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Posted in messy mama

#MessyKindness

Hey there! You might be here because you’re a regular reader, or you might be here because my 5 year old put an item out into the world with a hashtag on it and it lead you here. Either way, WELCOME! And let me explain…

My last blog post talked about how bitterness is just making its way through my family right now and it’s not a good look on us. And when my child looked me dead in the eye and told me that he “was going to only be good for Santa”, I just about lost it. You know that meme going around online that’s like, “Have wrapped boxes under the tree that look like gifts and when your kid is being a scrooge, throw one into the fire”? I was at that level…just too lazy to have any wrapped boxes…or a fire in Texas. Instead, I’ve been trying to talk about kindness every day, even on days I don’t feel like being kind myself (which can be often lately). And then it hit me… Let’s DO something!

Enter my anxiety induced hour of my child painting at my kitchen table:

I got these little wood chip things at Hobby Lobby forever ago and never used them. I think they were like $2. After his wild painting spree that ended in me throwing him in a bathtub and scrubbing the wall behind him… We (I) wrote kind phrases and words on them.

I wrote #messykindness on the back and tomorrow we plan to go on a walk and/or drive around the neighborhood and/or city and drop these on doorsteps. I also plan to take him on a walk to find rocks to paint and do some more. ❤

So guess what? I now challenge you! Grab your kid, your spouse, your cat, yourself (🙈) and make some. Slap the hashtag on the back and leave them where people can find them. If you found one – AWESOME! Keep it as long as your heart needs it and spread the love!

And obviously tag me in your pics!!!

XO

TAB

Like/Share/Comment/Be Kind

Posted in Ramblings, recovery

Send Me Chocolate #Bitter

Hey there, it’s December. Did I even do a Messy Month for November? I feel like I didn’t. Is that something I could look up? Totally. Am I going to? No, not at all. My wall calendar doesn’t even have “December” written on it. #lazy

[side note: A toy keeps going off in the guest room and I’m too afraid to go find it to turn it off. WHAT IF THERE’S A GHOST PLAYING WITH IT?]

Anyway – Hi, hostess? Yes, I’m here for Bitter. Yes, Bitter party of one. That’s me. I have been struggling so bad with being frighteningly bitter lately. I’m struggling to find joy in a lot of things and even hearing my own voice/thoughts in my head is irritating me to no end. I simply cannot stand this person who is living inside me and I am at a constant war against her trying to make her see outside of her own cynical views on the world. Like, how she might need to see that there is a universe in which there is a Christmas parade going on with a GIANT WHATABURGER SHAKE as a float. I mean, come on, look what you’re missing.

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When I made the switch over to bipolar medication almost a month ago, my mind started seeing things differently. Simple things changed, like my energy levels. (Which, if you follow me on Instagram, you got to learn how I am almost 32 and just learned to use a coffee pot!) When I was diagnosed Bipolar at 17, my mom freaked out and told me not to allow that diagnosis. She said that I would never live a normal life, no one would ever take me seriously, that it was basically a death sentence. I’d never be allowed to teach kids, never be allowed to do anything I wanted to do… Which, I understand now. The stigma around mental health, especially Bipolar Disorder, was very very jaded and wrong. It’s still a battle we are fighting, but it’s a little better these days. People are a bit more open.  So, I denied the diagnosis and I forced them to only give me depression meds. I manipulated the way I wanted to be seen and I skirted by enough for it to be accepted. Those poor doctors played along. I’m positive they were rolling their eyes at me and they were doing their best to just keep me from being suicidal. So, I was on two depression meds at the same time. Max dose of both. I couldn’t understated why people needed to drink caffeine to live. Why? Why not just like… live? And why do people go to bed at 9pm? What’s that about? HOW BORING.

Oh…wait… oh you guys aren’t all hopped up on UPPERS? GOTCHA. Well, now neither am I. That’s fun. Question, can someone just drink straight from the coffee pot? or….? Asking for a friend.

Good news is, you can definitely tell that these are the meds that I’ve needed to be on for a very, very long time. Like…very long. I can stay awake during the day, I’m not even a little suicidal (before I was only just on the edge of okay), my brain can stop and rationalize situations clearer, and my binge eating disorder has gotten a lot better. However, a fog has been lifted from my brain. And where that sounds good, it seems to be a LOT harder for me to mentally check out of life when things get hard (my coping mechanism) and it also is making me extremely self aware of parts of my personality that annoy me. And all I can seem to focus on is: A.) How much of my life has been wasted away by being on the wrong medication. How if 15 years ago I could have just taken the proper medication for the proper problem, then maybe so many things can be different. and B.) All the things about myself that I can’t stand. These two things have made me a very bitter person.

