Rebuilding My Temple #6- Hot Yoga: I Love How Much I HATE it.


Last night I did Hot Vinyasa Yoga for the third time. The amount of sweat I produce is ridiculous. By the end I’m Alex Owens-from-Flashdance-soaked…Only it’s not sexy, like, at all.
At one point during “reverse warrior” sweat dripped into my ear, and I spent the rest of the posture banging my head against my shoulder to liberate my drowning ear drum. I’m sure that was just so Zen looking, but whatevs.
Even though I’m supposed to be concentrating on “my practice” I find myself gazing in upside-down wonderment at the more practiced Yogis who can contort themselves into all sorts of craziness and actually accomplish the “inversions.”  Yeah, this sh*t happens.

Half of the time I feel like I’m dying. But it made me feel better when one older dude who was clearly a regular hollered at the instructor “You crazy girl! You crazy, crazy, girl!” So at least I’m not the only one.

Supposedly it gets easier each time you do it. For a lot of people the heat is the hard part and I’m all, “Hello? You live in Texas.”  I know I shouldn’t be so judgey. The heat is super intense. I think it’s 105 degrees in there. 

If you ever decide to try it, make sure you drink a ton of water throughout the day before hand. Half your body weight in ounces is the recommendation. I drink 4-5 Bubbas. My Bubba is 34 oz. That’s like, over a gallon, y’all. I love it because my water stays cold even in class. I got mine at Walmart for like, $12.
So the heat I can handle, whether it’s due to my already-boiling Texan blood or because I am a magnificent hydrator. It’s the postures that kill me, because they require balance, and I’m already a clumsy person as it is. Thankfully I’m naturally bendy.

Also you get very…er…familiar with your neighbors, so if you value your personal space, well sorry you don’t get any. One poor woman sat on my hands yesterday.

At least I was luckier than the teenage boy who was unfortunate enough to be right behind the particular Yogi who let one rip the other day. Yes, it’s not uncommon for things to get gassy in a yoga class. I’d heard of this but never witnessed it for myself until that epic moment. It was hilarious…and sorta shnasty.
So I know you’re probably wondering why the hell you would ever try Hot Yoga now, but the truth is I actually love it. As much as it sucks during, I feel glorious after, and a little like a badass. Also I need this shirt.

I think...I just saw a pig fly by.


As predictable as my husband can be after nearly five years, he still has moments when he surprises me. One of those moments occurred this morning.
LT. Hubs works overnights, so he usually walks in the door as I’m fixing to leave. I was running a bit behind this morning, so we had a few minutes to chat before I headed out the door.

“How was your night?” I asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.
LT. Hubs flopped into bed, and let Winnie-the-Pooch continue to maul him with puppy kisses. “It was good. Hey, I saw one of your Pins and I think I could actually make it a project.”

I paused in the middle of my brushing, spit less than gracefully into the sink, and turned to stare at LT. Hubs, who had proceeded to fiddle on his phone.
“What board would I find all those projects you pinned?” He asked, as if this conversation was nothing out of the ordinary.

I downed the rest of my coffee (which was not nearly as tasty when combined with Colgate) and smiled bemusedly. “It should be under ‘for the home.’ That’s where I keep the projects that we could actually do.”
I wandered into the kitchen to pack my lunch as he continued to list all the pins he liked on my board: fire pit, kitchen cabinets, in ground hot tub. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh because it was funny, or out of glee. I chose not to laugh at all, because my husband is taking an interest in something he usually teases me about, and as you lady-readers know, this is not something to be taken lightly.

It was time for me to leave, and as LT. Hubs continued to go on about how easy the fire pit project would be, I felt my heart smiling.
I’ve never been one for grand gestures. I’ve always felt most loved when I feel listened to and appreciated, and this was one of those times. The funny thing is he probably doesn’t even know how happy these silly moments make me, how little it takes for him to make me feel special.

I don’t need him to sky-write “I love you” or profess it on a Stadium Big screen. I prefer a soldier who will take an interest in my Pinterest.

Adventures in Crock-Pottery: Am I Domestic Yet?


I have never been much of a cook, or really even taken much of an interest in it. In fact it wasn’t until recently that I could handle raw chicken without setting off my gag reflex—which I consider a huge feat and am very proud of myself.
I warned LT. Hubs before the wedding that he was in for a rude awakening, since my mother in law is like Paula Dean—not in a racist way, but in an amazing cook kind of way.  And I was right to warn him, because for the first couple of months of our marriage, my go-to meals were hamburger helper, frozen pot pies, and taco salads. We joke that those are my “specialties.”

