The Silent Treatment

Sunday was Day 7 of my mother not speaking to me. You can read how this all started in the eloquently titled: "Why My Mother Is Driving Me Bat S%#t Crazy."

I know exactly how this will play out because it will play out just how it has 1000 times before. She will have my Dad call (he did), then she will get on the phone (she did) and pretend to have a terrible migrane (It's awful! It hurts to blink!  I can't believe I'm even alive!) and then I will feel guilty for even thinking about wanting to have a conversation with her (I was) about why she hung up on me after I asked her to stop talking to me about my giant BIG BUTT (weight gain, but Big Butt is more colorful.) 

Over the years, we go round and round in these circles and what she doesn't understand is that, she is losing her daughter. I am exhausted, I am over it, I (sometimes) do not want to have a relationship with this person.

In therapy, I would say to the woman I was paying massive amounts of money to, that I wasn't sure what my mother could handle since her nervous breakdown. If I talked to her about how she made me feel, could I make her situation worse?

But now the bigger issue is, I'm sad that I may never have a relationship with her that resembles a mother/daughter relationship. It's because of the hot and then the cold. She loves me more than anything, she knows me better than anyone, I HAVE THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD! I need it on a coffee mug and t-shirt, pronto!

Then the cold comes in, she ignores me, she says things to me to get me to be angry with my sisters so I will only love her, she has such amazing insight on EVERYONE (ugly gossip) yet cannot look at herself.

I'm (getting) over it.

My little sister told me two months ago she was over it. She couldn't stand to be screamed at and then have my mother in a pile of tears when E stopped coming around so much just so she wouldn't have to put up with such things. It scared me. I could see our family fracturing and I just wanted E to, "Please, please, don't be so hard on her. Just let it go!"

But the more we let it go, the more we are letting go of ourselves. The more we ignore, the more we are playing the game my Mom wants us to play.

My therapist used to say that when someone experiences a horrible trauma (for my mother that could be the death of her own mother at 19), they sometimes never emotional grow past that age. I see that with her. But worse, I see that behavior in me.

If I am mad, I will just freeze people out. I stop talking to people. I can disconnect and be done very, very fast. I am up and I am out. Only, I don't want to be that way anymore. I don't want people to be afraid of me and my reactions, like I am of her.

I'm over it.

I don't know the answer concerning my mother. My shrink used to say to me I need to "mourn" the idea of not having a normal relationship with her. I couldn't do that.  I could not give up.  What kind of person gives up on their mother?

I am very torn. Either I serve her or I serve me. I give her up or I give myself up. I don't know, I just don't know.

The Silent Treatment

My A-List Hair Rocks Harder Than Your A-List Hair

One of the things that assuages my almost daily nervous breakdown that this Writer's Strike is still going on, (oh, and by nervous breakdown, I mean, the desire to eat 14 RED VELVET CUPCAKES daily and not like, a real nervous breakdown, like when I'm telling stories about my Mom), anyway, one of the things that dulls the pain of THE APOCAPLYSE that is my life, is the kindness of businesses in L.A. that give striking writers discounts and free stuff so we can have a little SILVER LINING on this dark and stormy cloud.

My friend L, who DAILY combs the list of free or discounted stuff being offered to us, called me in a HOT PANIC that one of the most FAMOUS SALONS in Beverly Hills was offering free cuts and colors to striking writers and, "WE NEED TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT NOW! NOW! WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO ME?! NOW!"

I have a secret fear of hair salons. I was trying to be all cool, like CONAN & LETTERMAN who had "STRIKE BEARDS," so I called the recent three and a half months neglect of my hair, "STRIKE ROOTS." Funny how six inches of dark brown roots just looks "homeless" instead of "ironic."

About five months ago I went to my salon which had been taken over by a new owner who had only cut and colored my hair once. I was ass deep in my DEPRESSION, WEARING SWEAT PANTS & SHIRTS as all matters of clothing and may or may have not been infrequently bathing.

The guy saw me, my strung out bed head hair and bed body AND HE REFUSED TO TOUCH MY HAIR. "I just can't... it's just... look at it... it's such a mess. Why even bother?" OF WHICH ALL I HEARD WAS: "Look at you, YOU'RE SUCH A MESS, WHY EVEN BOTHER?"

Of course, I prompted burst into tears and fled. (Okay, actually, I said the "F" word to him A LOT. I was really humiliated and I UNLEASHED THE FAT GIRL FURY.)

Even as I told the story to my friends and they sympathized and strategized to EGG HIS CAR, CRANK CALL HIS BUSINESS, JACK HIS REP UP ON THE INTERNET, BURN DOWN HIS SALON (my friends are NOT to be messed with), I couldn't help but think:

"HE IS RIGHT."

