Posted in Ramblings

The March of Blahs

Hey y’all.

How have ya been? I’ve been….eh. No amount of medication can undo what never ending gloomy/rainy weather does to a depressed person. I feel like I could take all the pills you had for me and I’d still just feel….blah, you know? This happens every January – April for me and I’m finally trying to find a solution.

Have any of you tried a sun lamp situation?

It came a week or so ago, but I haven’t taken it out of the box. I desperately need to take it out of the box.

I am also someone who does bible studies constantly. I always have, probably always will. However, this study I barely even opened the book. (Both study book and Bible in general.) So, I thought maybe a fresh new Bible might do the trick. Sometimes you just need something new, you know?

I may have forgotten to purchase colored pencils… whoops.

I dread sunshine and heat of any kind on any given day, but lately I’ve really just craved it. On the rare occasion it is sunny and hot, I’ve tried all I can to try to be out there.

Please have patience with me if my writing slows down. It might not, I hope it doesn’t, but man I just feel blaaaahhhh.

What do you do when the weather drags you down?

Posted in recovery

Did Somebody Say Cake? [Brittany’s Story]

[submission by reader Brittany in honor of NEDA Awareness Week!]
I’ve suffered with eating disorders all my life. I went from binge eating at a young age to starting to do cocaine in high school, skipping meals, and excessive working out to  lose weight.
After school I started doing crystal meth to lose weight, pills, cocaine, you name it, til I had LEGEND.  Everything stopped except me skipping meals sometimes or taking laxatives to lose weight.
When I’m genuinely happy, I’m heavier. My weight will fluctuate between me being a size 0 to a size 12. I still struggle sometimes with making myself eat. Currently I’m happy with life other than my weight…  I love food and enjoy eating. My struggle is being comfortable in clothes when I’m heavier and feeling confident in myself. I tend to be my worst critic when it comes to myself.
I would love to have a steady healthy weight  where I’m happy and don’t have to strive or take substances to attain that.
❤ Thank you so much for sharing your story, Brittany.
Posted in recovery

NEDA Week 2018: My story

Hi, y’all! Welcome.

It’s National Eating Disorders Awareness Week and in honor, I thought I’d dive a little more into my disorder for you. Surprisingly, it isn’t really something I’ve done on here. I’ve definitely talked about it, talked about going to recovery, but I haven’t really told you about where my mind goes and the behaviors that I have. So with that, I want to warn everyone reading this that there will be eating disorder behaviors described and it is okay if that is something that is hard for you to read.

Through a lot of therapy and recovery, it’s been established that I’ve had an eating disorder since I was about 5 or 6 years old. I have a very distinct memory of hiding food and eating it in shame. Which then turned into something I would do very often. It also turned into eating multiple servings of food/snacks without remembering I did it. I would be so confused as to why I was feeling sick to my stomach, or in pain. I had to really think hard, or look at evidence to see what I had done. At a very young age I began to mentally check out during my disordered behaviors. It’s like Tabitha wasn’t even there during it.

When I got my own job and car, that’s when the problem really escalated. I would start going through drive thrus on my way home from school and order whatever I wanted. Then I’d go to work at a fast food place, where I was a cook, eat the entire work day, and then come home and lie and say that I was starving and didn’t get a chance to eat… which is when I would then eat 2 servings of whatever dinner was. Followed by whatever candy/treats I had stashed in my room. The only thing “saving” me, was that I danced several hours a day at the time. When I finally quit dancing at age 16, I gained 100 pounds in 10 months. [This is where my suicidal story kicks in as well, but this post isn’t about that.]

[side note – this is actually really hard for me to write down. I hate talking about all the things that I do with my disorder. Please forgive me if this post isn’t beautifully written, but I really want to just get it out.]

This same behavior carried on well into adulthood and I had become so good at hiding it, that when I got married my husband had no idea the things I would do until I told him six years into our marriage.

