked.

God has my back. I’m not ailing because He doesn’t love me. I’m ailing because He DOES love me and there is a valuable lesson that I need to learn right now.

I need to learn to keep praising Him through it all…and NOT give up.

Now, I’m no dummy. I understand that at some point during this day, I’m going to have to lie down and take care of myself. I know that I can’t go to the gym today. I know that I won’t be working in my garden this evening. But I’m not going to let that keep me from my goals. I can’t work on my physical today, but I can keep thinking positive thoughts and work on my MENTAL. I can pick up my Bible and work on my SPIRITUAL.

For some reason I keep being led to read Psalm 27. It’s as if God is constantly reminding me that I have nothing to fear. He’s carrying me through the lows and lifting my head above the clouds so that I can see the sunshine despite the rain.

Keep your umbrella. I’m covered by God.

Day 4...Breaking Down the FAT

I was recently asked if I thought the title of my Blog would offend overweight people. It’s a legitimate question, but I responded with a heartfelt, “I don’t care.”

I really don’t. I think that our society has become so politically correct that people tend to be offended by the wrong things.

My Blog is called Diary of a Mad Fat Woman. First of all, “DIARY” is a word that denotes the recording of private thoughts. “OF A” refers to an individual. “MAD” refers to the state of mind of the “FAT WOMAN” recording her private thoughts.

This is MY diary. I’m MAD, I’m FAT, and I’m a WOMAN.

In other words…this diary is about ME…not you, not your mom, not your auntie, not your cousin, not your best friend. It’s all about Ebony Farashuu and I make no apologies.

Let’s talk about the word FAT.

I know that it’s ridiculous to some when they see a woman standing at 5 feet six inches tall and weighing in at 164 pounds call herself fat. Technically, I know that I’m not FAT in the traditional sense of the word, but I AM overweight and it is more than just a physical thing.

Strategically, I look good in my clothes. I say “strategically” because sometimes I wear spanx when it’s too hard to suck in my belly. Sometimes I will place a cute belt in places that bring more attention to my boobs than my gut. I wear heels to augment my strut and bring attention to the length of my legs, and I try not to wear tight fitting shirts that have the potential to enhance my baby rolls. I love skinny jeans because they compliment my thickness without cutting off my circulation and creating the dreaded “muffin top.”

When friends tell me that I’m perfectly built, I sometimes jokingly say, “You haven’t seen me naked.”

There is no strategy when you take your clothes off. When it’s just me and my mirror, I see what only God and my sweetheart see. Yes, they see perfection in my proportions, but they are blinded by their love for me. I love me too, but in a way that allows me to really SEE myself in a way that helps me see the improvements I want to make physically. I say “want” instead of “need” because I don’t need to change my physical appearance to BE pretty. But I DO need to change my physical appearance in order to FEEL pretty.

I need to lose weight because it will directly affect my physical health. It will lower my blood pressure, and it will boost my metabolism as well as my resistance to sickness. Becoming physically fit will allow me to stop “pretending” to let my neighbor’s little girl catch me when she chases me up the sidewalk. She’s 7! I should be able to outrun her little legs without getting winded after passing the second house!

Physically, my definition of FAT means overweight. I’m MAD at myself for taking my health for granted. I’ve only got one life and I want to live it FULLY. I’m just mad enough to stop talking about what I want to do and actually DO something about it!

I am MENTALLY fat.

I have allowed the actions and opinions of others to directly affect my mentality and I need to shed the excess weight that I have allowed to accumulate on my mind! The heaviness of my psyche almost took my life. I once became so used to being a victim that when I realized that I was no longer going to let a man hurt me, I overcompensated by becoming mean and heartless instead. Guess what! I was still a victim. I had allowed the overwhelming need to take control of my life change my heart.

This wasn’t completely a bad thing. During that mental transition I learned that if a man couldn’t at LEAST love me as much as I loved myself, he needed to keep stepping. I have AGAPE love for myself. I love myself the way that GOD loves me and any man that can’t do that does not belong in my life. That’s a fact.

I spoiled myself. I learned to do things for myself. I learned that I HAD to take care of myself before I could take care of anyone else. I learned that not every sacrifice was a necessary sacrifice and I needed to stop sacrificing MY standards and MY priorities to please someone else.