NOW HOLD ON. Before you go on your “let’s tell Tabitha how amazing she is” rampage, I want to tell you that it is 100% okay to have these two thoughts. Because, guess what? I’m a human being. I wouldn’t be a human being if I didn’t sit there, look at life, and be like… well….damn. The difference here is, am I choosing to wallow in this bitterness? Or am I trying to climb out of it? I’m trying to climb out. But before climbing out, I’ve got to figure out what’s at the bottom of the pit I’m in, so that I can figure out what I’m trying to push my feet off of. (BOOM – look at that amazing genius right there. I underlined it to make it seem like someone super famous said it. Where’s my book deal?)

I can’t change the 15 years I lost to wrong medication and I can’t pretend that all 15 years were horrible because they weren’t. No one solid year was horrible, there were always bursts of light in the tunnels. I can’t change that I’ve gained a lot of weight back after my surgery, what’s done is done. I also can’t make it all just fall off tomorrow. I can’t pretend that my feelings aren’t easily hurt over silly things anymore. I try too often to act like I’m tough and stupid things can’t hurt me, they can. I’m hurt very easily. I cry often and hard. I can’t change that because of how people have hurt me in the past, I have a fear of people leaving me. I have a fear of friends not choosing me and I have a fear that people will forget me. I have a fear that people think bad things about me behind my back, but that’s because my bitterness causes me to have mean thoughts about others behind theirs. I roll my eyes when I should be shouting for joy sometimes and I push people to a far distance when I fear they’ve gotten too close. That last one is something I have to fight against every. single. day. I make self-deprecating jokes before people can make them about me and I try to make people laugh for fear that they’ll try to make me have a serious conversation instead. I look back on my year as a foster parent with bitterness and anger, instead of joy and love and sometimes I tear up when even my friends’ kids leave after a full day together. I’m open about all my struggles, my pain, my fears and I tell them openly to the world and ask you to share them. I’m one giant contradicting mess sometimes and I hate it.

… and sometimes, just sometimes, I can read that list and find things I love among the mess. I like those times. Those times let me know that the bitterness won’t be around forever. I can see that my love of my friends’ kids just means that my bitterness towards my foster parent year is because I’m still hurting and missing three babies. That my heart is still wide open to love more kids, but maybe it’s just not open for more kids of my own. I can see that when I’m having to fight daily to stop pushing people away from me, it means that I finally have let people close enough to me in the first place. That’s something I haven’t allowed of a friend in a very long time. Now I have a few. And my fear of them leaving me just means that I have learned to let myself love them a little differently, that I couldn’t imagine a world without them. My self-deprecating jokes aren’t always healthy, but sometimes it’s really just okay to be able to laugh at yourself, to not take life so seriously. Also, to me, it means that my humor is still alive. (Which, I am not kidding when I tell you, is something I cried in fear over to my therapist when I started taking new meds. It went something like, “OMG WHAT IF PROPERLY MEDICATED TABITHA ISN’T FUNNY?” and I imagined it took everything in him to not reply, “WHO SAID INCORRECTLY MEDICATED TABITHA WAS?”)

The other stuff that isn’t so great? Well, that’s stuff I can work on. And trust me, God is already taking me down a notch on some of it. Like, how a sweet, sweet woman in my MOPS group by my house gave me a gift today completely unexpectedly. She doesn’t know me very well, we don’t hang out outside of once a month at a meeting, and she saw something and just thought of me and felt I should have it. I wanted to cry. It reminded me how I need to stop being so self-involved and maybe take time to give other people the feeling she just gave me.

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Perfect.

This past year, two years… seven… life? Have been a roller coaster. But this past year has really been one of learning a lot about myself and who I am and it’s not always fun. Do I think this season will last forever? No, of course not. Does it feel like it will? Yep. And that’s okay. It’s really, really okay. I’m allowed to feel like that. People are allowed to feel like life just sucks sometimes, guys. But remember what the difference is – are they trying to live in the suck? or climb out? I’m trying to climb out.