Two years ago, I had gastric bypass surgery. I had become 400 pounds and I was afraid it was never going to stop. I don’t regret it. However, that surgery just amplified my disorder. I was able to “stop” my disorder for the first year. My obsessive thoughts were always there, but I was able to not act on them. But then my mom died and all hell broke loose. My ability to mentally check out of not only my disordered behaviors, but check out of life, had become really bad. I was forgetting days at a time. I started binging on a tiny stomach. It was painful. So, so painful. My disorder turned this into punishment. While I would binge, I would cry. I would tell myself I was worthless and call myself terrible, terrible names. I would say hateful things like, “Wow, Tabitha. You have failed again. You’ve really screwed this up. You can’t do anything right. You’re letting everyone down. I HATE YOU.  [I still struggle with saying that one to myself daily] That wasn’t once a day either…. it was several… several times a day. And then I had started weighing myself… up to 20 times a day. 

The surgery would make me throw up if I didn’t eat my food correctly. I would be in pain and I would have to throw up because the food wouldn’t go down. I began to take pleasure in this. I’d throw up and think, Oh sweet. I can eat again because now it’s like I didn’t eat. I never forced myself to throw up, but I started to find joy in it and started to daydream about doing it.

I also gained 70 pounds.

That’s when I broke down and took the help my therapist kept begging me to get.

Are things better? Sure. I don’t binge as much, but I’m not perfect. Do I still tell myself horrible things? Sure. Absolutely. Daily. Is it as much, or as harsh? No, I’m working on that. That’s 25 years of mental abuse on myself that I have to undo.

Is there hope? YES.

YES THERE IS HOPE. You have hope. You can do this.

Get help. There is no shame in getting help. None at all. For once, think about yourself and your worth in a good way. You are worthy of the help you deserve. Don’t listen to the voice inside your head that tells you that you’ve gone too far. You are stronger than you believe you are. I promise.


How about you? Have you found the light at the end of the tunnel? Do you see your hope on the horizon? Are you wanting to share your story? I am wanting to share all the stories I can on Friday right here on this blog! If you have a story of surviving a disorder, or even a story of currently struggling and just want to write a post saying, “Hey… I’m here. And you aren’t alone.” That’s absolutely welcome here! Please send an email with your story (and include a link to your blog/social media for me to share if you’d like!) to!


Thanks for listening!


Posted in Uncategorized

Year in Review [ONE Messy Year!]


Can you believe this blog is officially a year old today?! Exciting, I know. Where are my presents? Do you get presents for this sort of thing? No?


Well, fine. Let’s see what productive…or not so productive things we’ve done this year, shall we? [Here are some of my favorite posts from this first year!]

I officially posted my first post on February 21, 2017!

I talked to you about my infertility.

I decided to go back on depression medication after being off for 6 years.

I shared the hard parts that mentally come after gastric bypass surgery.

I shared screenshots showing you how I am a mess of a mother, and that’s totally okay.

We tried to take dye out of our kiddo’s diet.

I shared about being insecure in friendships…. more than once.

I opened up about letting go of my dreams of pregnancy.

I talked about being a suicide survivor and getting a semi-colon tattoo!

Talked about what home feels like.

I opened up about having an eating disorder.

I tried to understand grief.

I talked about our foster/adoption journey.

I talked about struggling to crawl out of bitterness.

Being vulnerable.

Wow, going through the past year of posts was quite the trip for me. There are a ton more posts than the ones I linked, but these were definitely my favorites. Ones that I cried through writing, ones that I got messages back telling me “thank you” privately. Ones that made me feel like this blog was actually doing something for someone out in my little corner of the world.

I hope the next year goes further. I hope my words can reach more people and maybe help more people feel that they aren’t alone. ❤

Thank you for being around for year one! Here’s to year two!

like/share/comment/send me anniversary gifts.

Posted in messy mama

Our Kid Is Finally Free.

I’ve gone back and forth about writing this particular blog for a while now because I know that it can open the door for a lot of people to have opinions that I don’t agree with. But I know that on the other side of it, there might be a parent out there that needs to hear that it’s okay to do what we’ve done and that you aren’t alone. ❤ So here it goes:

I put my 4 (now 5) year old on ADHD medicine and I love every damn second of it.