At the same time, I learned to live with a certain NO TOLERANCE mentality that pretty much shaped the past year of my life.

“I don’t get mad. I just delete you.”

And I did. Any man who hurt my feelings was immediately deleted from my phone book, my Facebook, and my email, with no possibility of a second chance. My reasoning was, if he could hurt me once, he would hurt me again, so why set myself up for drama? I had learned to anticipate the worst in people in order to keep myself from falling in love or being disappointed.

Eventually I would let that man back into my life, but NEVER as anything more than a casual friend to be kept at a distance. My heart was closed.

It’s not healthy to live that way…always anticipating the worst, getting rid of a person before they have a chance to do emotional harm, building an unbreakable wall around yourself, and constantly afraid of being hurt. Sometimes you have to take a chance.

This past summer I actually took a chance on a man and found myself compromising my happiness to conform into his version of the perfect Ebony.

Of course, when I realized what was happening and left him alone… the “new” me became even “newer” and, pardon my French, but I got even harder, gaining a “fuck them before they can fuck you” mentality. Once again, it was all about me and I didn’t care how my attitude affected anyone else.

A good guy friend of mine told me that I acted like a man with breasts. I had all the benefits of being a woman with the mind of a man.

I now realize that a major part of my lack of “girly” emotions was directly related to my addiction to the anti-depressant, Zoloft. I no longer have that medication as an emotional crutch. Now I have to deal with the side effects of withdrawal which, at time, consist of nausea, exhaustion, confusion, and sudden mood swings. I can be happy one minute and then crying the next.

All I can do is pray about it and stand my ground as I resist the temptation to take the pills to keep from feeling these emotions. I’m human. I’ve got to deal with it and I know that one day this weight will be lifted and I will no longer be MENTALLY FAT.

I am SPIRITUALLY fat.

I’m not new to church but I’m new to establishing a close relationship with God and trusting Him to fulfill all of my needs. Those who know me understand that although my ex-husband and I officially divorced in 2004, we reconciled and became a couple again in 2005. We stayed together for four more years but did NOT re-marry.

During the time of our separation I prayed and prayed for God to give me my husband back. I went to church. I tithed faithfully. I lived as righteously as I ‘could’. Then when My ex cried and begged his way back into my life I said, “Thanks God. Good Lookin’ out for a sistah.” And I never spoke to Him again….Until I needed Him.

Be careful what you hope for. Not every answered prayer is a blessing. Sometimes it is a lesson.

When I look back on that relationship, I realize that it was doomed from the start. I allowed myself to be used as a convenience and I bought into the false idea of happily ever after without having an official blessing from God.

When my ex-husband left me the second and final time, I was broken. I was hurt. I was depressed. I was shocked when I shouldn’t have been. Honestly, how could anything that was NOT of God be successful? How could anything built on a lie stand firmly through any storm? The foundation was all screwed up and I was too blind to acknowledge the tremors beneath my feet.

How can I gain a closer relationship with God if I don’t fully trust that EVERYTHING happens for a reason? How can I gain the relationship with Him that I want if I’m still holding onto the worldly things that are weighing my spirit down. It’s a process but I know that there are things that I need to STOP doing. It all boils down to a choice and while I feel better than I ever have spiritually, I know that there are still some weights on my ankles that need to come off before I can truly walk comfortably beside Him. Right now He’s still carrying me and I thank Him for that, but at some point, I need too be able to stand on my own. When I fully shed the weight of my sins, I will cease to be SPIRITUALLY FAT.

So, does the Diary of a Mad Fat Woman make more sense to you now? Keep taking this journey with me, keep praying for and with me, and keep holding me accountable to the goals I’m striving to achieve.

I love and appreciate you.

Fat woman out!

Day 3... "Do or Die"

I’ve misplaced my strut. Yeah, I know. Yesterday I was Ebony ‘Muthafuckin’ Farashuu and this morning I feel more like Ebony ‘DAMMIT’ Farashuu… LOL. Yesterday’s workout was great. I had so much energy that I went home and pulled all of the weeds out of my flowerbeds. I cooked a fabulous dinner, went to bed, and woke up sore as hell.