I’m not sure how I got over my chicken-phobia. But slowly and surely I did and started trying my hand at very basic recipes. It turns out I don’t suck but it’s still not one of my favorite things to do. It’s a lot of work for something that usually turns out mediocre at best, in my case, anyway. But at least everything is edible (so far), and practice makes perfect I guess.

LT. Hubs is being a pretty good sport about it, anyway. Then again, he’ll eat pretty much anything except olives. Also he has yet to make any meal for us other than grilled brauts or breakfast burritos, which are delicious, but he is still in no position to complain about my lack of skills. Which he hasn’t, luckily for him.

So this morning as I was going through my morning routine at work I suddenly remembered that I have raw chicken that needs to be cooked/frozen by today. Sacre Bleu!!

I supposed I could just stick in the freezer but I just hate thawing meat. I have no patience for it. But how was I going to get home, cook dinner and get out the door in time to make it to my 7:15 yoga class? I can’t screw up my shiny new schedule so early in its execution. Then brilliance struck:

My Crock-Pot. My salvation.
I have only used the crock pot one other time in the year we’ve been married. I think they compensate for making cooking easy by being a pain in the ass to clean afterword. But I had a nearly-expired chicken on my hands, and this seemed to be the best option.
So I ran home on my lunch break, hastily Googled “easy crockpot recipes” and settled on “Fake Chicken Cordon Blue.” The title itself speaks to my culinary finesse, but what can I say? It had me at “only 3 ingredients!” And I was all, “Bam.”

It took pretty much my whole thirty minute break to prepare (there was some chicken rolling and toothpicks involved) but I must admit it was nice to just dump it all in a pot, push a button, and be on my way.

6 hours later I came home from work and the apartment smelled amazing. We couldn’t wait to try it, so we did. It was actually pretty good! LT. Hubs gave the okay for the “make again” list. But we both agreed it was a little on the heavy side to eat pre-work out.
Anyways, here is the link to the recipe if you ever end up with some old chicken and need an easy out:

So you’ll never see me on Top Chef, that’s for damn sure. I’d still rather be using our oven for storage a la’ Carrie Bradshaw. Alas, I’ll continue to Google easy recipes so LT. Hubs won’t be doomed to a life of microwaved hot dogs and Raman noodles.

Rebuilding My Temple #5: My Super Healthy (HOT) Roll Model


Ah, Monday. After a relatively uneventful weekend, I can at least say I conquered the Mount Everest of laundry that had taken over half our bedroom. I can also say that one of my new favorite shows is HGTV’s Love it or List It. We wrapped it up with wine and cigars with my family. It’s so great to finally have Major Dad home.

As much as Mondays tend to suck, I woke up this morning with a sort of rare resolve, ready to take on the week. And I have Jennifer Aniston to thank for it.

I can hear you going, “Wait…what?” I’ll explain.

In the middle of my laundry-marathon, I alternated between HGTV and other shows. Of course Friends can be found at any given time of day on one channel or another, and at one point I paused my channel-changing just to admire America’s Sweetheart. Sigh.

Jennifer Aniston. She is most certainly my “girl crush”, one of those rare women who can achieve adorable and sexy at the same time. There is just a natural, happy, sparkle about her. Her style is so simple, but elegant. Although she is a super star, there is something that comes across as really genuine to me. She’s just so classy. Ok, I'll stop talking like an article from Teen Bop now.

But let’s get down to brass tacks—when you think of Jen, what comes to mind? First, Friends-duh. Next, her rockin’ bod.
That does not look the body of someone over 40. Am I right? I mean, damn.

So what does she do exactly to get in such awesome shape? Such awesome shape, I must add, that she is going to be a stripper in her next movie roll? How the hell does she do it??

So I got on the ol’ Google to do a little sleuthing, and over and over again this word popped up: “Yogalosophy.”

Apparently it’s a combination of yoga and toning exercises, with some cardio. It’s also based on the philosophy-excuse me, Yogalosophy—that you need to “love your body to fitnessor something like that. There’s a book and everything, and Jen is a huge endorser.

So I thought to myself, there might be something to this Yogalosophy stuff, I mean, if it works for Jen. Is this the source of her happy aura, her perfectly toned physique that looks like it belongs to a 20-year-old?