There, I said it. Only a few people in his life know about it, but I can literally feel the collective sigh of relief when he walks into a room medicated now. Not a sigh in a bad way, but a sigh in a way that says to me, “Oh, finally we can actually enjoy your child fully.” It is a relief for all of us, again, in a very good way. Mostly, it’s a relief for him. Despite the fact that I was spending our first three years together in tears every single night from sheer exhaustion and frustration, he was suffering more than any of us knew.

Let me start at the beginning. Most of my readers know, but if you don’t, Kiddo was placed with us at a year old as a foster baby. We adopted him before his second birthday! Around age 2 I could feel in my bones that something just wasn’t right with him, that he was struggling to understand. Not understand big things… understand the littlest things. I knew there was something not right in his brain. Simple concepts or directions for his age, he just wasn’t understanding.

We put him in a mother’s day out program at 18 months two days a week, upped it to three days a week when he was 3, and then upped it to 5 days a week at age 4/5 (this year). During those school times, he was struggling with behavior a lot. I would dread picking him up at the end of the day because I was becoming so afraid to hear what he had done. I was afraid we were about to get kicked out of the program because he was being so “bad”. He had zero impulse control. Nothing he was doing was evil, he just had nothing telling him to stop. No amount of timeouts, taking toys away, any other punishment…nothing was triggering any kind of alert to him the next time. Nothing saying, if I do this… Again, I could feel something was wrong. I took him a number of times to the pediatrician, seeing 2 different ones, that just assured me that he was “just being a boy”. To which I would leave upset because I knew it was more than that. And not only was it not “just being a boy”, he at age 5 and having been in a school setting for a few years… still couldn’t tell me what an A was. (not that I feel a child needs to know their letters as a baby, but uhhh… I feel like given his circumstances, he should have been able to recognize one.) When I’d show him any letter I’d get a blank stare and confusion. Something was not right.

Finally, after much fuss, we were able to get him in to see a behavioral psychologist…where before her testing was even finished she had a look on her face of confirmation that I was right. Something was not right. This wasn’t a little boy just being a little boy, this was a little boy whose brain wasn’t working the way it should for him. He needed help. And no amount of me taking dye out of his diet was going to fix this. (trust me, we tried it.)

You know when you don’t have something anymore and you realize how much you were taking it for granted? Well, that’s how I felt when Kiddo started being able to do all kinds of stuff within the week of being medicated. I was suddenly noticing all the things that we as “normal” people can do that we take for granted every day. Like, how he started singing along to songs on the radio. I never noticed he couldn’t do that before. He simply could not retain the song when he heard it. But within a few days, I was driving him home from school with a song playing on the radio like it always does and suddenly I hear a small voice from the back singing, “Lightening before the thunder, thunder, thunder…” and I started crying. Just little quiet tears running down my face. Or a few more days later when he hopped in the car after school and unprompted just told me all the letters in his name with this proud look on his face. It flashed a memory in my head of a year before that of him crying in my lap because he didn’t understand why the other kids in his class knew how to spell their names and he didn’t. Or how, like tonight, he can finally play with his trains that he adores without quitting 2 minutes in because he “just can’t do it!” and sobbing into the couch simply because he couldn’t pay attention long enough to find the piece that was literally right in front of him.


A fear tactic that people use is this – “You’ll medicate your kid and then they won’t be themselves anymore! You’ll have a zombie!” To that I say, first off – thank goodness he isn’t himself anymore, he’s free now. And also, what terrible doctor is medicating your child? He’s not a zombie at all. He’s still wild and funny and obnoxious. He still tells long winded stories that make my right eye twitch with irritation… but now I see confidence radiating through him. He’s finally free. It’s like you can finally see that he gets to be in the world everyone else has been in this whole time and the excitement radiates off of him.

I struggled with medicating him because of all the negativity about it in the world. And I also viewed it how I view myself, he’s broken. I’m broken and I need medication and now my baby is broken. And then I realized…. just like me, he can’t help that he needs medication. He can’t help how his brain is. It just… is. So, why do we keep shaming people for that? For any kind of medication? Do you think I walk around saying, MAN I LOVE BEING BIPOLAR! GIMME ALL THESE DIFFERENT PILLS! I LOVE IT! No. Stop. Stop making parents feel like a failure if their kids, no matter how much they change their diet, or how much I HAVE NEVER GIVEN MY KID A SODA IN HIS LIFE, still need medication for a condition they can’t help.