*Side note* Why do we say things like ‘sore as hell’, ‘hot as hell’, ‘cold as hell’…?
I mean, I can understand HOT as hell, but COLD as hell? Sore as hell? Silly as hell? What the hell?

Anyway, I need each and every one of my readers to join virtual hands and pray for me. Today is what I like to refer to as ‘Do or Die Day’. Today marks the dreaded third day of my workout. Historically, on days one and two, I am so gung-ho to work out that I am a bundle of energy and my pep levels are off the charts. On day three the soreness, stiffness, and discontent sets in.

Typically, I will feel so sore and tired that I will fool myself into believing that I can skip a day at the gym to give my muscles time to rest. One day normally turns into two and before you know it, I’ve either gotten sick, started my period, or become distracted by something else. To put it plainly, I become complacent. I just say ‘to hell with the gym, I’ll start up again another day’.

I need exercise in my life. As a sufferer of clinical depression, complicated migraines, and high blood pressure, exercise is critical to my mental and physical health. When I exercise I feel so much better. When I stop exercising, it’s easier for me to become sick or depressed. That’s just a fact of my life that I have to live with and I can no longer allow laziness to be my excuse. I want to live a normal, healthy life.

Recently I stopped taking the anti-depressant, Zoloft. The effects of Zoloft withdrawal can, at times, be devastating. When I began this medication over a year ago, I had no idea how highly addictive it would be.

I’m an open book and I don’t hide the fact that I had a failed suicide attempt in January of 2009. This is the reason I was placed on Zoloft. My mother was so upset with me for sharing that story in EKG Literary Magazine, but I had to let her know that God didn’t spare my life for me to keep quiet about it. He wants me to tell people how the knife that should have killed me wouldn’t cut, but only scratch. He wants me to let people know that he wasn’t ready for me yet and that he’d heard my cries for help.

I shared the story with a group of women I know and I was very insulted when one of them looked me in the eye and dismissed me by saying,

“Oh girl, you weren’t really cutting. If you really wanted to kill yourself you’d be dead.”

And then she went on with the conversation as if I hadn’t just told them that I had tried to slit my wrists. For a brief moment I regretting sharing my story with her and felt inclined to justify myself but, I heard a small voice in the back of my mind telling me that, although some people ‘claim’ to believe in divine intervention, they rarely acknowledge it unless they have a personal experience of their own. The people who need to hear my message will hear it and that is all that truly matters.

I haven’t picked up my bible in days. I haven’t had intimate conversation with God in days. I’ve spent so much time wrapped up in my own issues that I haven’t taken time to thank God for handling those issues in HIS time and not in MINE.

“Father, saying that you know my heart is NOT enough. I need to verbalize my heart to you and praise you through it all. I understand that anything worth having takes hard work and dedication, and unfortunately, sometimes there is pain involved, be it mental, emotional, or physical. As I sit here typing this prayer to you, I realize that a smile has just formed on my face. You’ve been so good to me and I’ve repaid your kindness with the complaining spirit of a spoiled child. How can I chastise my own children for not appreciating the sacrifices I make for them, when I sometimes forget the ULTIMATE sacrifice you made for me?”

WOW, looks like I’ll DEFINITELY be going to the gym today and pushing through any resistance that comes my way. My strut may be a little slower for the next few days, but it will definitely be back in full effect before I know it!

If GOD can sacrifice his SON to give us LIFE, how dare I refuse to sacrifice a few sore muscles in order to sustain that life?

He didn’t save my life with the intention of watching me waste it. God has a plan for me.

Well, Lord. I’m ready.

Day 2... What's My Name?

I’m Ebony ‘Muthafuckin’ Farashuu! Yeah, I said it and I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Sometimes you just have to look in the mirror and remind yourself of whom you really are. Wake up! You are a fabulous person and if anyone dares to think differently they obviously don’t belong in your life!

It’s a process, and nothing happens overnight, but the moment you can legitimately look at yourself in the mirror, flaws and all, and truly understand what a wonderful person God created the day you were conceived….life suddenly takes a dramatic turn into the land of happiness. Stars shine brighter, sugar tastes sweeter, and the things that used to hurt your feelings only add fuel to your fire, making you a stronger person.