While I’m not quite ready to drink the Kool-Aid, I can definitely get with the whole yoga/cardio strategy. I mentioned in a previous post how important it is for my Type-A personality to have a routine in order to stay motivated. Well, I’ve finally made one.

The gym offers Yoga of one sort or another pretty much every evening, and there are other classes too, like Zumba or Insanity. So I’ve decided I’m going to do cardio on Mon/Weds and Yoga on Tues/Thurs. LT. Hubs even said he would come with to Yoga—but there is no way I could get him to a Zumba class, which is what I plan on doing tonight. Pity.

I’m hoping that if I can keep this schedule up for a couple of weeks, I’ll start seeing some results, not on the scale, but in the mirror. That’s how it’s supposed to work…right?

Anyways, I think as we get older we forget it’s important to have role models, too. Even as adults there are individuals we admire that can give us something to aspire to. Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying Jen is like, the beacon of everything pure and good in the world. After all, nobody is perfect. What I AM saying is that by all accounts, she’s a gal who’s got it together and really does treat her body like a temple, which is my goal.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite quotes from Jen: Once you figure out who you are and what you love about yourself, I think it all kinda’ falls into place.”

Amen, Sister.

Update: Zumba was a blasty blast, but totally kicked my ass.


Much love to ya,

Rebuilding my Temple #4: The near-insurmountable challenge of overcoming the temptation to stay home and cry instead of going to the gym because I ran out of my Happy Pills and was having the WORST day ever for no explicable reason

Oh you grammar freaks, take a chill pill (HA, irony!) because I know that was a horrific example of a run-on sentence but today I don’t care.

Anyways- It’s nearing that time of the month (was that TMI? Oh well) and as some of you lady-readers can probably attest to, at least those of you who are unlucky enough to have raging PMS like me, there are some days where you feel particularly forlorn and inconsolable. Today was one of those days. And it was compounded by the fact that I ran out of the Z last week, and was too lazy to get to the pharmacy until this week, only to find out that I had waited too long, the Z went back on the shelf, and were irretrievable because the prescription expired. So I’m waiting for my Dr. to refill the prescription and it feels like it’s taking forever. I know it’s my own damn fault, and it was the worst timing ever to run out of meds. I submit to you, exhibit A:

Somewhere in the middle of the work-day, something went terribly awry. Even though it’s been a pretty slow week, the few tasks I had to do over the course of the day felt like way too much to handle. The simple requests people asked of me, which I’m usually happy to do, seemed like huge inconveniences. It was everything I could do to maintain the facade of a pleasant person. It irritated me when people smiled at me because that meant I had to smile back, and since I’m at the front desk that tends to happen a lot in a given day. What happened to cast me into this funk? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.


I had some relief because I had to leave early to go to a chiropractor appointment, so at 3:30 on the dot I slunk out of work and into the sunshine, which felt nice, but the reprieve was short lived because I promptly found myself stuck in the middle of the hell which is DFW traffic. Yes, everything is a huge cluster right now because the great state of Texas decided to put EVERY major highway under construction. Sons of B's.

Because I’m not familiar with the area I was going to, and all the signage is constantly changing, I found myself on the completely wrong highway in traffic going about 3 miles per hour. My appointment was starting and I had no clue where I was in proximity to where I needed to be. This is when the cry-headache started.
(Cry-Headache: noun: The burning pain in one’s temples that generally precedes the occurrence of uncontrollable sobbing.)

I did eventually get to the place, and they were able to “squeeze me in” and when I was finally introduced to my chiropractor, an attractive male specimen with a Southern drawl like Matthew Mcconaughey, I was on the brink of a mental breakdown. While the appointment was definitely informative, it wasn’t really in a good way, because chiropractors are a lot more thorough then you would expect, and I was mortified within 5 minutes of starting.

First of all, I had to be weighed, and since I’m trying to avoid scales at the moment, I considered this an unnecessary setback. Then I had to stand in front of a warped mirror (I swear it made me look wider) as he had me perform “range of motion” tests, bending and twisting into awkward positions, and the result is that I have crappy range of motion and weak gluts and a weak core, which was causing the other muscles to try and compensate by pulling my spine out of alignment…PEACHY.