And I’m sorry if my climbing out doesn’t look like you want it to. Please know that I’m doing what I feel like is best for me. If I’m ignoring your phone calls or texts, it’s not because I don’t want to talk to you. It might actually be because I’m afraid what I might say might be filled with a horrible bitter mouthful and I just don’t want to taste it right now. I’m trying my best not to spread it and the best way is just to keep my mouth shut.

Also – shout out to all the friends that have stuck by me through this past year. You guys have put up with a LOT over here. I’d applaud…but again…#lazy.

xo
Tab

like/share/comment/send me sweet treats in the mail to get rid of the bitter taste/like how I tried to get you to send me chocolate?

Posted in messy mama, Ramblings

Bless the Open Mess.

I started my morning at one of the three mom groups I attend. Yep, three. This one is run by a smaller church I go to out by my house and I joined so I could meet mamas that live by me. It’s free and it’s so calm and low expectation and I love it.

Anyway, I was running late and I was flustered because I wanted to feed my goddaughter before it started and my whole schedule of plans was just thrown off. I jumped out of my car and flung open my back door, only to realize that we went to Costco yesterday and I completely forgot to take the giant thing of toilet paper, the two boxes of Protien drinks, and various other crap out of the back…and it’s all on top of the stroller I need. Did I also mention that I’m currently doing the potty dance at this point? No? Well, add that to the list.

So, now I’m unloading my entire trunk as another mom with a car and a kiddo pulls up right behind me and starts getting out to go inside. I’d never seen this woman before and one of my jobs at this group is to make sure that other mamas feel welcome and just be a general talker and includer (perfect job for me, I know). I instantly start defensively making jokes about what a mess I am because I am embarrassed at how disgusting my car is now that I’m outside looking in and I kind of just want to crawl underneath it right now.

Finally, I get the stupid stroller out from under Costco Mountain and that sweet mama is still happily (I hope) standing there carrying on a conversation with me, laughing, as I’m packing my goddaughter up and flailing myself into various parts of my car trying to find things I’m missing. I’m so used to having a 5 year old, even after almost 2 full months of watching our goddaughter 5 days a week while her parents work, I still can’t get my act together.

Finally, I get into the door and I just take a breath and I’m like ….gosh I’m such a mess. And the girl is like, me too. It’s okay. And in that moment I was so content. That’s what the world desperately needs. Not just moms, but everyone. And not in the, “I’m going to share a funny meme about being a mess, but then try to still run myself into the ground to give off the appearance of having my act together” way. No, I mean in the way that we can all just take a collective sigh together every once in a while and genuninely just say, “I know….me too.”

It makes me so sad how many people are still stretching themselves so thin trying to be perfect, trying to make yourself be someone you aren’t so that people will like you. Stop. Stop being anyone but yourself. If your tribe isn’t a group of people that don’t greet you with a comforting sigh, then you’ve got the wrong group. That applies to men too, not just women. If your friends make you feel like you ever have to “keep up”, then it’s the wrong place to be.

If you got dressed today and drank coffee on time and put on makeup, then awesome! If you look gorgeous and match and neither of your shoes have crayon marks on them, awesome! If you had a morning that sounds like mine, that’s awesome too. And if you just had to go back to bed 30 minutes after waking up? …I’ve been there too. And that’s okay. Awesome. Take that nap. You must have needed it.

Open up your mess and let’s all just take one big sigh together.

[insert messy car pic]

xo

Tab

Like/Comment/Share with someone who could use a big giant collective group sigh. We got you!

Posted in messy mama, Ramblings

Dear Three Babies,

Hey there babies,

Well, y’all aren’t really babies anymore…are you? You’re actually more like little 3 and 4 year olds now. But to me, you’re still babies, little tiny ones. Ones that all fit in the palms of our hands.

Please forgive me babies, because over the past 3 years, I haven’t thought about you often. Not because I didn’t love you, but because thinking of you makes my heart hurt and it makes me cry. And honestly? It makes me feel guilty to think about you guys.

Not that I had any control over you going back to the people you were taken from, I definitely did not, but I have guilt for loving you so fiercely for the time you were in our homes and then having no trace of you around after you’re gone. And I feel guilty for not staying a foster parent. Maybe if we would have stayed foster parents, we’d get to have you back if you ever entered the system again.

Instead, I pray that you didn’t ever enter the system again. I pray that when you went home, it was for real that time. That you got to be happy and grow up safe and healthy. I pray for you three a lot. Even you, my little “Alphabet”, my one I know actually did get adopted by a different foster family. I pray they were the right home for you. I know God has his hand in all of it and I know all thee of you are growing big in His eyes. I just wish it was in my eyes too sometimes.