Yeah, maybe he should not have refused me service but, I really NEEDED A KICK IN THE ASS to see my TRUE sad-sack self and how I was presenting myself. It wasn't long after that, that I gave up sweatpants (thought THERE HAVE BEEN RELAPSES) and started taking better care of myself.

Which all comes back to how YESTERDAY, I was trying to OVERCOME MY INSANE FEAR of a FANCY-SCHMANCY hair salon that caters to the likes of Julia Roberts, Cate Blanchett and Sandra Bullock. WHAT IF THEY THROW ME OUT? What if they make me feel as horrible as that other guy did?

I'M RAW, LADIES, I CAN'T TAKE THAT AGAIN!

But I bucked up. I went there and I surrendered. Even when the colorist took my CRAZY STRAW LIKE HAIR and twirled a lock of it and looked at me like, "ARE YOU SERIOUS?" I said, "Yeah, it's bad, I'm a hot mess and I need help. Whatever you want to do, you're the artist, do it." (SUBTEXT: "Please DO NOT REJECT ME. PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEZE!"

And he did not. HE WENT TO WORK. He gave me a base color so I no longer had the CRAZY CONTRAST of dark BROWN hair with BLONE highlights (LIKE ANYONE WAS EVER BELIEVING THAT). Then he painted in some highlights that look SEXY FINE. And because he thought it was A SIN worse THAN ADULTREY to let me have SEXY FINE color with a SUPERCUTS cut, he sent me down to someone else to take care of that.

When I saw myself after that cut and blowdry, I ALMOST CRIED. My hair has NEVER looked so good and I almost didn't want to go to sleep last night because I wanted to STAY UP ALL NIGHT looking at it. At me.

I've always had this thing, like, I don't deserve things until I am perfect. Until I have a job or a boyfriend or the right weight. I AM REALLY TRYING TO CHANGE THAT MIND SET.

I don't want to be all "LESSON-Y" but I was thinking, "It's gonna stink in 3 months when I'm back to my old pre-Cinderella self." Then I thought, I am DOING SO MUCH to get out of this depression, why can't I make the same sacrifices for my hair? I can put money aside like I do for therapy. I'd rather give UP A LOT OF THINGS that I don't truly need to feel this FABULOUS & FIERCE.

Because I want to feel this good about myself ALL THE TIME and I don'r want to WAIT FOR IT ANYMORE. Julia & Cate & Sandy don't, so why should I?

My A-List Hair Rocks Harder Than Your A-List Hair

Why My Mother Is Making Me Bat S%#t Crazy

I'm so not one of those people that blames their parents for everything. Except for today and that is: My mother is making me bat shit crazy.

My mother worships every DIET ever created. Like having a prayer day for each of my sisters, there is probably one for The South Beach Diet, The Cabbage Soup Diet and The Sugar Addicts Diet. My Mom was never under weight or over weight, in fact, she was always at the PERFECT weight. And we, my sisters and I knew why, because she had achieved the perfect cycle of pig out one day, starve the next.

Even on the day my mother was having her Nervous Breakdown, she had my aunt PINNED in the corner of our kitchen, extolling the VIRTUES of "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER." (IT TASTES LIKE THE REALLY THING! WITH HALF THE FAT! JUST SPRAY IT ON YOUR TONGUE, LIKE A DELICIOUS SNACK!)

So, there I am this past SUNDAY, doing my obligatory Sunday call and my mother asks about MY DIET. Now this is after I've already told her over Christmas break, I'm on WW, I've got a handle on this, the weight (THE BACK FAT, THE EXTRA ASS, THE CHUB RUB THIGHS) came on because I was so depressed (loss of writing job, cousin's murder, being dumped, HER NERVOUS BREAKDOWN, the stress of stealing expired Vicodins from my friends), BUT I SWEAR, I'm better now but in no uncertain terms (I think) I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THIS. (I wrote about this in the "Why Wafting Taco Bell Out Of My Car Is Essential to My Sanity" entry).

Now I'm in "Landmine City." Being a mommy pleaser, I just want her to be SO DARN PROUD of me so I say, "I've lost 7 pounds. I'm doing good." But by opening the door a crack, IN COMES THE AVALANCHE OF QUESTIONS and COMMENTS, "Are you staying for the meetings? Are you exercising? ARE YOU USING "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER?????"

Then she says, "You know, if you just EAT SMALLER PORTIONS, YOU'LL LOSE WEIGHT." REALLY??? WELL, NOW I'M SET FREE! BECAUSE I NEVER KNEW THAT! I wasn't even using a plate before, I just ate out of a giant wheel barrel. Was that too much?!?!!!!!

