Did you ever have a dream? An idea of who you wanted to be? I didn’t. Sure, as a kid, I would look up to the sky and dream to be a Solid Gold Dancer. Not just any one, the one with the hair down past her bottom… anyway, other than that, nothing.
I just wanted to grow up and be happy. That’s not such a bad thing, but once I did grow up, I realized that happy wasn’t going to get me a car or pay the bills.
I was young; I was travelling and living the sweet life in Paris with my new French husband. He had a good job and was able to buy our first apartment, but I had to get out there and find a job, be a working woman, participate in the household and all that. Did I get a great job? No, not really. I got jobs that I could do with my eyes closed and I was bored out of my tree, but I was participating. I would have plenty of time to figure out what I wanted to do.
Fast forward 15 years / 3 kids later and lots of mind-numbingly boring jobs. Where did the time go? How did I get stuck in this rut? I always heard, “Well, no one really likes their jobs anyway, do they?” or; “You should feel lucky to have a job in times like these.” I let the guilt of complaining get to me. I still couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do, so what’s the point whining about it? I have a long commute, but so do most people. We made the choice to live in the burbs of Paris so that the kids would have a yard and we would have space. I should enjoy my 3 hours a day of “me-time.”
Something has been growing in me recently – NO! Not another kid! – but an idea. The idea has started to create baby ideas and little roots in my brain and in my thoughts.
I have been very well overweight since my first child. I was fat and happy during my pregnancy with an extra 90lbs – all for a 9lb baby! I had lost some of it, but always gained it back. I am the expert yo-yo dieter. I’ve done all the diets – The Zone, Atkins, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, pills, etc – and when I think about how much money I have spent on trying to be skinny, it makes me nauseous. They all worked in a way, but my bad habits always came back. I have always taken one step forward, made progress, then give in to my exhaustion and bad excuses and obliterate all that I worked towards. I am using past tense here, but I shouldn’t. I am still doing it. I spent the last year becoming a runner. I finally ran a half-marathon a few months ago. Then I stopped. I still want to run, but can’t seem to “just do it.” I have the best excuses though, don’t I? – My family needs more of my time, My house needs more of my time, My job and commute suck up all of my time (and part of my soul, to be honest). I am pretty good at giving MY time to everything else, why am I so unlikely to give any time to myself?
So, my idea? I would like to become a Health Coach.
WTF, right? Why would a self-confessed lazy-obese woman think that she can go and help other people with something that she is struggling with? She might as well look into that Solid Gold dancing thing while she’s at it!
I want to help people learn what I am learning no matter how bad I might f#ck it up. I want to get rid of diet fixation and body obsession. I want to be healthy and fit and I don’t want to be skinny. Well, who am I kidding, I wouldn’t exactly say “no” to skinny if it came knocking at my door. I want to love my cellulite and my saggy boobs and I want my kids to see a woman who is happy with herself. I want to learn to create family meals that are good for all of us and we can all enjoy together. I want to have the right answer when my son asks, “Mom, why are you fat?” and avoid sending him to his room until puberty.
I have a dream. It's about friggin time.
Now, where do I begin?
I just wanted to grow up and be happy. That’s not such a bad thing, but once I did grow up, I realized that happy wasn’t going to get me a car or pay the bills.
I was young; I was travelling and living the sweet life in Paris with my new French husband. He had a good job and was able to buy our first apartment, but I had to get out there and find a job, be a working woman, participate in the household and all that. Did I get a great job? No, not really. I got jobs that I could do with my eyes closed and I was bored out of my tree, but I was participating. I would have plenty of time to figure out what I wanted to do.
Fast forward 15 years / 3 kids later and lots of mind-numbingly boring jobs. Where did the time go? How did I get stuck in this rut? I always heard, “Well, no one really likes their jobs anyway, do they?” or; “You should feel lucky to have a job in times like these.” I let the guilt of complaining get to me. I still couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do, so what’s the point whining about it? I have a long commute, but so do most people. We made the choice to live in the burbs of Paris so that the kids would have a yard and we would have space. I should enjoy my 3 hours a day of “me-time.”
Something has been growing in me recently – NO! Not another kid! – but an idea. The idea has started to create baby ideas and little roots in my brain and in my thoughts.
I have been very well overweight since my first child. I was fat and happy during my pregnancy with an extra 90lbs – all for a 9lb baby! I had lost some of it, but always gained it back. I am the expert yo-yo dieter. I’ve done all the diets – The Zone, Atkins, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, pills, etc – and when I think about how much money I have spent on trying to be skinny, it makes me nauseous. They all worked in a way, but my bad habits always came back. I have always taken one step forward, made progress, then give in to my exhaustion and bad excuses and obliterate all that I worked towards. I am using past tense here, but I shouldn’t. I am still doing it. I spent the last year becoming a runner. I finally ran a half-marathon a few months ago. Then I stopped. I still want to run, but can’t seem to “just do it.” I have the best excuses though, don’t I? – My family needs more of my time, My house needs more of my time, My job and commute suck up all of my time (and part of my soul, to be honest). I am pretty good at giving MY time to everything else, why am I so unlikely to give any time to myself?
So, my idea? I would like to become a Health Coach.
WTF, right? Why would a self-confessed lazy-obese woman think that she can go and help other people with something that she is struggling with? She might as well look into that Solid Gold dancing thing while she’s at it!
I want to help people learn what I am learning no matter how bad I might f#ck it up. I want to get rid of diet fixation and body obsession. I want to be healthy and fit and I don’t want to be skinny. Well, who am I kidding, I wouldn’t exactly say “no” to skinny if it came knocking at my door. I want to love my cellulite and my saggy boobs and I want my kids to see a woman who is happy with herself. I want to learn to create family meals that are good for all of us and we can all enjoy together. I want to have the right answer when my son asks, “Mom, why are you fat?” and avoid sending him to his room until puberty.
I have a dream. It's about friggin time.
Now, where do I begin?