Accepting the Compliment

I hate compliments.

I love being the center of attention (shocking to those that know me, I know!), but I hate being complimented. A compliment typically points out something physical, and when your self-esteem is low, you don't want anything physical pointed out. Every compliment draws attention to a spot I don't want attention drawn to.

"Wow Erin, you look great! Swimming is really paying off!"

*internal voice* "Seriously?!?! I'm bloated and fat and my arms are still huge and I haven't lost a single pound"

The problem is, I look in the mirror every day, multiple times a day. I rarely see a change in my physical appearance. I spend my days beating myself up for not miraculously dropping 100lbs overnight.

I don't see what you see.

"Woo Hoo! You finished a 5k! That's awesome!"

*internal voice* "Big whoop. I walked half of it. People that walked the entire race finished before me."

It's not that I don't believe you, but it's hard for me to believe that you and I can both look at the same thing and see such different images. Even the compliments from my husband don't feel real. I keep thinking that he has to be nice to me, he's married to me.

So, how do I fix this? This is something that I have struggled with my whole life. How, at 32, do I change?

I start by being more positive.

"Wow Erin, you look great! Swimming is really paying off!"

*internal voice* "Swimming is paying off. I feel better than I have in a long time. Who cares if the scale isn't a perfect reflection of how I feel?!?!"

"Woo Hoo! You finished a 5k! That's awesome!"

*internal voice* "Hell yeah I finished that 5k. And it sucked. Who cares that I finished near the end? I'm still way ahead of all those people who never started."

Managing Expectations (aka Living with Disappointment)

I ran my first 5k post foot surgery yesterday. I had a goal of finishing it within 40 minutes (which seemed like more than enough based on my training). I finished in just under 45 minutes. Needless to say, I was disappointed.

I have a terrible struggle with setting goals as when I don't meet them, I feel like every reason I may have for not getting there is just a silly excuse. I know that I beat myself up more than I need to, but I am always my worst critic.

This weekend was a rough one, to be fair. Saturday, the dog food company I work for, Fromm Family Foods, held it's first annual Pet Fest. It was a roaring success and I was on my feet from 8:30am-7pm. I put in just over 15,000 steps, many more than I normally would the day before a race.

Race day started out pretty well, but as it has been almost three years since I ran a race, I wasn't really sure how to eat. Normally, I get up and run on just my Spark energy drink. Then I come home and eat breakfast. Since I was getting up more than 2 hours before my race, I knew that I needed to eat something. So I had a Spark and a banana. I wanted something simple that wouldn't upset my stomach.

That was a terrible idea. My stomach started grumbling in the car ride down.

My sister had warned my that there would be a few hills. The first hill was in the first half mile of the course. And it kicked my butt. I moved my goal from running the first two miles without stopping, just to making it a mile without stopping. As soon as I hit the first mile, I had to stop and stretch. The calf on my bad foot was already tightening and my quad on my other leg was starting to be uncomfortable.

After stretching out, I would make it about a half mile before having to walk again. I repeated this process for the rest of the race.

The second hill in the course? Yeah, I walked that.

But as soon as I saw the finish line and knew that I had already completely 3 miles, I kicked it into high gear. If there is one thing that I can do pretty well, it's sprint. My kick was impressive and I felt great as I finished the race.

Would I have liked to finish it faster? Yes. But I did finish it. That is what matters.

I am going to keep my goal of finishing a 5k in under 40 minutes. But I will continue to be ok with just finishing. This is how I am going to approach all of my workout goals. I have to remember that I had just had foot surgery 5 months ago. I have made HUGE progress since then. Everything else is just a bonus :)

My Invisible Disease

There has been a lot of talk about depression lately. A lot of people are struggling to understand how a star as bright as Robin Williams could take his own life. I have heard friends talk about how they don't understand why he or anyone else with depression doesn't just get help. I don't have all of the answers, and my journey is unique to me, but I thought I would share what it is like, for me, living with depression.

I have always been a very emotional person. I take the loss of life whether is be a pet or person very hard. I remember my grandparents friend, Muriel, passing away when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old. When I made it to the front of the church, I was sobbing, and Muriel's husband, Nick, consoled me.