While I was glad I was finally getting to the root of my back pain problem, the appointment called out exactly how out of shape I have become, and how it’s affecting my body. I flashed back to a Dr’s appointment past when the scale read “115” and the nurse exclaimed how “tiny” I was. By the time I was in the car on the way back home, I was in a formidable mood.

Blessedly, the traffic wasn’t terrible getting home. I moped into the apartment and immediately face-planted into our couch cushions, because it was the closest, softest surface for me to wallow. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to move.


LT. Hubs, who was also on the couch, paused his video game:

LT: “Hey Baby, how was your day?”                      
Me: “Mmph.”
LT: “It’s six o’clock. We need to leave to workout in 20 minutes. Go get changed.”
LT:  “C’mon, let’s go. We didn’t go yesterday.”
Me: “FINE!”

Oh, how I made excuses. I didn’t have any clean workout clothes. I would go for 2 hours tomorrow. I was tired. I had a headache, but to no avail. In exactly 20 minutes we were in the car, and every time LT. Hubs opened his mouth I wanted to smack him. And I tried to explain that he just needed to stop talking because the cry-headache was getting really bad and he was pissing me off even more. But he just asked what a cry headache was and smiled lovingly at me like he smiles at Winnie the Pooch when she’s being annoying and adorable at the same time—which is usually.

 We got there and I trudged upstairs to the elliptical, and everywhere there were mirrors. And I looked the same in them as I did at the one in the chiropractor’s office. And it dawned on me that maybe I was just in denial, and maybe I DID look that way. So I put some really angry music on my iPod and went for a few miles, praying that endorphins would start to kick in. But 40 minutes later, even after watching an exceptionally humorous episode of the Big Bang Theory, I felt just as pissy as before.

In the car-ride home, I told LT. Hubs that I still felt awful, and I needed my medicine, and very nearly started crying for real. And that’s when he pulled out the big guns and asked if I wanted to do takeout for dinner.

We ended up at Fuzzy’s and I got a grilled shrimp burrito, cause that seemed sort of healthy, and went back home and we ate and watched TV. After relishing my burrito and not having to talk for a bit, my spirits had lifted considerably. I showered and got in bed (which is in my opinion, one of the top 3 best feelings in the world) and finally the day was over.

I wish I could tell you there was a moral to this story but there’s not really a good one, except for PMS is the worst and sometimes you just have really crappy days. And I know it’s kind of sad that a burrito was the one thing out of the day that made me happy. I guess in the end, I’m just really glad I have a husband that pushed me to do what I need to do, even if it’s not what I want to do. It really sucked at the time, but I know I’ll be better for it later.

I love you, LT. Hubs.

Much love to ya,

Rebuilding my Temple #3- My Super Huge Investment in my Health

I am a serial gym membership killer. Well, not so much a killer as I will start one, be very into it for a couple of months, then abandon it to die a slow, painful death. This has happened oh, about once a year for the last 4 years. I have bled loads of cash in my random fit-kicks. It’s really a problem. Well…NO MORE.

Gyms usually seduce me with their offerings of fun classes- like Pilates, Zumba, yoga.  Well then I would start up and realize the gym schedule of classes was not really so accommodating to my life. Um, hello, how many of us can actually get to that Pilates class at 3pm on a Tuesday?  So I would settle for the elliptical a few times a week AFTER work, but inevitably I would get bored and, well, you know the rest.

My A-Type, border-line OCD personality being what it is, I need some sort of structure to motivate me. I need to know, okay, Yoga starts at 7:15pm EVERY Monday, Weds, Friday. I can plan my calendar accordingly to this schedule, and I’m more motivated to go. It’s ALL a mental game with me. Making a routine is essential when it comes to me being able to live a happy, functional life. When I don’t have a routine, it just goes to pieces. I’m very much a creature of habit.

It also helps when I have someone to hold me accountable, to go, “Linds, get your ass off the couch, your class starts in half an hour.” Even more helpful is when I have a gym buddy, which I’ve only ever had once and that was the last time I really can remember being in shape. My best friend and I would meet up for a Pilates a couple of times a week. That was a few years and about 15 pounds ago. Yikes. How times have changed.

So apparently I’m back on a kick. Don’t ask me how or why. Perhaps it’s the fact that LT. Hubs, who works overnights and weekends, still manages to go for a 6-mile run nearly every day, and is looking rather svelte. Perhaps it’s watching my best friend’s transformation. She’s recently started doing Camp Gladiator and has been getting her ass up at 4:30am a few times a week to work out-and that’s BEFORE she goes on to her full time job as a social worker THEN on to her internship working with recovering drug addicts. Between the two of them they make my go-to excuse of “I’m too tired” seem colossally lame-o when we compare lives.