I do still love you all, I do think about you and pray for you. I know you weren’t meant to be mine forever, but I’m so thankful you were mine for a little while.

Love, Mama

This time of year always weighs a little harder on us. We became foster parents for the first time on Halloween 2013 and took ourselves out of the foster system one year after. Losing three babies back into the system was hard, so hard. I wanted to bond with the baby we just adopted and my heart was having a hard time. So we stopped and said we’d go back in a few months later.

We never did. Every six months we revisit the subject and every six months we say no. And every six months I break down over my three babies.

This year I’m also finding how much bitterness my heart is still holding on to and how much of it I’m harnessing towards foster parents that never had to give their babies back, they just got to adopt the ones they had. Instead of rejoicing with them like I should, I become hateful and bitter. I allow my heart to turn cold against them and I cut them out and I’m sorry. I’m working on it. This journey isn’t easy for anyone, in any way. Even for the ones that never had to give their babies back, they still had to live in fear. I know that. I know things weren’t sunshine and roses the whole time, I know. I’ll get there someday.

Today I walked away from a conversation with a friend who told me she feels a call to her heart to foster, feeling ashamed of how I behaved. I could feel the bitterness pouring out of me. I’m ashamed. Those kiddos, really the world, needs people with kind hearts who want to be there. I pray that my bitterness didn’t go home with her.

Today was ‘Reclaimed Sunday’ at the church I’ve been attending by my house and I forgot. I walked through the doors and simply just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit in on a day all about fostering and adoption right now, my bitterness wouldn’t allow it. So I sat in the lobby.

I know as the years go by, the days will be different. For all I know, I could have adopted 17 kids by this time next year, whatever God plans for us. (Oh sweet God, I truly beg of you not to)

If you reach out to a friend and you’re met with bitterness, please know that there is something bigger going on. Make sure you never let that bitterness truly affect you. Stay true to what you feel in your heart. ❤

XO

Tab

Posted in messy mama, Ramblings

Adoption During Infertility [National Adoption Month 2017]

Ohhhh, y’all. Ohhhohoho, y’all. This week has been quite the week and I am emotionally exhausted. So do you know what that means? Hmm? Oh, a new blog post. You’re welcome. Buckle up. I should make that into a t-shirt: “Oh hey there, having a good day? WELL, BUCKLE UP BECAUSE I GOT STUFF TO SAY”. Oh what’s that? You wouldn’t wear it? *sigh* WELL FINE. [I was going to go full Rocky Horror and say “WELL I DIDN’T MAKE HIM FOR YOU!” But then I realized that… yes… yes that was the whole point of the shirt…]

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So, first let me tell you that this past Monday I was diagnosed as bipolar, not for the first time. This, however, is the first time I am choosing to accept this diagnosis. We can talk more about this diagnosis another time if you care to, but I share that on here because it’s an important piece to the puzzle that is the reason as to why I have been so ridiculously emotional this past week. The medication changes I have been dealing with have been a wild roller coaster and I’m just exhausted, mentally and physically. The good news is, the effects have been mostly positive. The bad news is (well, for me), that these new meds have seemed to take away my ability keep up some emotional walls I’ve apparently built and I’m pretty pissed off and annoyed, honestly. I’ve spent the week crying over some things I was certain I was over and I’m angry about it.

I’m all for crying and talking things out, but after years of crying and talking about the same topic – I want to be done. I want to be sooo done. And one of the very big things I want to be done crying over? You guessed it, my infertility. Last month marked six official years since my diagnosis. Six years of praying for a baby and 72 months of a mental checking off of “…nope. not this time…” And very roughly 2,190 days of praying for God to just take this desire to be a parent to a biological child away completely.

As you may have guessed from that last paragraph, we didn’t come to the adoption decision easily at all. In fact, it wasn’t until 2 years into the infertility and 3 years into our marriage that we decided we would try to foster to adopt. I did not even a little bit feel called to adopt. And even though we kept getting put into situations and being surrounded by people who did adopt or foster… and even though my husband had said he’d be fine to adopt… I continued to rebel. And by rebel, I need you to know that I verbally fought and shouted against it. I got angry at the suggestion of it and cut out anyone who would mention it as a cure to my desire to be a mom. Because at the time, my desire wasn’t just to be a mom, it was to be pregnant. And the pain of getting to watch other people around me get to have that part stirred the fire of jealous rage in me that I couldn’t even begin to properly describe. It was borderline psychotic, but it was real.

