Wela

 October 18, 2019 is day I will never forget.   On that morning, one of my worst fears was realized when I found my grandmother on floor of her bedroom after she had a stroke.  I have no idea how long she had been on the ground, as I hadn’t heard anything from my bedroom upstairs.  This doesn’t surprise me when just a few days before a big tree fell mere inches from my front door and I didn’t hear a thing.  

When my grandmother, my Wela, came to live with Elio and I, I was a bit nervous.  She is one feisty little lady and had some type of conflict everywhere she lived.  I wasn’t sure how having her in our home would impact our lives.  Needless to say, it was a huge impact.  All of a sudden, I had to answer to someone who needed constant attention.  It was also obvious that she was becoming more forgetful.  The more she forgot, the more aggressive she became.  We constantly fought and I always felt I wasn’t doing enough.  She was never happy with anything I did.  I could never win, no matter how hard I tried.  

We had her tested and she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia.  It was official, she was diagnosed with a condition that would only get worse. There would be no magic pill or treatment to cure her.  Once again, I was at a loss as to how this was going to impact our relationship.  Thankfully, it was progressing slowly and I assumed we had time.  You know what they say when you assume.   Not only did the stroke affect her ability to speak clearly but it also seemed to progress the dementia.  

When she was discharged from the hospital, she was sent for a short term stay at a nursing home.  Everyday she would complain about being there and just wanted to come home.  I knew she would be in the home for at least two weeks because she needed PT and ST.  We would have weekly care meetings and the nurse and therapeutic staff would discuss how she was progressing.  After each meeting, it came back to the same thing, she would need 24 hour care in order to be discharged.  24 hour care?!?!  How would I be able to provide that for her?  I didnt ever hear when she fell.  How could I ensure that she was safely taken care of?  

We applied to various agencies for assistance but it didnt seem that we would be approved for in care home assistance.  Without financial assistance, we wouldn’t be able to hire someone for her.  Even with all this, I figured I had to suck it up and figure out a way to bring her home.  What kind of grand daughter would I be not to??   This lady had done so much for so many and here I was giving up on her.  Was I scared?  YES!  I was terrified but I figured I’d find a way.  

My opinion changed when I went to see my primary doctor and she asked me about how I was doing.  I explained Wela’s situation to her and how I was trying to figure out to bring her home.  Empathetically, she questioned if that was the right call.   She explained that to bring her home would be to give up my life for my Wela.  I wouldn’t be able to do basic things such as run errands because Wela couldn’t be left alone.  I thought, well I could always ask someone to stay with her.  But then I had to really think about it. Before the stroke, I always felt like if I had a child that couldn’t be left alone for too long.  Now she would need even more care.  Would I be able to mentally and physically handle that toll? 

After careful consideration,  I realized that I couldn’t.  The best place for her would be long term care at the home.  I discussed it at length with Brenda, my sister, and she was there when I informed Abuela.  She seemed resigned to the news and eventually, she was moved to the long term unit.  Having her in the home long term was no easy task.  For one, she doesn’t speak English and the little she understood was destroyed by the stroke.  She also refuses to eat the food at the home.  For the last two years, her daughter has prepared her meals for the week and brings them up to her every week.  Initially, I tried to compensate for my decision by visiting her every night.  Yes, every night, after a long day at work, I would go spend 1 -2 hours with her.  This was exhausting but I felt I had to.  

Eventually, I started cutting back my visits from daily to 3 - 4 times a week.  When the world first shut down due to COVID, I am slightly ashamed to say I was relieved.  I could take a break from that task and it wasn’t my fault or doing.  However, after a few days, I was overcomes with guilt.  Talking to Wela on the phone was painful, as she would tell me she missed me and our nightly routine.  There was nothing I could really do to comfort her.  I tried calling her often but as the dementia creeped in, phone calls were increasingly harder to get through.  I was racked with guilt by this point.  I made the painful decision to leave her there and now she was completely isolated from everyone.  