My self appreciating epiphany came to me one morning after I realized I’d spend the past few days crying over a man who did not love, cherish, or deserve me. He thought that he could say or do whatever he wanted, keep me crying, and then walk back into my life at his own convenience. I admit that I was a little punk and cried for the first two days, but on day three I woke up, looked in the mirror and said…

“Wait a minute. I’m Ebony Muthafuckin’ Farashuu!”

With that said, I dried my eyes, put on my heels, and readjusted my strut. When you remember who you are, no one can keep you in a place of discontent. When you know who you are, you realize that you can’t control someone else’s actions, but you can damn sure control how you allow someone to treat you and how you respond to another person’s ignorance.

No man wants to be bothered with a woman while she’s crying and snotting over him. He has her where he wants her and as long as she’s crying, he can talk all the shit he wants and then come back later when he feels like dealing with her.

The moment a woman realizes who she is and truly believes it…she becomes attractive, not only to herself, but to the man who chose to keep her under his heel when she deserved to be at his side.

A few weeks later, when I saw his phone number pop up on my caller ID…I re-stated that I was Ebony Muthafuckin’ Farashuu and sent that bastard’s call directly to voice mail. When you realize who you truly are…you also realize that you have no room in your life for those who would choose to put you down rather than uplift you.

Ebony Farashuu is a Queen.

I woke up happy this morning. After a long day that seemed to drag on and on, I carried myself to the gym yesterday evening and spent a little time getting re-acquainted with all of the joints and muscles I’d forgotten about while I was eating all of those sweets or serving up that third helping of pasta.

The twenty minutes I spent on the treadmill was a piece of cake. I even did inclines at a speed of 3.5 miles per hour. It wasn’t until I hopped off the treadmill and plopped myself down on that ab machine did I have to humble myself and give into the pain that comes with crunches.

Yeah, I had planned on doing 100 quick crunches but ended up barely making it through 50. I had to laugh at myself as I realized that the 20 pound weights I was pulling with my arms as I attempted to lift my head with nothing but the force of my non-existent abs could quite possibly give me a heart attack. I didn’t really understand that I had muscles in my boobs until I pulled one. That hurt.

So, after my earth shattering 50 crunches, I hit my favorite piece of equipment in the gym…The Elliptical.

It was as if the red sea parted and a sunbeam broke through the ceiling and shined down on that machine. I could almost hear angels singing, “ahhhhhhhh”.

So I hopped my out of shape ass on the Elliptical and decided that I was going to actually explore the different settings available. Wow! There is a setting on the elliptical called “personal trainer”.
After lying about my weight and setting the machine for 20 minutes, I was ready to go. I was doing well until that damn machine started trying to tell me how fast to go. “Push with your arms, now, pull with your arms, now use only your legs.” I was cool, huffing and puffing, trying to keep pace and look as if I wasn’t having problems.

“Prepare to stop and change directions,” Flashed across the LED screen.

“WTF?” went through my mind.

I changed directions and realized that going backwards was a lot harder than going forward but I didn’t want to look like a punk so I kept going until the machine mercifully told me to change direction again.

It’s funny, cuz right before I got on the elliptical, I updated my Facebook status. The message was simple.

“I’m on an elliptical.”

When I got off of that machine, I almost had to update my status again.

“I’m on the floor.” (Thanks JJ.)

I was sore, and I was sweaty, but I was happy. That workout had given me a much needed boost of energy and I felt alive. I felt as if I could actually achieve my goals. My mind felt unworried, my mood had brightened, and although my muscles were stiff, I had enough pep in my step to strut to my car.

When I got to work this morning, I stepped off of the elevator, and as the rhythm of my theme song, “badmammajamma” ran through my head… I adjusted my purse on my shoulders and proceeded to walk that special walk that is guaranteed to turn heads and make people wonder how I could possibly have so much energy at 6am.

Out of shape, but still out of sight. Feeling good is the FIRST step to looking good and, I feel damn good today!

Yep, Ebony Muthafuckin Farashuu has her strut back.

Day 1...