Hey, how about we all just be kind people? How does that sound?

Also, I’d love that if you didn’t have a kid with ADHD, you’d stop sharing articles shaming ADHD. mmkay? Thanks.

I’m out!


feel free to like/share/comment/be kind ❤

Posted in messy mama

World’s Worst Mom.

Tonight was really rough.

Just…really rough.

When I was younger, I was certain that I was going to have a thousand kids. I was going to be the World’s Best Mom and I was going to have this SUV where I drove them all to sports practices and they would all tumble out of my car in a pile of laughter and baseball cleats… and we would all live happily ever after. blah blah blah, right?

So fast forward to tonight. Well, first let me tell you that my child spent ages 2-4 begging me to play baseball. We literally counted down the days to when he would be old enough to play t-ball and I excitedly stalked the website waiting for registration to open last year. Man, was that a nightmare. Have you ever had a 4 year old boy play t-ball? No? Well, let me tell you that 4 year old boys tackle each other for no reason, they chase butterflies, they twirl in circles in the outfield, they throw bats, they cry when another kid gets the ball… oh it was HORRIBLE for an anxiety-ridden control freak mother. I smuggled wine in to the games. No, I’m not kidding.


The second the season ended though, he begged for the new one to start. So, we have spent the past year talking about how if Mommy and Daddy are going to dish out $150 for a season of t-ball, then he isn’t going to chase a freakin’ butterfly and if I see him football tackle anyone in the middle of the game, I will come out there and football tackle him and I have a good 250 pounds on him.

So, tonight was the night we had to go turn in his paperwork. He was doing so well in the line, standing so still and patient and he was so chatty and excited. The high school baseball team was there and he was watching in awe. One of the boys walked by and gave him a high five and it was just going really well! When we were leaving, I saw that they had this cool program at the high school for Pre-k-5th graders where they get to go out on the field at home games with the baseball players and blah blah blah, all this cool stuff and I knew he’d love it because he always gets so jealous when he sees kids on the field during games. So, I signed him up! While I was filling out the paperwork, the sweet mamas at the table were trying to talk to him. They were asking him if he wanted to grow up and be a baseball player and various other stuff and he was being so rude. He started shouting NO! and hiding behind me. Then one of the high school baseball players came up to him and wanted to give him a baseball and he refused to take it and ran away and I was so embarrassed. This was not good for my high anxiety. I apologized profusely, took the ball and thanked the sweet kid, and got out of there with my ungrateful brat of a child and quickly power-walked with him to the car. And that’s where my spiral downward really took off…

I want to start by saying that I’m not at all proud of what I said and did in these moments. But I feel like no one speaks out loud about these moments because it’s not pretty and frankly, I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only mom that has these not pretty times. And if everyone reads this and is like, “Wow…Tabitha is a terrible mother, I’d NEVER behave like that.” Well, then fine. I’m alone and a terrible mom. I mean, I already admitted to sneaking wine into a t-ball game. So, great. 

So, when we got in the car I started shouting at him. I started telling him how rude he was and how ungrateful and hateful he is. How Daddy works so hard to pay for him to be able to do all these awesome things and he just sits around and treats us like crap. How those women were asking him questions and he was being the worst child ever by ignoring them and being hateful. I started crying and screaming more. I told him how much I didn’t want to be around him. I was having an anxiety attack.

Then I took a breath and called my husband, who calmed me down a bit. I took a deep breath and I thought, okay, Tabitha…you’re the jerk. Let’s maybe forgive him for behaving that way. He’s a kid, he’s five. He’s tired, it’s an hour before bedtime, he hasn’t had dinner, and he didn’t know those people. Let. It. Go.  So, I got us dinner in a drive-thru and on our drive home I tried to change my attitude and my voice and I explained to him in a cheerful way all the cool things that this cool group did. How he was going to get to go to all the baseball games at the school down the street (which he always begs to go to).