I prayed constantly that God would take that desire to be pregnant away and help me to just see that being a mom was all I truly cared about. He didn’t take the desire away, but he did finally change my heart toward fostering to adopt two years into our journey. We had four children. Four. Four children we loved. Three children we lost. One child we kept. Fostering kept four children alive, safe, fed, and loved. Adoption kept one child in our house forever.

It’s hard sometimes for me to not be bitter towards adoption. I know that’s a weird thing to say, let me explain. It’s hard for me to not be upset that I wasn’t able to just have my kid myself, that he had to come from someone else. Or that those three kids who were in the system got to go back to their families, when I would have loved them and never put them in the same kind of danger they were in. Why do these people get to have kids while people like me are just out there begging for children to be given to them?

But in the same breath, I can say… what makes me any better? I’m a sinner too. I don’t sin the same way… but we’ve all established that I’m a huge mess, so I need to just sit back and let the pieces fall as they may, right? Because what do I know? I like to think some pretty awesome things ended up happening for the others. (We all know the one that got to stay already got the best life ever, I mean, amiright? *winkwink*) Like “Little”, our very first baby. Oh how I loved him. He was soooo very tiny. He was only 5 pounds and he fit in my husband’s palm. His grandma worked so hard to get him and his siblings back, so I pray they got to all be together eventually. The next one, she was so sweet and snuggly. I would always put way too big bows on her head, but I don’t care. I know she got to go to her auntie. I pray she’s doing great. And I did find out last year that our last foster baby was actually adopted by a different foster family eventually! I’m glad she finally found her forever home, even if it didn’t end up being us.

Adoption definitely isn’t an easy fix to someone who is aching for a family, please know that. But when their heart is ready for it, oh man… it is truly the right fix. ❤

Want to get involved? There is this awesome organization that helps out foster kiddos!

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Together We Rise is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization comprised of motivated young adults and former foster youth. Our vision is to improve the lives of foster children in America, who often find themselves forgotten and neglected by the public. We collaborate with community partners to bring resources to foster youth and use service-learning activities to educate volunteers on issues surrounding the foster care system.

TWR works with hundreds of foster agencies, social workers, CASA advocates, and other partners to bring our programs to foster youth across the nation. Our foundation has allowed us to provide thousands of foster youth across the country with new bicycles, college supplies, and suitcases so that children do not have to travel from home to home with their belongings in a trash bag.

xo
Tab

Posted in Ramblings

TOW I Was Brutally Attacked!

Do you ever have those moments where you’re hearing a story, or watching a movie/tv show, and you’re like … I would never do that! Why are you so stupid? Like, a great example would be horror movies. You watch the idiots go TOWARDS the noise and you’re like… why… didn’t you just call the cops and get the hell out of there? Right? But the thing is, I’ve learned, is that you have no idea how you would actually react until the moment comes.

I was trying to finish Stranger Things the other night and all I could focus on is how I would not be good in this situation. I can just go ahead and guarantee you that, I don’t need to be in the situation to tell you how I’d react. I’d cry and just like… move. You know? Will goes missing and I’m over there like, “OKAY BYE, Y’ALL!” And then I’m somewhere in Canada crying more because I probably would die anywhere other than Texas because apparently there’s such a thing as “snow” and frankly I don’t even know what that is. So, yeah.

ANYWAYS… this whole train of weird thought caused me to remember this ridiculous story of when I was brutally attacked in my home one summer.

Other story title possibilities could include, but are not limited to:

I’m Being Dramatic, I Wasn’t Even a Little Attacked
That Time I Way Overreacted
I Will Never Be the Hero in a Movie

Without further ado:

Once upon a time, during my first year of marriage, my husband got a job 5 hours away. He had to move and live with my mother, while I was trapped in a lease and was forced to live on my own without my family or a roommate for the very first time in my life. Naturally, that meant that my husband’s cousin and I took our opportunity to have a Harry Potter themed marathon, complete with themed food and sorting my obnoxious dog into Slytherin House.