If my own guilt wasn’t enough, she also blamed me.  She has decided that I told the doctor she was “crazy” in order to get rid of her because I didnt want her in my home.  At times she would also promise that she wouldn’t fight so much with me, as if that would change my mind and I would bring her home.  The first day we were finally able to see her, after almost 3 long months, the first words out of her mouth was that she dying to leave the home.  This broke my heart because no matter what I said, I couldn’t get her to see that she was in the home because of her medical needs and not as a punishment.  People often tell me how I’m such a good grand daughter or she is lucky to have me.  While I smile and thank them, I cant say that I agree.  I don’t feel like I deserve any praise or kudos.  After all, aren’t I the one who put her in there?  

It has been almost 2 years that she has been in that home.  Her daughter has continued to cook for her weekly and I visit her at least once a week to take her out for the day.  Usually on Sunday mornings,  I pick her up and take her out of the home.  Sometimes we go shopping or drive her to the Bronx.  I know she enjoys getting out of the home and just being out and about.  She is slowly declining and struggles to speak a little more every day.  Because of this, we don’t talk a lot when we’re together but I’ve come to really enjoy that time.  I put Pandora on a “tropical radio” station and hope that she enjoys it as well.   

Spending these days with her makes me look back at the months she lived with me with a little regret,  Why couldn’t we get a long like this?  Why did I lose my patience so easily?  Why didn’t I realize that her condition was affecting her more than I originally thought and try to be more patient?  Logically, I know that she is in the best place due to all of her medical needs.  Emotionally, I still struggle with the guilt.   Mainly, I struggle because I know that she still thinks that I just dont want her in my home and there is no way for me to convince her other wise. Hopefully, somewhere deep down she knows how much I love her and how I would bring her home if it were possible.  

What is possible, is for me to take her out every week.   We spend the day together and when I drop off, just before I leave, I take a selfie with her.  Brenda recently joked that they’re all starting to look the same but for me, its a way to remember our time.   They also serve as reminder that while I’ve made mistakes, I am doing the best I can. 

As always, thank you for reading and take care!!  

3 Goals

 Anyone who has been following my blog for the last 12 years, knows that I have attempted losing weight multiple times.  I have had varying degrees of success over this time but none have been long lasting.  Before the pandemic hit, I had started slowly improving my quality of life.  I increased my activity level and making smarter choices when I ate.  I had slowly lost over 20 lbs and felt good about myself.  Then COVID came and threw a HUGE wrench into my progress, 

Like many others, the pandemic increased my anxiety and I used food as a comfort mechanism.  When you can’t really go out as much and socialize, eating good food is the next best thing.  Not to mention that I love baking and was launching my small cookie business.  As work got busier, I leaned heavier on take out.  It all conspired to get me off my game.  

At the start of this year, I realized I had put on 25 lbs over the pandemic.  I panicked and decided that enough was enough.  I needed to do something.   I was debating between joining Noom and WW.  As I reviewed my options with a friend, she reminded me of my past success with Weight Watchers.  Without even over-thinking it, I joined WW.  The first day was a STRUGGLE!!  I hadn’t prepared for a change in my diet and only had crap food.  But instead of using that as an excuse to postpone starting the plan, I worked around it.  It was time. I needed to get serious. 

WW has changed significantly over the years and their new app and program were a huge help to me!! They have a social media aspect to the app, so I was able to discuss my fears and concerns with other members who were in a similar situation as myself.  The app also had a ton of recipes for me to try and I found some really good ones.  I didn’t feel deprived and enjoyed trying different foods. 

When I initially restarted WW, I didn’t really share the news with a ton of people.  I felt like, here we go again and I would be met with guarded optimism or cynicism.  However, anyone who was aware of my new journey was nothing but encouraging and positive. It was more about me and the shame/guilt associated with the roller coaster of weight loss.  This reluctance to share with my friends, led me to share with the WW community.   This community was comprised of people who knew what I was experiencing because they had either gone through it themselves or they were still on the journey.  It was a comfort to me. 

