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.