So I know I need a fun class, a routine, and a work out buddy. I do have a languishing gym membership for a pretty big-name chain, which I haven’t used in a couple of months (there goes $90 down the drain). But like I said, the classes I wanted weren’t offered when I could go. I’ve been meaning to cancel it, and I have to now, because we just signed up for the world’s most expensive gym membership EVER.

What compelled a cheap-ass such as me to do such a thing? Well, LT. Hubs actually used to work there years ago, and he really hasn’t stopped talking about how awesome it is. So out of boredom I got online to see what the big deal is, and well, it really seemed too good to be true-because it has EVERYTHING. Like, really, you could live there. It’s open 24/7. The classes I want at times I can actually GO, a nice big lap pool, huge hot tubs, a sauna, a health cafĂ©, a spa, an included rock-climbing wall (cause I rock climb so much)…it goes on. They were offering a free seven-day pass if you scheduled an appointment to talk with a sales guy, so I thought, what the hell?

We met with our sales guy,who really didn’t look like the kind of dude who sells gym memberships (as in he didn’t look like a total d-bag), and he opened the conversation with, “Well, we’re definitely not the cheapest, but we are the best.” An honest sales guy? I like him already.

We walked all around this ginormous building, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that it actually DID have everything the website said, and it was super clean. We talked numbers (which made me throw up a little in my mouth) then decided to have a work-out and think about it. Since the classes I wanted to try were already under-way, I went for a few miles on the elliptical instead, while LT. Hubs, who had already had his 6 mile run, opted to go hang out in the hot tub and steam room. We re-convened at the outside pool, and talked pros and cons.

CONS: Expensive, about a 20 minute drive from home.
PROS: Everything else.

It really came down to one thing: How much are we willing to invest in a healthy lifestyle? What are we willing to commit to be fit?

I told LT. Hubs that in order for this to be worth it the cost, we’d need to go at least 4-5 times a week. He asked if I’d actually go (since my current track record sucks), and after a bit of thought I decided that my chances are better of actually going since he’ll be going with me. He’s my nuptial work-out buddy. He won’t let me talk myself out of going, no matter how “tired” I feel. And plus I simply can’t justify throwing so much money away every month. I mean, it’s in the triple digits, people. I feel snobby just admitting that…

So, here’s to my super-huge investment in my health. It sure ain’t cheap, but that’s the price I’m willing to pay for a perky ass and a sauna.

Much love to ya,

Rebuilding my Temple #2- The Cold Hard Truth: I will never be an Olsen Twin

As a child of the 90s, I grew up in the Full House era. Ah yes, the Tanner Family captured our hearts with their shenanigans and tender daddy-daughter, uncle-niece, sister-sister, (insert whatever other blended family dynamic you can imagine) moments. Naturally, I identified most strongly with Michelle Tanner, because we were the exact same age and I could relate to whatever elementary school crisis she was experiencing at the time. Thus began my border-line obsession with the Olsen Twins.

I just thought they were the coolest girls ever. I loved any movie they came out with- especially It Takes Two. I tried to mimic their fashion style circa nineties/early millennia. I once even wrote them a very heart-felt letter on my Lisa Frank stationary requesting to be their best friend, and was subsequently crushed when I never heard back.  But…but…why wouldn’t they want to be best friends with this???

My mother won’t let me live that particular childhood trauma down…but I digress. The Olsen Twins were gorgeous, and glamorous, and millionaires by the time they were teenagers (but at that point my allusion had been long shattered, due to the great letter diss of ’96). Then…somewhere in the 2000s, they disappeared…and re-emerged looking like this:

--still gorgeous, still glamorous, and probably bazillionaires now...but…so thin, almost too thin. Of course there were the allegations of eating disorders and drugs, and some might have been true. But I like to think that aside from all of that, they are just naturally slender. Don’t worry Mary Kate and Ashley; I still have your backs despite your cruel rejection. So where am I going with this?