One of the things that I saw as I scrolled through the app’s social media were goals.  Lists of things my fellow members were hoping to accomplish by following the plan.  At my starting weight, I couldn’t think about my ultimate end goal,  I still can’t.  It is overwhelming when you have a significant amount of weight to lose.  I chose to come up with 3 short term goals: weigh under 300 lbs, lose 50 lbs and finally fit on the Harry Potter ride when I went to Orlando.  I knew I could definitely meet my first goal but wasn’t sure about the other 2.  Here we are 5 months later and I have met all 3 goals!!  

Before leaving on vacation, I knew I had met the first 2 goals because I was faithfully following the plan and weighed myself weekly.  I wasn’t sure about the last one.  I knew the odds were good when I boarded the airplane and didn’t need a seatbelt extender.  I even took a picture to show much room I had left on the seat belt! I was still unsure about the rides at Universal but decided to go through with the trip.  When I tell you the joy I felt when I was able to ride the first few rides.  I couldn’t believe it but I was still not sure about the main one, the Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey.   

When the HP world first opened at Universal, I was heartbroken to learn that I was too heavy and unable to fit the ride.  I lost 50 lbs and STILL was too heavy too fit.  Over the next few years my weight yo-yoed and I stopped trying.  However, this time, I thought I could do it.  When I got to the “seat tester” at the entrance of the ride, I sat down and held my breath.  As I lowered the bar, I looked up at the attendant to see if it was a go.  With a big smile, the attendant told me that it was a GO!!  I could finally ride it!!   I was actually able to ride all of the rides in both Harry Potter worlds.  

It may seem like something small but the fact that I actually set goals and accomplished them was huge for me.  I choked up on the ride because I couldn’t believe it.  I had actually done it!!  While my journey is still ongoing and I have set a couple of new goals, I am basking in this moment.  I can’t wait for the next big one!!

As always, thank you for reading and take care!! ❤

Where is your mother?

 "¿A donde esta tu mai?" "Where is your mother?"  My grandmother casually asks me as we wait in the waiting room.  As she looks at me inquisitively, it takes me a minute to realize she's just asked me where my mother is.  "My mother?!?"  At this moment, I am instantly forced to realize that she is slowly fading away.  Yes, she is still lucid the majority of the time but dementia is rearing its ugly head.  Begrudgingly, I have to remind her that no one has seen my mother in over 30 years.  Looking in her eyes, I can see the confusion.  Even now, I don't know if she fully understands what I've told her. 

Unexpectedly, I am filled with sadness and feel heartbroken.  My mother's disappearance has always been an open sore for the family.  While we've processed her disappearance differently, her absence is felt by all of us.  Today is her birthday.  I don't know whether to say she would have been 60 or to say she is turning 60.  But on this day, 60 years ago, she was brought into this world.  Although 60 is most definitely not old, it's also not young.   She is past middle age and almost classified as a senior.  The last time I saw my mother, she wasn't even 30 years.  I am now older than she was when she was last seen.  Its unreal that 30 years have passed since she's been gone.  

However, it is not her void that fills me with sadness and breaks my heart.  In that moment, it dawns on me that I don't know how much longer my grandmother's essence will remain with her.  How long before she doesn't recognize who any of us are?   "God, please let me see my daughter again" was a constant prayer for my grandmother.  I remember her crying on New Year's Eve because she wanted to know what happened to her child.  All these years, she's still asking for that child but this time, it's as if its been days since she's seen her daughter, not years.  I guess in her confusion, time has no meaning.

For me, time means everything.  Before the pandemic, I remember thinking the dementia was stealing the time I had with her.  However, the pandemic came and robbed me of 13 months of hugging and kissing her.  Due to the side effects of the stroke and the dementia, speaking to her on the phone is difficult.  Visits where we had to sit across from one another without any physical touch felt cold and empty.  I'm grateful we can finally embrace and frequently find myself reaching out to touch her, even if for just a moment.  I want to show her how much I love her and how much she means to me.  