Me: Isn’t that going to be so much fun??!!!!
J:  NO! I DON’T WANT TO! [crosses arms over chest, kicks feet]
Me: You know what? FINE. JUST FINE. YOU WON’T BE DOING ANYTHING ANYMORE. YOU CAN JUST GO HOME AND GO TO BED. FORGET IT. YOU CAN JUST NEVER DO ANYTHING FUN AGAIN. FORGET IT. [I’m screaming and crying and it was a LOT of me telling him how he’s ungrateful and hateful and how I’m never taking him to anything ever again. And now he’s crying and I’m getting mad at him for crying…]

We get home and I throw his food on the kitchen table and tell him to eat. I grab my food and go sit away from him in my bedroom because I’m afraid of anymore damage that will come out of my mouth. I need to be away. I’m crying and shaking. I call my husband… who says something that made me just… feel like dirt.

“It was probably his anxiety.” 

… wow. How could I forget? What kind of selfish jerk am I? My child has extreme anxiety. It’s hard when you have two people with high anxiety together all the time. Especially when their anxiety manifests differently. Mine is triggered by things I obviously can’t control, like *shocker* other people’s behavior, embarrassment…. [other things, but these are the ones right here in front of us today.] Kiddo’s is triggered by social situations with adults. Not kids, adults. Or new places he’s never been to, new activities that he’s never done. Once he’s done them, been there, met the people, he’s 100% fine. It’s that initial situation. But the first time, he shuts down. I always forget that because I’m so social. My anxiety becomes so high in social situations that all I can focus on is how *I* am handling the social moment, not how he is. And when he isn’t handling it the way that *my* anxiety wants him to, I explode.

So, what have we learned here? My poor baby was having a little anxiety attack and I was making him feel like trash. I am not at all proud. I feel HORRIBLE. I feel like the World’s Worst Mother. Go ahead and give me my trophy, because I deserve it.

I composed myself, and I went with my head hanging low into his bedroom and crawled into his bed with him and cried. I admitted how horribly wrong I was, how I said hateful, horrible things and he did nothing wrong. That it is okay to be afraid of strangers, he was right to be cautious. I asked him for forgiveness and I told him it was okay if he was mad at me. We had a really long talk and he was so loving and forgiving and I could see and feel the relief come over him as we talked about the whole thing again. Now that he wasn’t in the middle of a panic attack, he was able to see the situation and be excited.

We only learned about Kiddo’s anxiety about 4-5 months ago and I am having a really hard time looking past my own to see his in times like these. I pray he doesn’t remember these moments, that he can truly forgive me and move on. I know that I’m not really the World’s Worst Mom. I know that I can’t be alone in this. I also know that I did something that some parents don’t do, I admitted I was wrong. I asked for forgiveness. Instead of being prideful and just standing my ground even when I’m wrong, I admitted I made a HUGE mistake. And in that moment I saw God in my baby boy. Because only God could create a loving and forgiving heart like his.

Please tell me I’m not alone here. And if you are having a rough time with your kiddo, I pray this hard time passes, that you allow yourself to forgive and be forgiven as well. ❤




Posted in Ramblings, recovery

You’re so vain, you probably think this post is about you.

Well, it kind of is….

GAH, I can’t believe I didn’t post last week! So sorry! Well, not really because I’ve been so busy and haven’t had a minute to myself. So, really, how about you just get off my back? GREAT. (Warren…Warren…Where does all this hostility come from? – name that movie.)

Hey so, apparently January ends next week and I feel like I’ve done nothing wildly productive besides keeping my head above water. And I guess that’s all that matters, so I’ll take it. Last week we (me) talked about being vulnerable. Did you do it? Didn’t think so. That’s fine, I have another challenge for you and this one is way more fun: SELF CARE.

I’ve pretty much said I’m done with new years resolutions because I don’t need to give myself more ammunition to feel like a failure. So, I’m just trying to find little things I can work on that I know I can master. And frankly, forcing myself to take 10 minutes or more all to myself a day at this point in my life? Sign me up. I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it too. And don’t misunderstand what self care requires – it does not require you to go out and spend money you do not have. I have spent money, but not always. Most of the time I just use what I got.

