Now I have another choice to make.  Do I decide to be happy, completely let go of the elephant in my heart-room trampling my happiness and hope it works out?  Do I face the elephant head-on, risk making it worse in the process, or risk making it better?  Do I decide to be happy and walk away from all that I love outside of my friends and family, all that I have worked towards for the past 4 years?

“Don’t be hasty.”  – Treebeard

This is not easy for me.  I am not a quitter…  But I think it’s dumb to continue to hurl myself against a brick wall at 90 miles an hour.  I am being spiritually destroyed by births in hospitals.  I will not attend homebirths…  So that leaves me a hermit crab without a shell, doesn’t it?

Sometimes The Force is subtle in its messages.  Sometimes it beats you over the head with it.  I got tired, very quickly, of hearing I should wait until my children were older – that I may not regret it now, but I would regret taking so much time from them.  Maybe most families do…  But my family has continually beat the odds, and I would like to think I know what we’re capable of when we stand together.  We bought our first home just months after our 24 birthday’s…  We have two vehicles that are completely paid off…  I feed, house, and clothe 5 people on a single ENLISTED military income.  If that’s not beating the odds, I don’t know what is.  I would like to think my family is strong enough to support my midwifery dreams…

But that doesn’t matter now.  This week, my check-in is my last.  Maybe I will re-apply in a few years, but for now, I’m done.  I do need a thicker skin. I’m not at a place where I can work on that right now.  I am drowning in my extended family, the vacation that never ends, and trying to figure out how best to invest / spend our money to ensure my family’s continued well-being.  I am struggling with being a better mother, a better friend, and an overall better human being.  I am being consumed by what a few people think of me…  Which is crazy, really…  But it matters because I had respect for them…  and though I did not think I was as *whatever* as they did, I allowed their perception to color my own and diminish my sense of self-worth.  I spend so much time building up others – my babies, my clients, my friends…  And then when I’m foraging for materials to build myself up, there’s nothing left…

I used to think doula work was ONE thing, just ONE thing I did well…  And now, I’m not so sure about that.  I try ridiculously hard not to allow my sense of worth to be determined by praise or encouragement from others, but I think it’s just not how I am wired, honestly.  I used to think I did those things well…  And then I went to update my calendar to reflect the break I thought I would take (as opposed to walking away from birth work all together) and I realized that doulas who had attended fewer births and been around for less time had nearly DOUBLE the client testimonials I had.  I tried to rationalize that – the majority of currently contracted clients I have right now are repeats.  What better endorsement is there?!  Not only did these precious people allow me to be present for them once, but they’re inviting me in again.  Breath-taking, soul-shaking, and so very, very humbling is that…  And I was okay with that…  And then I got rocked and I’m still rocking.  I can’t shake it.  I keep asking myself what I could have changed, and every time, I come back to any changes being potentially more harmful than the decisions I did make…  and really, I don’t think I made decisions, I just…  did…  And maybe that is a refusal to learn from the situation or to see it from another perspective, but that’s where I am…  And maybe that’s another sign that this isn’t what I should be doing…

I feel as though I am walking away from a child…  A child I have carried, given birth to, and nurtured…  Shit this hurts…

It’s been a while.  The last month has been a cluster-f*ck.  Seriously.  It started with my job…  and then the hits just kept coming.  I can’t stand when people are upset with me.  I will apologize and assume blame for things that don’t belong to me just to make things right…  It doesn’t make things right, and then I feel even worse.  So while I am carrying that weight around, I see on Facebook that one of my great uncles has passed.  Now, I know most people are not terribly close to their great uncles, but this is a man I remember very fondly and am very sad to have lost touch with as I got older.  There were many factors in that, none of which matter right now, but it happened and I will miss him dearly.  He is one of few people I remember well from my childhood and I cannot recall a single negative experience with him…  I know when people die, we tend to remember only the best, but seriously, the man was awesome.  He always made me smile and his own smile wAs contagious beyond expression.  I am so sad that he is no longer among us and it breaks my heart that my own babies will never get to see that smile. 