I don't know where my mother is.  And it feels like too soon, I won't know where my grandmother's mind has roamed.  The fact that she "forgot" that she has ached for her daughter for all of these years, reminds me that eventually, she will "forget" all of us.  Until then, I will enjoy the time we have left.  

As always, thanks for reading and take care.  

Challenges

I've often posted about how challenging certain parts of my life have been. Often times just the word is enough to elicit a groan from me. However, last year, I decided to take part in a challenge I saw on Facebook and I am so glad I did.

I was on Facebook and saw a 30 day challenge: No cookies, candy, ice cream, chips, white bread, soda, fast food, juice, potatoes or fried foods. Initially, I looked at the list and thought, no way. A whole 30 days without any of those things, I can't do that. In the past, I would have attempted for a day or two and then given in to my cravings but this time was different. I decided I was going to challenge myself. I would not indulge in any of the good foods prohibited.

At first, I struggled with what I could eat. The hardest to give up was not the junk food, it was the potatoes and white bread. I remember going to a BBQ and having to eat a burger with just lettuce because the only bread available was a regular hamburger bun. Or the time my grandmother made some of her delicious potato salad but I couldn't have any because I couldn't eat potatoes. Man...this was hard. But I persevered and made it the full 30 days. I was so proud of myself. I had set a goal and while it was a small one, I had accomplished it. This small success inspired me to keep going.

2019 was all about making small changes to improve my overall health and well being. In March, I started meeting with a trainer at work, once a week to get me to start moving. I plan on doing a post about that in the near future, so I wont go into to many details now. Ultimately, it made me a lot more active, which I am very proud of. I began walking on a daily basis and doing strength training. When the fall came, I couldn't enjoy my walks because it was too dark and I joined the gym. Not only did I join, but I actually go to the gym on a regular basis. Unfortunately, I was still making not so good choices with my food intake. I noticed toward the end of the year that I had grown too dependent on junk food and needed to make a change. Having successfully completed the 30 day challenge in August motivated me to start a new challenge in January. I then decided to do a different challenge every month in 2020.

2020 began with no junk food January. As I am doing 1 challenge a month, I thought it was fun to give the challenge a name that began with the first letter of the month. As I was successful in avoiding junk food in January, it led me right to no fast food/fried food February. Today is the last day of February and I am proud to say that with the exception of 2 fried eggs (I forgot they were fried because I ordered over easy) last week, I have stayed away from fried foods and fast foods this month.

This month, I also decided to do another challenge at the gym; the Sweat Heart Challenge. This was a list of exercises, including a whole workout for the month, created by the fitness staff. When I looked the list, my first thought was, you guessed it, nope. I probably wont be able to do it. But I immediately followed that thought with, I can't do it, if I don't at least tried. With the help of Barb, my amazing trainer, I was completed all 20 exercises on the list, including the workout for the month. Even though Barb modified the activities that I am physically incapable of completing, she still made it challenging enough. I committed to finishing the list and I cannot begin to explain how good it felt when I finished the last thing today. I couldn't believe that I had actually did it all.

These challenges are not about weight loss for me. Obviously, I want to lose weight but the challenges are about make small changes that lead to bigger changes. It is about focusing on one or two things instead of becoming overwhelmed and giving up on everything. I can commit to these one or two things and as I succeed, it motivates me to continue.

March starts tomorrow, well technically in less than 30 minutes, and this month's challenge is going to be one of my toughest: no meat. No meat for the entire month. No red meat, chicken or pork. I am so nervous about it because it is going to be drastically different to plan meals around something other than meat. I hope that by eliminating meat, it will force me to incorporate more veggies in my meals and also introduce seafood into my diet. I know it won't be easy but it will be worth it. Wish me luck!!