So, here are my favorite ways to give myself some attention every day. (Yes, do it every day.)

1. Go to the gym. Not to obsess over weight or my body, but to feel good about myself. I don’t always “go hard”. Sometimes I just walk on the treadmill at a slow pace and listen to music and just enjoy the air conditioning and a moment without a child screaming at my face.

2. Pamper. That’s right, I said it. Pamper. But that doesn’t mean go out and drop money on an expensive massage, because I do NOT have money for that. So, I’ll make sure to take the extra time to put on makeup, use a face mask, or paint my nails. It makes me feel good sometimes. ❤

3. Read. Well, this one is obviously my favorite and doesn’t really need explaining. But really it’s just nice to put the rest of the world away and jump into a new one sometimes.

4. Music. Not just any music, but fun music. If I’m cleaning, I’ll turn on 90s jams or some oldies like the Beatles and the Monkees. I end up dancing around and singing while I clean. And that, my friend, is what Oprah calls “multitasking”.

So, obviously there are a million ways to self care, these are just some of my favorites. Let me know some new things for me to try! I’d really love some ideas!

I challenge you to do some self care this week! And when you do it, take a pic and tag me in it so I can see with the hashtag #ididittabithagetoffmyback yeah, seriously. Do it.



Posted in Ramblings, recovery

Vulnerability Challenge.

What is vulnerability to you?

Is it sharing any kind of personal information? Is it crying in front of someone?

I’ve never had a problem sharing personal information. In fact, it was something that drove my mom nuts. When I went to a mental hospital at 17, she didn’t want anyone to know. She called a handful of people and basically threatened lives telling people not to let it get out. And then she was horrified when I was like …I’m… not going to pretend this didn’t happen… Maybe that’s what made me that way? I was broken down to my lowest point and I just looked around and saw so many people around me struggling too and thought… wait… we are all here, yet we all feel alone. Why? Why are we living in a world that makes us feel alone?

When we found out we were infertile, I was open. When we started fostering and it was hard, I was open. Those things aren’t vulnerability to me. In fact, I have a really hard time understanding why people don’t talk about that stuff more. Why that isn’t just… normal conversation? Life is hard, we all struggle, why don’t we just talk about it? Right? Am I the only one that feels that way? I hope not.

Does that mean that I don’t have moments of vulnerability? Of course not. I guess mine just looks different. Mine is admitting defeat at something I had full power over, like going back on my medication. Or like having the gastric bypass surgery. Lately I’ve challenged myself to push through something else that makes me feel extremely vulnerable… that’s texting a friend when my self esteem is at a 0% and just flat out saying how I feel. When I sent the following text, I cringed so hard at myself. I hated that I sent it because I haaaaaaaaaated that I was so needy. But I sent it anyway because I needed what I knew she’d say more than I needed my pride. Because I was crying and I was telling myself lies about myself and I simply can’t stand living this way anymore. I can’t let my inner jerk win anymore because it exhausts me. [excuse my typo, gahhhh leave me alone]


Here’s what my mind does: it’ll pop up randomly in the middle of a perfectly fine day and say, “Hey, no one has texted you today… probably because your stupid jokes have gotten old. Do you think people get tired of you? I bet they get real tired of feeling like they have to hang out with you so much… probably feel like they have to because they know you have mental health issues. They’re afraid if they tell you no you’ll have some kind of episode.” There’s much more… but I’ll just leave it at that. And man, that is an exhausting person to live with in your mind. I pray none of you have to live with that. If you do though, you aren’t alone.

So, here’s my question for you – do you have someone besides a significant other that you can be vulnerable with? Is there a friend that you can send a text like this to? I know it might seem like something you couldn’t do, because trust me, a year ago… heck, even a few months ago, I would have never done this… but you can. You can and you should. And you need it to be someone whose response you know in your heart isn’t something they’re “just saying”. I know that she means what she said. How? Because she’s sent needy texts to me too. My challenge is for you to find someone. Find someone and send a text that says, “Hey. I’m going to need you to build me up on my really crappy days sometimes, okay? It might be 4pm on a Thursday and you’re just going to have to roll with it, okay? Because I struggle, and frankly I need someone and I want that someone to be you.” And if that person is like, “Ew, get off me.” Then kick that jerk to the curb. You just did yourself a real favor.