Stop judging us. So, anyway, we were having a nerdy blast and suddenly my front door handle jiggles and I realize that my door isn’t locked. In walks this giant man that takes up my entire doorway. Before I have time to even process what is happening, I grab a weapon and start screaming and running TOWARDS THIS GIANT MAN. He, of course, freaks out and starts backing out of the doorway and running down the stairs.

… and that’s when I hear it…

“Dad! Wrong apartment!” 

Yep. YEEEEPPPPP. It was a 50 year old father of the girl downstairs who had just moved in. And my weapon? Are you ready? I feel like you aren’t ready…

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I made it black and white to appear more terrifying… did it work?

So, there you have it. That’s my ridiculous reaction. Do you have one? Have you ever reacted in a way that you did NOT expect to? I have a friend who always jokes that she’s the perfect person to have around about 3 hours after the fact, that’s when she has the best response or plan to the situation. I’m good after the fact too, especially with witty commentary.

Like/Comment/Share/Tell me your funny reactions to situations!

xo
Tab

Posted in Ramblings, recovery

Seventy.

Heeeeey guys. How’s it going? Everyone survive Halloween? Anyone still in a candy coma? Well, lucky you then. I’ve decided I really like fun size Butterfingers. Not full size, only fun size. You get a full bite of chocolate every time.

Anyways, not the purpose of this post… Although, matbe it is. I’ve noticed that I’ve been dragging my feet on posting this week. My therapist even made a comment a few weeks ago about my latest post (which at the time was about pretzel/nutella mental breakdown) not sounding like me. I got a little defensive because I feel like I only ever write like me. But upon further self reflection, he’s totally right. Ugh. I hate when that happens. I also know it’s because as much as I aim to be 100% open and honest on this blog, I’m still human. I still feel like a failure and go through times of not wanting anyone to know how I’m falling under water. (And by water, I mean candy wrappers. In a not funny way.)

I’ve been struggling, y’all. I’ve been binging and I’ve been hiding food. I’ve been starving myself and I’ve been trying (unsuccessfully) to purge it later. My negative self-talk is at an all-time high and I am avoiding the mirror. Surprisingly, the only thing I haven’t slipped back into doing is obsessively weighing myself. Probably because I’m just too terrified to see. But today I’m at the doctor for a regular check up and started crying as I stepped on the scale. I’ve gained 70 pounds in a year. That’s right, seventy.

You say, “But, Tabitha. You’ve had a really hard year! Give yourself some grace!” That’s right, I have had an extremely hard year. A LOT of my years have been really hard years, actually. So, what then? When do I stop and say, “Listen, most of my 31 years have been pretty damn hard. So, I don’t really allow myself that grace.” It’s different, you guys. I know it’s hard for you to understand because you (I would hope) haven’t been 400 pounds once upon a time like I have. I didn’t gradually gain that weight. It came in like Miley riding naked on a wrecking ball when I turned 17 and it took a gastric bypass at 29 to get it to go away. And here I am again, 20 pounds away from 300 and it scares the hell out of me. I gained 70 pounds this year. How much can I gain by this time next year if I don’t snap out of it? This isn’t an extra 20 pounds, my friends. This is an extra person worth of pounds and the mental anguish that comes with it isn’t an easy battle to fight.

I remember when I told people I was going to have the surgery. I actually had a number of people make the comment about possibly gaining it all back. I would get offended and be like, “Do I look like an idiot? Why would I ever do that?” ….well, because the surgery isn’t a quick fix. It isn’t easy and it doesn’t fix the mental battle and the eating disorder. So here I am. I’m flawed and human. In my eyes, I’ve failed and I want to hide that part of me away. But I can’t anymore. It almost seems to do more damage to hide from my audience of like two people who read this.

How can you help? I get asked that a lot by people who love me. Honestly? I wish I knew. I wish I knew what to say this time. Do I tell you to support me by having healthy food out when I come visit? No. 1.) I don’t want that crap. And 2.) It’s not anything I want you to worry about. So, I have zero idea for once. Maybe you have an idea?

This post is annoyingly depressing I feel like. GAH, do you ever get sick of your own voice? I do. I just hear my voice and I’m like, GIRL SHUT UUUUUUPPPP. But that’s that negative self talk I’m telling you about.

I’m going to end this post because I’m sounding more crazy by the minute. SORRY! I’ll try to be funnier next time. Maybe a post about how it took me 2 hours to put together a tiny matchbox garage that my kid got for his bday this past weekend? Maybe you’d like to hear the string of cuss words I used? No? That doesn’t sound like a good time to you? GREAT.

xo

Tab

P.S. if you’re new here, it’s what I do. I don’t try to pretend to be anything I’m not. So a lot of times you get a post like this. But with it, I’m hoping that you find comfort in the idea that you aren’t alone.