As always, thank you for reading and take care!!

Losing time

It's been almost 6 months since I've last blogged. And it feels like a lifetime ago because so much has happened since then.

I may have mentioned in a previous blog that my grandmother came to live with us last year after she had fallen and broken a hip. We are blessed enough to have an empty room and full bath on the first level of our home, which meant there was no need for her to climb any stairs. It was quite the adjustment to have her move in. I had to get used to being questioned about my comings and goings and the constant criticism. We had many an argument because nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough. She hated being in CT and longed for her beloved, Bronx. She never wanted to be alone, so in order for me to go out at nights or for a weekend away, I had to arrange for someone to come stay with her. It was as if we had adopted a 70 something year old child. Needless to say, it wasn't always easy but we made it work.

Before she moved in with us, I called her every morning to see how she was doing. In our daily conversations, I realized that she was forgetting things more frequently, which was a concern for me. After she moved in, her lapse in memory was much more noticeable. I took her to be tested and it was confirmed that she was in the beginning stages of dementia. When I asked the doctor to differentiate between dementia and Alzheimer's, the doctor explained that Alzheimer's is the most common form of dementia but there were other types of dementia. My grandmother had vascular dementia and Alzheimer's.

This diagnosis was devastating to me, as I realized that some of the behavior that annoyed the heck out of me, were not always in her control. I also recognized that she would only decline as time went on. When she first moved in, my biggest fear was that I would come down stairs one morning or home from work and she would be hurt or worse. Once she was diagnosed, the fear only increased. What if she was cooking and forgot to turn the oven off? What if she fell and no one was home to help her? I had been struggling with the state to get her approved for home care but had no luck.

One Friday morning, as I made my way downstairs, I noticed she wasn't in her usual spot on the couch. I assumed she was in the bathroom and continued walking to the kitchen. As I passed the hallway, I looked to my left and saw her feet sticking out of the doorway of her room. This was one of my worst nightmares come true. I ran to her to assist her and questioned her to see how and why she was on the floor. I was unable to make out any words she spoke to me. I knew I had to take her to the doctor. I thought I would be able to dress her and drive her but realized that I needed help. I called 911 and when the paramedics got there, I heard them mention a possible stroke, after I explained the symptoms. She was rushed to the hospital.

Once the stretcher left my house, I immediately broke down in tears. I composed myself long enough to call her daughter and my sister. I made my way to the hospital to await news. My sister met me at the hospital and we were told she would be admitted but the tests had not confirmed a stroke. She was disoriented and still unintelligible. She kept insisting on getting up to go cook some Mondongo for my uncle. Brenda and I made jokes to bring some levity to the situation. We called her a flight risk because she kept trying to escape the bed. After a couple of days, they did an MRI, and it was finally confirmed that she had in fact, suffered a stroke. What would this mean for her? Will she be able to come home? Will she recover?

She was moved to short term rehab after about a week in the hospital. She progressed quickly during her first few days. She was able to speak a little more clearly and was her usual feisty self. I assumed with time, she would continue to progress and we would be able to get her the help she needs at home. However, it soon became clear that the stroke had impacted the dementia and she was declining at a faster rate than before. She was also fast approaching her maximum medical improvement. We were told that she would need 24 hour care when she was discharged. 24 hour care?? How would she get that care in my home? Both my husband and I work. I explained to the home that I would not be able to bring her home without having care in place. Ultimately, she was moved to long term care and its where she remains today.

Deciding to keep her there is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Part of me feels like I let her down and gave up on her. Another part of me recognizes that I cannot provide the care she needs and she is in a safe place. Reconciling these two parts is not easy. I visit almost every day and am mentally and emotionally exhausted. She hasn't accepted that she has dementia and thinks I diagnosed her with the condition in order to get rid of her. Her aggression and anger has increased and it breaks my heart. There is no reasoning with her because that part of her mind is not there. She can go from yelling at me to talking to me like normal in the span of a couple of minutes. My natural instinct is to yell back or fight back but I have to restrain myself.