Okay, this is starting to get weirdly hostile.



Posted in Ramblings, recovery

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em…

If the pictures I’m going to post of me trying to put Christmas decorations away aren’t the perfect representation of me trying to get my life together, I don’t know what is. 

So, today is the last day of 2017, eh? And everyone is going to post statuses, blogs, and videos all about their year and it’s all going to be super deep and profound? Great, me too. Let’s go.

What did 2017 bring me? Let’s see… a 70 pound weight gain, an acknowledgement of an eating disorder, a complete mental breakdown in regards to parenting…several times, eating disorder treatment, an acknowledgement of a bipolar diagnosis, finding out who real friends are, leaving a friend group I thought I was safe in, and some other stuff we don’t need to touch on…. this could get long. It was a very, very rough year. I did many things I wasn’t proud of.

Insert first decor pic:


This is our main tree. It used to be my mother’s tree and it is my pride and joy. Man, it is so gorgeous. But when it came time to take this sucker down… it just would NOT GO BACK IN THE DAMN BOX. I called it a lot of names. As my sister Laura would say, I used a lot of “not Christmas words”, and I cried. Then I walked away.

This is my representation of my weight gain this year. 2016 was my skinniest year of my life. I had lost 180 pounds. Yep, you read that right. 180. But then my mom died, people lovingly brought us food every day for months… and desserts. And I slowly started eating the desserts. And the disorder I denied my whole life took over. I began sneaking and lying and bargaining… I gained 70 pounds back in a matter of a few months. It was very painful. Gaining weight with gastric bypass is not a comfortable thing to do, I’ll tell you that. Stretching that stomach back out HURTS. I let it become a sick and twisted punishment to myself. It was/is a horrible time for me. It’s still a battle today. But you know what? I sought help this year. I went to recovery for this…. a recovery I probably should still be attending, to be honest. And just like I asked for help with that… a few days later, I asked my husband to help me get this stupid tree back into the box. *stupid may not have been the word I used. 

We have a tree that is strictly for “kid ornaments”. You know, those messy ornaments your kids make at school and bring home to you and they’re like, “LOOK MOM! I MADE THIS FOR YOU!” And the glitter falls in your lap, and it’s lopsided, and already falling apart and they’re so proud of themselves and you feel guilted into putting it on your tree? Yeah, I don’t. Not guilted one bit. #momoftheyear2017 I have a solution for that, a kid tree. He can add whatever makes his heart happy to this tree and I just do not even a little bit care. It’s in the guest bedroom because that window looks out to the front yard and so it adds a sparkly tree to the front. This tree was $20 at Walmart years ago, our first Christmas as a couple, and it USED to be a simple situation to take down. BUT APPARENTLY this year it turned against me. It decided that it would take it upon itself to just spring apart at random while I was taking the lights off and just fall to the floor like a dramatic 16 year old who just had her cell taken away. Mmkay. Great.

This is my representation of my parenting. I think everything is going great, we have days where we play at the park and we snuggle on the couch, and I think I’ve finally figured this thing out. And then I get a call from a school telling me he bit someone at 4 years old… or he pulled hair… or he did something else bat crap crazy. Or I have to leave a birthday party early because he decided it’d be a great idea to sneak away from the party and dump all the soap out all over the bathroom floor and play around in it when no one was looking. Again… at 4 years old. I spend a lot of days crying, a lot more yelling at him asking him why he can’t just “stop making these ridiculously bad choices? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE NORMAL?” And then I beat myself up for being such a hateful mom.

And then 2017 brought us an ADHD and high anxiety diagnosis. It brought us help and it brought us hope and it brought me understanding. He can’t help that he is how he is, it’s how he’s made. It’s how his brain works. He’s just being… him. Just like I have a brain that makes me act a certain way, say and do certain things, stress about unimportant things… his makes him impulsively decide to do things and worry and a thousand other things I never gave him grace for. 2017 brought me an extra breath before I respond. Not always, but mostly. We’re getting there.