Okay. Let me start out by letting you know that although I’m not fat by a normal American’s standards, if I were to walk up to Tyra Banks and tell her that I was America’s next top model, she would look at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind. I used to be “model skinny”. At age 25, six months after having my son, I was wearing size 2 jeans out of the junior section of any given department store. Look at that skinny girl to the left! That is ME at age 25 and 12o pounds!

At age 37, the junior section is a thing of the past and my fourteen year old daughter is now wearing all of the things I wish I could still fit.

By age 35, I was still wearing a size two but this time, the size two was from the ladies section and not from the same section that my daughter shops in. Womanly curves had replaced the sharp angles of my stick figure and for the first time in my life, I felt fat. I don’t have an eating disorder but going from weighing 120 pounds post baby, to weighing 150 pounds was a huge transition for me. I got used to those curves and learned to LOVE the new womanly me but it was a process. The picture to the right is ME loving the hell out of some curvaceous ME at age 35 and 150 pounds!

I got no sympathy because, in the eyes of many, I was just another skinny bitch looking for attention. It was beyond their comprehension to understand my mental anguish.

Let me explain something to you…I weighed 150 pounds when I was nine months pregnant. Pardon me for being horrified at the thought of actually weighing in at 150 pounds without the excuse of pregnancy. It wasn’t normal for me and the fact that people were blowing off my concerns as simple attention seeking really pissed me off.

Today, at age 37, I stand in the mirror in my bra and panties and see a woman who, at 164 pounds, could definitely stand to lose a few. I will NOT be posting that pic, but WILL possibly show you some pics later! LOL. I don’t like what I see. If I keep trying to suck this gut in, I’m going to pass out and I’m sick of seeing my daughter prance around in all of the jeans and t-shirts that I was prancing around in just this past summer.

She’s like a vulture…biding her time, waiting on me to pull up my pants halfway and then toss them on the floor in disgust when I realize they don’t fit. She’s always right there, ready to pick them up, shake them out, and hang them in her closet.

The last straw broke this camel’s back a few days ago. I had just gotten out of the shower and oiled myself down. I went to put on my favorite pair of jeans and after five or six tugs it was obvious that even if I DID manage to pull those jeans over my hips, I was not going not be able to breathe in them.

I peeled the jeans off of my thighs and walked in the living room where my daughter was lounging on the couch talking on the phone.

Without a word, I tossed the jeans to her and walked out of the room.

“Yesssss,” I heard her say. “It was only a matter of time.”

It was only a matter of time. My own daughter was sitting around waiting on me to get fatter so that she could have my favorite pair of jeans. Pardon my French, but Ain’t that some shit?

My son stares at me with pity in his eyes when he happens to see me in any state of undress.

“Mama, I’m not trying not be mean but…when are you going back to the gym?”

His favorite past time is poking me in the stomach. I wonder if he think’s I’ll eventually say “woo hooo” like the damn ‘Pillsbury Dough Boy’.

My boyfriend, bless his heart. He loves me no matter what. He tells me that I’m beautiful every single day and that I don’t have to change for him. He means this with all of his heart, but I’ve allowed myself to become too comfortable in the perfection he sees when he looks at me.

I’ve gained that happy weight that has me looking in the mirror like “what the hell happened?”

I used to be a badmammajamma…now I just feel like I look bad in my clothes.

I used to STRUT everywhere I went. This morning, when I got off of the elevator, I simply walked slowly to my desk. I’ve lost my strut. I can’t do it anymore. I want ME back. I want my strut back, I want my confidence back. I want to once again, look in the mirror and say to myself, “You go girl!”

I know that I will. This Blog is the first step. It’s not just about looking good. It’s about FEELING good. I have high blood pressure, migraine headaches, and I am currently suffering with the side effects of Zoloft withdrawal.

Losing weight and working out, and prayer are the first steps I am taking to restore my physical and mental health. This Blog will chronicle that journey and you’ll get to see me mentally naked…the good, the bad, and the ugly. God is still working on me so I’m not going to censor this blog. I’m going to say exactly what is on my mind. You have been forewarned. Hopefully, not only will you see my progress physically and mentally as the days go by, but spiritually as well.

I want my life back, and this is day 1.