Everyday it seems like I see more examples of the dementia creeping in and stealing more from us. Her memory is slowly slipping away and I just want to rage and fight against it. But who do I fight? There is no one or nothing that can stop the inevitability of what's going to happen. I try to enjoy the time I have left with her but sometimes it doesn't seem like long enough. How much longer before she doesn't recognize me anymore?

Tonight was another hard one for me and I decided to blog about it. Truthfully, I still feel raw and emotional but this was a small outlet. As always, thanks for reading and take care. 

Happy Birthday to me!!

Today is my last night in my 30s. Tomorrow I turn the big 4-0!! WOOHOO!! These last 40 years have had its ups and downs and I feel so grateful to have at least made it this far. In honor of how far I've come, I've decided to give myself a present. But before I get to my present, let me go back a little.

This year has been trying and satisfying.  It has been one where I have had to face some hard truths and one where I have been enlightened.  I've had to let go of some things and accept that I cannot control all outcomes.  With as many obstacles as I've encountered, it would seem that I should have learned long ago that I have no control.  However, it is just the opposite, because of everything that has happened, I have the desire to control even more.  My control issues are not limited to outside situations;  they extend to the people in my life.   I expect my loved ones to behave according to my ethics and the box I put them in.  When they go outside of the box, I struggle with crushing disappointment.  The disappointment makes me want to put distance between myself that person.  When I realized this was how I reacted, I had to ask myself why.  Why is what someone else doing affecting me so much?  Why can't I accept that people are going to make mistakes and should be given the room to grow from them?

In thinking about it, I spoke with my sister.  She is someone who I can count on telling me things straight.  She asked me something that I had never thought of.  Am I like this with myself?  And the answer is, yes, I am.  I expect to live by a certain code and when I don't, I am severely disappointed in myself.  There are two memories that come to mind; both have to do with my sister and both occurred over 20 years ago.  These memories filled me with shame.  I learned last year the difference between guilt and shame: guilt is to feel bad, shame is that I am bad.  These memories make me feel ashamed of my actions.  When I mentioned both memories to my sister, she had no idea what I was talking about.  Here I was feeling deep shame over something she didn't even remember.  She told me I needed to forgive myself and stop striving to be perfect.  I didn't realize that's what I was doing, striving for perfection.

As I continued to think about this, I spoke with my therapist.  I recounted the conversation between my sister and myself.  She connected my trying to control everything and be perfect to the trauma I experienced as a child.  It was as if a light bulb went off, a real a-ha moment.  I have never stopped blaming myself for what happened to me when I was 7.  I not only feel guilty but shame.  This despicable thing that happened to me was proof that I was a bad person.  I felt bad about it because it meant that I was bad.  My mother had discussed rape with us and I knew not to speak with strangers.  That 7 year old inside of me carried all that blame inside.  To try and counteract all of the damage I felt I had caused, I tried to make sure that I was never bad again.  When I was thoughtless or careless, as children can be, it was further proof that I was a bad person.

When I first started my therapeutic journey 10 years ago, my therapist had me write a little to the little girl who was raped. She wanted me to picture myself as a child and tell that child that it wasn't her fault and let her out.  I couldn't do that exercise.  Logically,  I knew I wasn't too blame but I still felt it.  It was my fault was all I could think.  The little girl inside of me would peek out sometimes but she would always retreat.  However, this year, I finally gained a little more perspective.  I still couldn't quite picture myself as a 7 year old but I personally knew a 7 year old.  I thought how small this child was and how innocent.  There is no way someone that young could be responsible or at fault for someone's sick action.