This final tree… this tree was our first “big kid tree purchase”. We were ready to graduate from our $20 Walmart tree and buy an adult tree. We went to Hobby Lobby the day after Christmas one year and got this $400 sucker for $80! We put it in our room this year because my mom’s tree is our main tree now, and it was pretty much the best decision ever and can I please just have a twinkly tree in my bedroom always? Well, this tree was the last to get taken down. I had already cried over the big one not fitting in the freakin’ box and I came into my bedroom to throw a fit and I’m not even a LITTLE BIT LYING when I tell you that I accidentally brushed this jerk and he JUST FELL OVER. I literally just… stood…there. Is this even real life? After what was probably 2 minutes, but felt like 30, I actually just started laughing a little. Like, how is this even real?

This tree just represents the rest of it all, everything I spend my life trying to control and take over. Everything I think I have a handle on and God’s like… can you just … stop? Like just stop. You don’t have this. I have it, but you don’t. So… just stop trying to do it. Walk away.

So I did. I walked away. This tree, and the others, sat this way for two days. And for once in my anxiety-ridden life, I didn’t stress about it. I just let it be that way until Charles came home to help me. Which, as I am typing this, is just proof that I can’t do life alone as much as I try to… and that’s okay.

2017 was one of the worst… I share a lot, but I don’t share it all. It was horrible. But at the same time, I grew so much. I had another lesson in true friends – this time in a good way, I walked away from some bad ones, I finally let myself get emotionally close to a few friends – which is something I very rarely do, I started this blog, I started some hobbies, I got to become a full-time nanny to one of my goddaughters, I got to take an actual vacation for the first time ever – Orlando! Harry Potter!, I got to take my kiddo on his first trip on a plane… I’m sure there’s much more good….

My goal in 2018 isn’t to really make a resolution, as much as it is to just… know when to hold ’em, know when fold ’em, know when to walk away… (that’s right, totally just referenced some Kenny Rogers.) I’m not going to try to control my 2018, I’m going to just let this one ride for once. I’m going to live, I’m going to love, and for once… I’m going to try to just breathe.

I hope you do the same. ❤

Happy New Year!

Posted in messy month, Ramblings

I decorate with body parts for Christmas, apparently.

My child has been singing Jingle Bells since May. I, too, am shocked that I’m not over the idea of Christmas. I was thinking I could take you through a tour of my house because it’s my favorite thing ever at Christmas!

First off, I saw my first real snow last week:


We have a whole Charlie Brown situation going on outside. Over there on the left, you see our drunken Snoopy. We call him that because no matter what we do… he REFUSES to stand up. Why don’t we just take him down? Well, because then I wouldn’t say I have a drunk Snoopy, duh.

So, our decorations are a lot of my mom’s. My favorite being her tree:
Look how gorgeous it is with the lights off too:

*sigh* I just love it so much. I’ve also started really loving little Christmas gnomes and they are scattered among the stuffs. And as my hubs works on a train… there’s far more trains involved than there would be if he didn’t. Just saying. haha

Oh, also! This year we have a tree in *almost* every room for the first time. Yes… that means there’s a plunger tree decorated in toilet paper in my son’s bathroom. Hmm? What’s that? You’re jealous? Thought so.

I love getting Christmas cards and I always have a hard time taking my display of them down at the end of the month.


So, my dear mother loved Christmas decor. In fact, she had a LOT more than what I took. The rest of it is either in boxes or on display at my brother and sister’s apartment. It stresses me out just thinking about how much more stuff there is. I might need a break. Un momento.

mmkay. I’m back.

She loved Santa… heads. SANTA HEADS. These are the ones I could find immediately without having to make an effort. I know for a fact there are more.

We always gave her a really hard time for that. I found it creepy that they didn’t have bodies. And then… and then I found myself almost buying a Santa head yesterday and my husband shot me a look that I interpreted as, “If you don’t put that down, I will divorce you.”

So, maybe next year?

Anyway, that’s a glimpse into my Christmas decor! There’s more tiny detials around, but let’s be real… I’m too lazy to capture it all. ❤ And let me know – do you have any body parts as Christmas decor?


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