You never know what sadness will bring up…  I think most people get angry…  I did.  I got angry that I didn’t have a relationship with my family conducive to finding out about a death other than through Facebook.  And then, I just got crushed.  I realized that I sacrificed relationships with people I love because of him, because they can’t seem to stop asking me to have a relationship with him, and because I don’t want them to feel they must choose between us.  The last time I was in a room with any of them, it was brought up again that Gram wanted us to reconcile.  At one point, that may have been possible, though I don’t think it would have been permanent.  At no point in the last 5 years has reconciliation been a thought of mine, let alone an ideal.  It never will be.  I used to think if he acknowledged what he did wrong and apologized, I could move past it and have some sort of relationship with him.  There is nothing he can say or do that would make me think that now.  Nothing.  You can say all day long that forgiveness is crucial, but forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to allow that person to be in your life.  Some things are simply unforgiveable and destroying a person is one of them.  There are so many things that happened that shaped me in ways I can’t stand.  I am terrified of my anger and in my attempt to control it, have allowed others to walk over and take advantage of me.  Every time I have a drink, I am afraid I will remember how good I felt and that I don’t hurt and I will just keep drinking.  I can’t forgive him those things.  I try to get my kids every little thing they ever ask for because I don’t want them to ever want for anything, especially not something I have promised and never deliver.  Asking a child to lie, to people she loves most, to cover your own sins, is unforgiveable.  Either not noticing or not caring that your child is wearing her mother’s clothes to school because her own are too small, is unforgiveable.  Maybe you don’t agree…  That’s you.  I’m an adult and these are the decisions and consequences I can live with.    

I miss my family so very, very much.  I miss family reunions at that huge park and what seemed like days of food, games, and just so much love, laughter, and warmth, and sunshine…  I miss backyard get-togethers at 534…  I miss 534.  Holy Shenanigans I miss 534.  Maybe Gram did want me to reconcile, but I don’t think she would have wanted me to lose that entire portion of my family if I couldn’t.  And I can’t.  I can’t.  I shake just thinking about it.  I hate that he’s less than a day’s drive from me.  I hate that he has e-mailed my husband… 

Challenges make us grow, says my mom.  She’s right.  But damned if this isn’t a helluva growth spurt, and one I’m not entirely sure I can survive without some serious emotional stunting.

I am working out anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour about 5 days a week. I haven’t been devoted to my calories and carbs the entire time I’ve been going to the gym, but I can tell you this: even before I was keeping track, taking in 1500 calories was an oddity for me. My basal metabolism says I should burn between 1500 – 1550 calories awake, at rest. It stands to reason that even if I were not working out before, given my caloric intake, I should have been losing weight even before…  Carbs?  Yeah, 100 carbs is a bad day for me.  I have watched carbs since Mega Man was a fetus… Diabetes is no joke in my family, and I didn’t want to increase my chances of developing the condition. So, carbs? Yeah, can’t really blame those, or at least, not in any normal way.

So now I’m staying under 1000 calories, taking in 75-85 grams of protein (which is not easy with those caloric restrictions), and burning at least 400 calories five times per week. The problem? I am still gaining weight. I started at 155 and I am up to 165. Unacceptable.  Don’t tell me muscle weighs more than fat.  Fuck muscle. I don’t want to be muscular. I want to be thin. I don’t want to be athletic. I want to be trim. There is no “normal” reason I should have gained 10 pounds in 5-6 weeks.  None. 

So…  Now I have to wait until December to see an endocrinologist and hopefully, figure out just what in the hell is going on. And in the mean time, I’m just hoping I don’t continue to gain 2 pounds each week…  because I might not leave the house… or eat…

And before you chime in with anything all super happy and encouraging, I’ll add that I hate eating. I’ve always had issues with food…  then Celiac popped up and there was a whole new crop of food issues and control… and I deal with that every day…  Now throw in that I am staring down terms such as “prediabetic,” ”impaired glucose tolerance,” “sustained high blood sugar with subsequent sudden, devastating drops,” and then don’t talk to me about food.  It’s like telling an alcoholic, “Hey, at least you can have O’Doul’s, right?”  Yeah…  I know there are foods I can eat. I don’t like most of them. I am allergic to another butt-ton. I can’t afford a lot of them, too. If I want my kids to be able to enjoy a diet free of highly-processed, refined sugar-filled, and fresh foods, that means Mama doesn’t get to spend $6 on a loaf of bread she only kind of likes so she can have a sammich every now and then.  Make my own bread, you say? Might be worth the time and effort if I actually liked the taste/texture, but since I don’t, it’s worth neither. I already spend a good 3 hours a day preparing food I either can’t eat or have to alter just so it doesn’t initiate an autoimmune response. Let’s not talk any more about ways to change or manage my diet, okay? And if I sound nasty, it’s because that’s how I feel. I don’t want rays of sunshine. I want to know why my body consistently fails. I want to know why, when I do everything right, the results still do not follow the formula.