P.S.S. I’ve been in this waiting room for 45 miiiiiinutes. Gaaaaahhhhh

Posted in Uncategorized

Seventy.

Heeeeey guys. How’s it going? Everyone survive Halloween? Anyone still in a candy coma? Well, lucky you then. I’ve decided I really like fun size Butterfingers. Not full size, only fun size. You get a full bite of chocolate every time.

Anyways, not the purpose of this post… Although, matbe it is. I’ve noticed that I’ve been dragging my feet on posting this week. My therapist even made a comment a few weeks ago about my latest post (which at the time was about pretzel/nutella mental breakdown) not sounding like me. I got a little defensive because I feel like I only ever write like me. But upon further self reflection, he’s totally right. Ugh. I hate when that happens. I also know it’s because as much as I aim to be 100% open and honest on this blog, I’m still human. I still feel like a failure and go through times of not wanting anyone to know how I’m falling under water. (And by water, I mean candy wrappers. In a not funny way.)

I’ve been struggling, y’all. I’ve been binging and I’ve been hiding food. I’ve been starving myself and I’ve been trying (unsuccessfully) to purge it later. My negative self-talk is at an all-time high and I am avoiding the mirror. Surprisingly, the only thing I haven’t slipped back into doing is obsessively weighing myself. Probably because I’m just too terrified to see. But today I’m at the doctor for a regular check up and started crying as I stepped on the scale. I’ve gained 70 pounds in a year. That’s right, seventy.

You say, “But, Tabitha. You’ve had a really hard year! Give yourself some grace!” That’s right, I have had an extremely hard year. A LOT of my years have been really hard years, actually. So, what then? When do I stop and say, “Listen, most of my 31 years have been pretty damn hard. So, I don’t really allow myself that grace.” It’s different, you guys. I know it’s hard for you to understand because you (I would hope) haven’t been 400 pounds once upon a time like I have. I didn’t gradually gain that weight. It came in like Miley riding naked on a wrecking ball when I turned 17 and it took a gastric bypass at 29 to get it to go away. And here I am again, 20 pounds away from 300 and it scares the hell out of me. I gained 70 pounds this year. How much can I gain by this time next year if I don’t snap out of it? This isn’t an extra 20 pounds, my friends. This is an extra person worth of pounds and the mental anguish that comes with it isn’t an easy battle to fight.

I remember when I told people I was going to have the surgery. I actually had a number of people make the comment about possibly gaining it all back. I would get offended and be like, “Do I look like an idiot? Why would I ever do that?” ….well, because the surgery isn’t a quick fix. It isn’t easy and it doesn’t fix the mental battle and the eating disorder. So here I am. I’m flawed and human. In my eyes, I’ve failed and I want to hide that part of me away. But I can’t anymore. It almost seems to do more damage to hide from my audience of like two people who read this.

How can you help? I get asked that a lot by people who love me. Honestly? I wish I knew. I wish I knew what to say this time. Do I tell you to support me by having healthy food out when I come visit? No. 1.) I don’t want that crap. And 2.) It’s not anything I want you to worry about. So, I have zero idea for once. Maybe you have an idea?

This post is annoyingly depressing I feel like. GAH, do you ever get sick of your own voice? I do. I just hear my voice and I’m like, GIRL SHUT UUUUUUPPPP. But that’s that negative self talk I’m telling you about.

I’m going to end this post because I’m sounding more crazy by the minute. SORRY! I’ll try to be funnier next time. Maybe a post about how it took me 2 hours to put together a tiny matchbox garage that my kid got for his bday this past weekend? Maybe you’d like to hear the string of cuss words I used? No? That doesn’t sound like a good time to you? GREAT.

xo

Tab

P.S. if you’re new here, it’s what I do. I don’t try to pretend to be anything I’m not. So a lot of times you get a post like this. But with it, I’m hoping that you find comfort in the idea that you aren’t alone.

P.S.S. I’ve been in this waiting room for 45 miiiiiinutes. Gaaaaahhhhh

Posted in Ramblings

Even Smiling Makes My Face Ache.