The rage had really boiled up. Why? Because if she listened to me the first time, that this weight was a direct result of my depression over my cousin's death, ETC., SHE WOULD KNOW I DON'T NEED ADVICE ABOUT PORTION CONTROL.

I needed time to get over how sad, angry, guilty, terrified, hopeless and depressed I was.

By her thinking I just need to limit my portions dismisses everything I have gone through these past two years. And I know why. BECAUSE SHE CAN'T GO THROUGH IT. Not her mother's death, all my father's illnesses or her nephew's murder. So she stores it up, eating and starving to stay in the CHAOS and having something ("I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER" lectures) to take her mind off the pain she is in.

But I don't want to be any part of it. It's how I learned to cope this long. But I don't want to be that way anymore.

AND I TOLD HER SO.

She got mad, pitched a fit and even hung up on me as I was saying, "I love you." Because I do love her. But I don't want to talk about diets with her anymore. Because that's so NOT what this is about.

And I stand f'ing firmly in that resolve, although, I have to admit that when I saw the "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" spray in my fridge, I felt so damn guilty.

Why My Mother Is Making Me Bat S%#t Crazy

Why I Did (Got Drunk) What I Did (& Emailed My Ex-Boyfriend)

Okay, I've given it some thought and I have some theories. My whole life has been chaos and that is WHERE I THRIVE and do my best.

That relationship was chaos, never knowing if he really loved me, never knowing where I stood, always waiting for the ground to come out from beneath me at any moment. But why it worked for me was because... his distance, un-emotion-ality, felt very familiar to me and therefore, made me feel safe. I never had to worry about what it would be like to really REVEAL MYSELF, really LET GO or really ASK FOR WHAT I NEEDED.

Because to ASK for any of that made ME TOO AFRAID. I didn't want to be VUNERABLE. I wanted it to stay in The Fun Zone, where no questions are asked and no one gets hurt. My whole life has been keeping that ball in the air, hoping it will never land.

My FEAR is, if someone would TRULY get to know me, RATHER than this FAKE HAPPY person I always put out there, they wouldn't like me very much. Even if I, in the past, have shown the real me, the second like I feel like THAT ME is going to be booed off stage, I quickly turn into something else, SOMETHING EVERYONE ELSE WILL LIKE.

So why did I email? I think one of the things I wrote about in "You Say You Want A Revolution" is about how one of my New Year's Resolutions is "to kiss more boys." But the more I thought about that, the more it made me feel about the STEP YOU NEED TO TAKE in order to KISS MORE BOYS.

The DATING step. My fear is I am not ready, I am not a whole person and that I will just ATTRACT JERKS like Old Bad Boyfriend. He will be moody and unemotional and I will have TO LOSE & FORGET MYSELF in order to keep that ball in the air.

So maybe in some sense, I thought, "Well, instead of doing that, why don't I email OBB." Soon emails lead to CALLING, calling leads to MEETING UP, meeting up leads to FLIRTING, flirting leads to KISSING and soon I CAN BE BACK IN THE CHAOS.

Safe and sound.

Because sometimes, we go back to things we say we HATE, because they make us feel SAFE and they relieve us from DOING THE HARDER WORK, the work on ourselves, that once done, WOULD NEVER ALLOW US TO GO BACK TO OLD BAD BOYFRIENDS and certainly, never let us repeat the VICIOUS CYCLE of just finding A New Bad Boyfriend.

The support here has been amazing. I have to say, all I have wanted to do was hit DELETE on the "DEPRESSION CONFESSION #2" entry and act like it never happened. I HATE HAVING A BLEMISH ON MY RECORD! I want to be perfect. I hate that I have been "Rah, rah, let's change!" and then (she makes fart noise).

But I know you guys get it. Especially Melly, who, as I was typing that entry, I wished a little chip would go off in her head and even if she was sleeping, WOULD BOLT AWAKE, and fly through the ether of COMPUTER LAND and land in my bedroom as I TYPED and take the computer and BANG IT OVER MY HEAD.

She is very smart. Here's what she said: "Whatever feeling or message you're trying to get out of these phone calls, seek it elsewhere. Proving something to yourself rarely relies on someone else's response.

Want to prove you're fierce? Convince yourself first. The confidence will shine through to others. Want to know that you're moving on? STOP CONTACTING THE EX."

Amen. Thank you. And just so you know, Melly, the notes TO NEVER DO IT AGAIN, yeah, they've gone up everywhere. Especially, on the corner of this computer.

Why I Did (Got Drunk) What I Did (& Emailed My Ex-Boyfriend)

Depression Confession #2

This is why I'm a really Bad Person. Because I am weak. Because I email Bad Old Boyfriends.