 I hate going to the gym. I hate the stupid ARC trainer, and I *abhor* the weight training. I always feel like an idiot and I don’t enjoy it. I still go. So all of these things I don’t like or outright hate (cardio, weight training, and eating), yet I do them because they’re supposed to be good for me, and still, still, my body says, “Oh weight? Yeah, we need more of that! We don’t even know where we’re getting it from, but we’re going to hold on to it and pack on more!”  And no, my measurements are not changing, either. About 2 months ago, I measured my hips, waist, thighs, calves, and upper arms. None of them have gotten smaller. I’ve been able to get into my 8′s uncomfortably since the beginning of the year – I am no closer to being comfortable in them. 

There is *nothing* that indicates positive change. It does me no good to be able to run circles around other people at the gym when it just makes me go home and cry because, I might be able to outlast them, but they look better doing it.   So yeah, tonight when I came home after 60 minutes instead of my target 90 and I was 100 calories short of my typical routine, I broke down. I sobbed. And I’ll probably do it again before bed. With ice cream. And tomorrow, I am not counting a single fucking calorie. Food controls so much of my life that I just can’t stand the thought of writing it all down tomorrow just to have it laugh in my face when I weigh myself in the morning, pull my  jeans up, try to suck in my gut while walking at the mall, or whatever else.

Sobbing?  Round2…  Commence.

That’s right. I added to my current weight, putting me within 10 pounds of the heaviest I have ever been… and I had *no* gluten.  None.  I think it’s time for some outside help. I did meet my goals of being able to run for 2 minutes, but running is killing me (shin splints and/or heel spurs), so I have come to have a love/hate relationship with the ARC trainer. It’s like an elliptical, but it’s a damn beast. Where I would only burn 250 calories in 3.5 miles on the treadmill, I can do 400 calories in fewer than 3 miles on the ARC. Love it or hate it, I’ll stick with the bigger burn.  So if I’m burning more, taking in less, and being more careful overall… why the gain…  Not cool.

I ate a lot of gluten.  A lot.  I decided that I had enough issues with food, and dammit, I was going to control it, and not let it control me.  Yeah, that didn’t work out so well.  I feel like hell.  Cold, clammy, stopped-up hell.  LAME.  So much for control.  On the other hand, because I was eating like a gluttonous slob, I worked out like crazy.  There wasn’t a day I did fewer than 3 miles.  One of those days, I actually RAN, like, flat-out HAULED ASS, for two miles.  I did 3 more after that.  I was so freaking flustered that running was all I could think to do.  Never mind that I almost passed out, that my legs were killing me, and all that shenanigans.  That doesn’t matter.  I can run.  For now, I am setting modest, attainable goals.  I do 3 miles on the treadmill at a pace of 3.5 miles per hour walking.  I walk for 3 minutes, then run for a minute or two, depending on how I am feeling.  That may not impress you, but for someone carrying 40 pounds, I’ll take it.

So September’s goals: Down 5 pounds from starting weight; continue to run / walk 3 miles 4 times a week.  By the September wrap-up, be able to run for 2 minutes at a time without feeling like I am going to pass out.  Here’s to September.  *cheers*

Most of you know know that I enrolled in Ancient Art Midwifery Institute in November of 2010.  This upcoming conference is going to be a tremendous asset to my education, including getting my neonatal resuscitation certification and lots of continuing education units.  I am so excited about this conference!  My goal of $850.00 will cover my conference, pre-conference workshops (including neonatal resuscitation with Karen Strange, the finest in the business!), and hopefully, help cover a tiny bit of my room during my stay.  We are getting a special rate during the conference, but I will probably look for a cheaper hotel close by since I will be driving down there and think $109 a night is a bit steep, even if it is a suite!  Please consider giving me a boost!  Every little bit helps!  Thank you so much! To see more about this AMAZING conference, click here:http://www.trustbirthconference.com/

I have pretty eyes.  I won’t even say they’re only pretty in certain lights, or my standard response, “Yeah, they’re pretty…  If you think mud puddles are nice.”  I have pretty eyes.  They are a very deep shade of brown…  They have depth…  They may not sparkle like a movie star’s, or have breath-taking brilliance, but they’re mine.  And they’re pretty*.

*I’m read from sun burn, not crying. 

I think it’s just a “de-gluten” effect.  Gluten = opiates in a Celiac brain.  No lie, they’re one (or two) molecules different.  It makes me feel AMAZING despite the fever, chills, gastro-upset, rash, etc.  When I come down, I come down hard.  That makes it worse because why come down if you don’t have to?  Oh, how I wish X was not something that would probably kill me, lead into a really bad, bad scene, and just keep me happy and slim.  HA!