My gift to myself this year is actually a gift to the little girl inside of me. My gift is to let go. My gift to her, to myself is to accept that what happened in April 1987 was not my fault. It was not my fault that someone saw the innocence in me and exploited it for his own sick desires. It was not my fault that my mother became a casualty of the crack epidemic. That 7 year old was being true to who she was and showing kindness. She (I) made a mistake of trusting the wrong person but it does not make me a bad person. My gift this year includes the realization that I not only love myself but I like myself. I was a good person at 7 and I am still a good person with a good heart.

This year, I realize that no matter how old I am, I never feel "that" age. I always feel like me. This year feels monumental. Not because I am turning 40 but because I feel like I am happy with me. I am embracing who I am. I am looking forward to celebrating this moment!! Spending time with some of the most important people in my life and living it up!! So many in my situation never get here and I don't take it for granted. I feel blessed to be where I am in life and can't wait to see what else life has in store for me. Happy Birthday to me!!

As always, thanks for reading and take care!! :-)

Love Thyself

Its funny, although mentally, I write a million entries, I rarely transcribe them.  I always think I have time to do it at a later time but I never get around to it.  As forthcoming as I am, there's a certain vulnerability with exposing my thoughts to an unseen audience.  Will my thoughts come across clearly?  Will I be judged for what I think or how I write?  Will someone take offense to what I've written and to what extent should I care about how other's feel? All of these thoughts linger in mind whenever I decide to actually write.  Ultimately, I've decided that I am only responsible for what I think and can't control how its perceived.  I am always open to discussing any subject further with anyone so inclined but I can't let the fear of the unknown stop me. 

With the exception of the tribute to my aunt Rosa in May, it had been about 8 or so months since I last wrote.  I've had a lot of changes in my life in that time.  I attended the Haven retreat mid October and when I returned, I was placed on antidepressants.  This was not my first bout with antidepressants.  About 8 years ago, I was placed on a different one and it really didn't do anything for me, so I stopped them.  This time was different.  I immediately felt like they were helping.  I no longer had the irrational mood swings that I suffered from and my mood was regulated.  It was like being set free.  While my mood swings certainly affected those around me, it affected me the most.  It was frustrating and exhausting to be on a constant roller coaster of emotions.  Whenever I lashed out irrationally, I'd beat myself up.  It definitely wasn't fun for me.  Thankfully, my emotions are regulated now.  This has allowed me to clearly evaluate my thoughts and feelings, which enables me to make changes where I see fit. 

The retreat was also instrumental in my changing my thoughts.  As I expressed in previous posts, the retreat was amazing.  The biggest thing I took away from it, was to be kind to myself.  A simple concept but one that can be hard to practice.  Previously, anytime I made a mistake or didn't do what I "should," I would mentally berate and belittle myself.  On one hand, I knew I was a smart person but was constantly calling myself stupid for small things.  It was on a loop in my head.  The retreat has helped slowed down and in some cases, stop the loop.  The retreat's focus was on positive affirmations and I have adopted the same practice.  If I make a mistake, I can now say it was a mistake not that I am a mistake.  What a difference this has made for me. 

The combination of the retreat and the medication has been amazing for me.  I have realized over the last few months that I like myself.  I like who I am and am proud of how far I've come in life.  There are plenty of things in my life that I am working on changing but I like who I am right now.  In society, we are often not encouraged to think positively about ourselves in general but especially if you're not the right size or color or if you're in the wrong job or relationship.  Self love is a destination, something to be attained once you've reached the "right" goal.  But I disagree.  Self love is a journey.  You can love yourself and still work on making changes in areas that need help.  Why should I not love myself because I'm heavier than I want to be?  I can work on becoming healthy and still love myself.  I am working on becoming healthy because I love myself.  

In a little over 2 months, I am turning 40 and I am looking forward to it.  There are so many people who mourn this milestone birthday but I am celebrating mine with a party to myself.  I've overcome so much in my life and with each passing year, I continue to grow and learn.  I may not have everything I want in life but life is good.  I am surrounded by people who fill my life with joy and love.  Isn't that what life is about?

As always, thanks for reading and take care.