Something about me that confuses a lot of people is that I call Rocky Horror Picture Show my favorite movie of all time. People who have seen it say, “Really? It’s…your favorite of all time?” And to that I say, “OH ABSOLUTELY WITHOUT A DOUBT!” (Yes, that totally required all caps.) Let me explain myself, because I feel like this is totally worth the explanation.

So, if you are an adult and you’ve never seen RHPS, then I don’t suggest you start now. That is something that requires proper supervision because frankly the movie is awful and I’m positive you wouldn’t survive the first sight of Tim Curry in full on drag. It’s not a movie that you just sit down at 11pm on a Monday and watch with popcorn on your couch. I mean…I would… But not you. Trust me.

If you have seen it at a theater with a shadow cast, then you totally get me. The whole thing is a wildly inappropriate blast. How can you not enjoy any movie event that allows you to toilet paper the theater? Or allows you to sing loudly and dance during the movie? Or shout sarcastic jokes in between lines?

I saw RHPS for the first time when I was seven years old. I know, I totally just heard you gasp. In my mom’s defense, it was the super edited/censored TV version and literally everything said and done went completely over my head. It was just a movie my mom loved that was played on reruns in the 90s. So, I decided I would love it too. I learned all the words (again, which were completely over my head) and I danced the Time Warp. Plus, Tim Curry wore sparkly heels.

I started noticing that I was the odd duck out. None of my friends had ever seen it (probably because their parents didn’t make questionable movie decisions). But how I longed for someone to understand how wonderful this terrible movie was.

You see, RHPS was released in the 70s and the world was like ….what the hell is happening right now? But they discovered the weirdos came out at night and they moved it to a theater that did midnight showings. The movie gained a cult following and people would show up in costume and shout things at the screen. They’d sing and dance and bring props. My mom always told me this when I’d watch it. To this day, it is still shown at midnight around the U.S. And I started to join the crowd of freaks and weirdos that attended these shows. I started slapping on red lipstick and fishnets and quoting along. For my 30th birthday the cast in Austin let me be a part of the show (Plain ol’ Betty Monroe). That was definitely a dream come true

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Being a part of this experience was something amazing. At Rocky Horror, it doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you look like, what you wear, how much money you make. No one cares, we all just want a little escape for two hours. Tonight I went for the first time since my mom died and it was a little sad for me, but I’m glad she gave this to me. I’m glad I got to be a part of something that not everyone understands. It’s something amazing and special and mine.

Do you have a movie that speaks to you on this level? Maybe one that just no one seems to understand, but it is just….you? Let me know!

Like/Share/Comment/Buy me more red lipstick

XO

Tab

Posted in Ramblings

Where Do I Hire a 1900s-style Sleuth?

Mmkay. Let’s discuss how I’m slowly going insane. Which, I mean I’m naturally already halfway there, so I really have no time to waste around here.

Today is Saturday. On Thursday I ate some pretzels with Nutella. When I had enough, I put the Nutella and the pretzels back in the pantry. Friday comes and I want the same little snack.

I can find the Nutella. I cannot find the pretzels. I move everything in the pantry around while muttering some very hostile language that probably wasn’t necessary during a hunt for a bag of pretzels, but what’s done is done. I CANNOT FIND THE PRETZELS. I decide to walk away and consider Googling how to hire Scooby-Doo to come figure out how a bag of pretzels vanishes into thin air.

Today I had a long day. I had a two birthday parties to take my child to and I am exhausted. I’ve also done my work for the night, done the dishes, and a load of laundry. I’M TIRED AND I WANT NUTELLA. So, in a fit of rage I take everything out of the pantry in hopes of finding a bag of pretzels that I’m positive are in there.

I CANNOT FIND THE &*&^#*%$( PRETZELS.

So, I replace everything back into the pantry with a wild amount of hostility and begin to search for another snack. Y’all…. Y’ALL. The damn pretzels are… right… right in front of my face. I don’t… I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

20171021_224507The chip-clip says, “Chips are my favorite kind of crunches… if you were wondering.)

Whatever, I grab my pretzels and go to grab the Nutella….

And yep, you guessed it. I can’t find it. I then, at 10:30pm, shout WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, GOD? And He replied, “Do you think I have nothing better to do?”

But I found it, don’t worry. And now I’m happy.

20171021_224837

But also like… a little scared for my future.

MMKAY SUPER STOKED YOU READ THAT POINTLESS STORY! KBYYYYEEE

xo
TAB