I was never a delicate child. In fact until I was 13 or so you could call me slightly fluffy. It wasn’t until one fateful summer, when I developed a huge crush on one of Bestie’s neighbors, that I was motivated to ride my bike the mile or so in the 100+ degree Texas heat, just to catch a glimpse of him. And suddenly by the end of the summer, as if by magic, the pudge was gone. It was the first time I’d ever been in shape, however unintentional it may have been. But even so, I still wasn’t a stick. That’s just not how God made me. Even at my most fit, I still have curves.  I’ve always had to work to keep the extra weight off (once I learned how to do it). From there it was just maintaining motivation, which I obviously haven’t always been the best about.

It’s physically, anatomically, impossible for me to ever achieve the coveted, waiflike body type our society glorifies. And seriously, who decided that was the standard for beauty?

So, Mary Kate and Ashley, you are breath-taking the way you were created, and you will always have a piece of my heart, but you will never have my coveted 32C.

Much love to ya,


Rebuilding my Temple

Disclaimer: Before I get started, I want to say that I KNOW I’m not fat. I’m within my healthy weight range (barely) for my age (26)/height (5’3”). This series is purely about my journey to get in shape, and the steps I’m taking to get back on track to a healthier lifestyle.

This post will probably be pretty long, and a bit on the serious side.  I haven’t shared this particular part of my life with many people, but I think in this case context is super important.

Up until the last couple of years, I had never weighed more than 120 pounds, worked out a few times a week and had a healthy self-image when it came to my body. I have always been curvy (chesty with some donk), and while it made me a bit self-conscious at times, I was overall okay with it.

After I graduated college in 2010, I had a terrible time finding an entry level job. With student loan payments coming on fast, along with other responsibilities, I needed something to support myself. I started a temp job which was mostly administrative and boring. My loftier plans for what to do with my degree seemed demolished for the unforeseeable future, and I wondered where I went wrong. 

I felt like I failed. We also got the news that Major Dad would be deploying to Afghanistan in the fall, which was hard on my whole family. On top of THAT, LT. Hubs had left for about 6 months of training with the military. We still weren’t even engaged at the time, which was particularly hard because we had been together 3 years and all of my best friends were engaged/married/getting pregnant. I began to feel very left behind.

I eventually developed what I now recognize as depression.  But rather than taking healthy measures to get better, I simply shut down.  After work I would come home, crash on the couch, and have a couple of beers or glasses of wine, accompanied by the oh-so-classy hamburger helper, fast food I picked up on the way home, or pizza. All the while I KNEW I should at least pop in a Pilates video, or run down to the fitness center for a quick go on the elliptical, or at least have a freaking salad. But I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and moving. I’d tell myself I’d start “next week.” Then next week would come and go with no change.

Everything just seemed like too much and I would start to feel super overwhelmed, which was weird because I really wasn’t doing much at all. The absurdity of it just made me even madder at myself, and sadder. It took all my energy to reach a basic level of productivity.  After a typical evening of wallowing I went to bed early most nights just because I didn’t want to think about how lame I was being anymore. Then of course the whole thing would start all over again the next day.

To add salt to the wound, my temp contract wasn't renewed and I found myself unemployed for the first time since I was 17. It felt like things were only getting worse. I was more or less a recluse, and preferred to stay in on weekends. I didn't make much effort to see friends. I cried a lot. It was an endless pity-party I couldn't seem to leave.

LT. Hubs eventually did come home and we did get engaged (hooray!) While I was happy and excited to finally be engaged, I couldn’t shake the depression cloud hovering around me. I continued with the unhealthy habits and on top of that, had lost any sexual appetite. I had gained almost 10 pounds (which is a lot when you’re barely 5’3” and there aren’t many places for the extra weight to go) and felt the least sexy I ever had in my 25 years. This was especially hard for LT. Hubs after being gone for so long. He didn’t understand why, after we’d been apart for months, I didn’t want to kiss or cuddle like I did before he left, or had lost interest in actually going out and doing things. True to form, he remained unwaveringly loving and supportive, but we both knew I had changed and not in a good way. It was taking a toll on our relationship, and making it hard for me to enjoy being engaged and the fun experience of planning a wedding.

About a month before the wedding, I realized I needed to do something. I couldn’t go into a marriage this way. I mean, what new bride doesn’t want sex?? I went to the gyno and he put me on a very low dose of Zoloft. At first I felt ashamed that I needed to be on an anti-depressant. Society has given them such a negative stigma, and I had always been somewhat against them, feeling that there were better, natural alternatives. I still do feel that way to a certain extent, except I’m not ashamed anymore.