When I was 12, my aunt was murdered. 8 months later, my grandfather passed away. I had no idea how to deal with the onslaught of emotions that came with these two events.

I was diagnosed with Major Depression when I was 13.

I cannot say that it was because of the events in my life that I have depression, but I feel strongly that they were a factor. I may have become depressed even without the tragedy, but I don't know that for sure.

I started seeing a psychiatrist. I was put on Effexor to help treat my depression. There were other medications after that, but they all made me feel sort of fuzzy. Life seemed better, but it never really felt like my life. After about three years, I decided not to take medication anymore.

For the next five years or so, I would go back and forth taking medication, or not taking medication. Wanting to get treated and find help, and not wanting to talk about my issues with anyone.

I developed panic attacks. I would lay in my bed as my heart raced, but looking around, the world seemed to move in slow motion. I felt as though my heart would jump out of my skin and I wouldn't be able to stop it.

By the time my panic attacks were at their worst, I did not have the income to support going back on medication much less seeing a therapist once a week. I taught myself how to control my panic attacks and how to handle my depression. This is not the best way to go about it, but I felt that it was my only option.

For my panic attacks, I would find a quiet, dark corner and keep my head between my legs until my heart rate slowed down.

For my depression, I would simply lock myself in my room. As far away from people as I could. I slept, a lot. None of this solved my problems, but it allowed my to at least live with them. I never felt like I could ask for help. People just think that when you have depression, you are just really, really sad. If you would just smile or go out with friends, you would feel better. Let me make one thing very, very clear: They are wrong. There is no amount of upbeat music and kittens and rainbows that will pull me from the depths of my depression. When I am in that place, I can be comforted, but I cannot be "cured".

Fast forward to today; I still do the same things. There are days and times that I get sad for no apparent reason. I just want to lay and bed and be left alone. The difference is, now I have a husband who wants to make me better. He at least wants to know how to help when I get to that place. And the truth is, I don't know if he can.

I found this image on Pinterest, which led me to this lovely blog. This person summed up my feelings perfectly.

It's not that I don't want help, it's that most of the time, I feel like no one can understand me. I spend my life showing this outwardly happy woman that I feel like it would be hard for people to understand the darkness I live with. 

I also do not want to be put back on medications. The side effects of depression medication can be just as bad as the disease itself. I am lucky enough to have wonderful people in my life that help me out of my dark places and I am able to live with my disease. But there may be a day that I can't, and I will need those people to help me see that as well. 

The main theme of this post is simple: Do not judge what you do not understand. What I have gone through may be similar to what others with depression have experienced, and it may be nothing like it. People with depression all struggle with a journey that may be hard to understand to an outsider. So please, please, support those that need your support. Love those that need your love. And if you can, build a nest for those that need a nest and hold their hand until they need more than that. 

Ugh. Whose legs are those?

Up until about two years ago, I didn't wear shorts unless I had to. And 90% of my dresses were long. I hated hate my legs. I joke that I have giant man legs and no ankles.

I finally reached a point where I realized that shorts were an evil necessity. So, I now own a pair.

Literally. I have one pair of shorts.

I have more short dresses now, because summer in Wisconsin can be a "touch" warm and I got a big case of the fuck-its and decided that comfort mattered more than how I looked.

Since Fall is fast approaching here in Milwaukee, I decided this morning would be a good dress day. (Who knows how many we have left!)

I grabbed my favorite orange dress and added accessories that I really like. I looked in the mirror and loved how the top half of me looked. And then I look at my legs.

"Ugh. Whose legs are those? They can't be mine. Those legs are ugly and I hate them."

As I drove to work (still in my dress) I thought a lot about "those legs".

"Those legs" helped me run 1.25 miles this morning.

"Those legs" let me swim every week and keep moving me faster and faster as I get better.

"Those legs" got me down the isle to marry my husband.

They may not be pretty, they may not be model worthy, but they are pretty amazing. They help me accomplish amazing goals. They help me walk my dogs, or enjoy a beautiful day. They let me play bocce ball when we go camping or to stand and groom dogs. They do an awful lot for me, maybe it's time I stopped being so hard on them.

So here I am with my amazing legs. It doesn't matter what they look like, or if they don't fit into the mold I think they should. They have helped me to do marvelous things. I wonder what we will do together tomorrow?