And while not everyone in my life supports my decision to be on it (and that's fine)I really do believe it helped me to get out of my slump. I feel more motivated, and don’t get overwhelmed by small day-to-day things like I did before. Also, you aren’t supposed to drink alcohol while you’re on it, because you’ll feel hella sick after. Not proud to admit I ignored the warning a couple of times and trust me, it’s not pretty.

We got married in July 2012, an awesome day of course. We were so blessed that everything went perfectly. 

We had a couple of months of newly-wed bliss, then in September Major Dad deployed, and a couple of weeks later Hubs left for ANOTHER 6 months of Army Schooling. Le Sigh. It was a hard start to newly-wed life. I still felt pretty lonely, but we got Winnie the Pooch to keep me company, and as pain in the ass as puppy-rearing can be, she made me laugh and tested my aptitude for “motherhood”.

Also the medicine helped me a lot. While I still wasn’t the life of the party, I was more social and began to actually use my huge support system of friends and family more.

Fast forward to now. LT Hubs is back again and we’ve finally gotten to a state of normalcy. We’ll be married almost a year in July, and life really has gotten loads better. The company I temped for called me and asked if I wanted a full-time position as the office coordinator. It’s still administrative and doesn’t require a degree, but it’s a job and my boss is awesome. Also, since I’m still on the medicine I don’t drink very often or very much, and try to eat relatively healthfully, so I think that’s helped me maintain rather than continue to gain weight.  But I sit at a desk all day, and besides the occasional trip to the gym, I’m still rather sloth-like.

When I see recent pictures or go by a mirror, I see a reflection of the unhealthy choices I was making back when things weren’t so great, and the bad habits that still linger. I also FEEL a difference in my body. I get winded more easily and have less natural energy than I used to. It’s still difficult for me to “get in the mood” because I don’t feel sexy. And it doesn’t matter how many times hubs tells me I’m “beautiful,” because I don’t feel beautiful. In the not so distant past, I did. I would strut and preen in front of the mirror. I was all, “Damn, girl! I’m hot!” I miss being comfortable in my skin, and the confidence I used to have. And I’m determined to have it back, because confidence is beautiful.

You may have seen this, or something like it, floating around online:

Although some might find it slightly cheesy, I felt really inspired by this image, and so decided to name this series of posts “Rebuilding my Temple.” Along the way I’ll share what I’m learning about how to live more healthfully, and hopefully I’ll be able to share some progress too. It’s not just about looking good, but feeling good. I hope sharing this will help to hold me accountable for the decision to start on a healthy path, and maybe encourage some of you going through a similar situation as well, whether it’s dealing with depression, or trying to get fit, or both.
Much love to ya,

Here goes Nothing!

Well hey there! 

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that if you’re here, you’re probably a loyal friend or family member. Either that or you accidentally stumbled across it and I’m just lucky. In either case, I’m happy you’re here!

I’ll be honest and say this isn’t my first go at starting a blog-but my first attempt failed after about 3 posts. In fact I don’t even remember what I named it, or know how to get back to it. It’s just floating around on the interweb somewhere. Truthfully, I had no clue what I was doing (well, I still don’t) and really life wasn't that exciting at the time.

So a LOT has happened over the last couple of years, and things got exciting in both great and not so great ways, so I feel like I have a little more insight to put into the universe. And with the encouragement from family and friends to pursue my love for writing, I decided to give it another shot. So I have re-entered the “blogosphere.”

Be warned-this blog won’t be about any one thing in particular—that’s not how I operate. I have a lot of thoughts about a lot of things. I’m always thinking. It’s kind of exhausting, but writing is one of my favorite things to do and kind of therapeutic for me. It alleviates the pain in my brain better than Aspirin. Also because I love to write so much, I tend to write a lot, so I hope you enjoy reading...a lot.

There will most likely be DIY attempts, pin fails, and random ranting. But mostly I suspect it will be about the day to day stuff, my quest to be happy and healthy, and just learning how to deal with life in general.

I once heard someone describe themselves as a “glass house” because it was important to them to be super candid and honest about what was going on in their life. I loved that analogy, so that’s my goal for this blog, to be a glass house. My life isn’t Pinterest-perfect by any means, but I plan to be as personal and as real as possible—although I must warn I have a tendency to air on the theatrical side from time to time. After all, what’s life without whimsy?

Much love to ya,