I don't quite know what sent me in the direction, but I suspect it was alcohol and access to a computer. It happened in Kauai. It was just so beautiful and magical and every where you looked was another INSANELY IN LOVE couple holding hands, gazing lovingly at each other, kissing each other tenderly. I WANTED TO GOUGE MY EYES OUT I WAS SO DAMN JEALOUS.

And I was feeling lonely and missing, not just him, but the IDEA OF ANYBODY. And I had had 2 glasses of wine, 1 and a half Mai Tais and two beers. And had access to a computer. So I tickeled the keys and wrote that kind of email you write when you want to SEEM ALL UPBEAT, HAPPY, MYSTERIOUSLY ON VACATION AND LIFE COULD NOT BE BETTER & I AM IMPLYING, BUT NOT OUTRIGHT SAYING, "You should be soooooo missing me. Yeah! You should."

Of course, within minutes, he shot an email back to me. AND I LIKED IT. I liked it because it made me feel powerful and desirable and miss-able. All things I had NEVER felt in the relationship. (Yeah, I pick real winners, ladies.) I knew it was not because I WAS SO GREAT but because I AM A GREAT DISTRACTION.

I was his and he was mine. When we were together, we were in THE FUN ZONE. If we stepped out of The Fun Zone (deep talking, getting to know each other on "another level," tell me your deep, dark secrets, etc.), HE RESISTED, I PERSISTED, then fighting (us), crying (me), silence (him).

I have come so far in digging myself out of the DEPRESSION HOLE (there's only like 32 more feet to go and I can finally see daylight) that I don't know WHY I would do this (especially with someone that treated me so yuck-ily.)

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

It wasn't just the Mai Tais, I know there is some bigger meaning there and I have to figure it out so I don't do it again. Give me a day or two. I am also open to any theories you have or chastising you want to give.

Depression Confession #2

You Say You Want A REVOLUTION

I guess I should really have said, "resolution" because I want to give you an update on how I'm doing with mine (I originally posted them in "It's A Good Time To Make Lists!").

But the word "resolution" creeps me out because it's such a cliche J1 (January 1) thing to do and then bail on by F1. Besides, I want a REVOLUTION, not just a RESOLUTION. I want to be GROWING and CHANGING and CHALLENGING myself all year long.

My two year hibernation insists that I do.

So once a month, I'm going to throw out an Big Ol' Progress Report on my revolution:

1) I want PINK hair.
PROGRESS: Currently on a scale of mildly insane and bat shit crazy, I look majorly insane. See, when you get depressed, you forget about things like eating right, exercising or running a comb through your hair. It was sort of cool when my blonde highlights grew out because "peek-a-boo" roots were all the rage in the magazines. AND I LOVE TO BE ALL THE RAGE, even when I'm barely leaving my apartment for weeks at a time.

So I'm off to my colorist for some blonde highlights (I DESERVE IT! MAKE ME BUTTERY!) He will probably pass out from my Homeless Chic hair. And if he doesn't, he certainly will when I consult him on how to go PINK.

2) I want to go to Italy.
PROGRESS: Conversations are happening. Talks are moving forward. APRIL is the goal date.

3) I'm going to write a book.
PROGRESS: I am begging, I am pleading, my TV agent to get me a meeting with a Lit. agent in New York.

4) I'm going to lose forty pounds.
PROGRESS: I have been eating so clean and healthy, it's crazy. The fact that I got on the WW scale after Kauai and had only gained .4 pounds MADE ME INSANELY ELATED. To me, that was like LOSING FIVE POUNDS! Right now, I'm up .4 but never really considered THE BIG START until after Kauai, so I am quite excited. (CONFESSION: Need to move more. Typing doesn't count)

5) I've always wanted to run a road race. Even a five K, I don't care.
PROGRESS: The problem with having a blog is your friends read them and then they make you do stuff you said you'd do. S has us doing two road races in April. Very exciting & terrifying). I hope there is an ambulance standing by.

6) I want to redecorate my apartment.
PROGRESS: I am going to do a whole POST on this because this is MAJOR. Not major what I'm doing, please, my budget is like, a nickel. Just MAJOR, the anxiety about change and LETTING GO that it brings on.

7) I want to make something. I've narrowed it down to: POTTERY, SOME KIND OF JEWELRY MAKING OR I've always wanted to learn how to upholster furniture.
PROGRESS: I did see a class at the CC for silver smithing. THAT SOUNDS AWESOME. I gotta find that catalogue.

8) I want to volunteer.
PROGRESS: I go for my orientation on Feb. 6. I AM SO EXCITED!!!. I'm going to teach kids with cancer how to write. NOTE TO SELF: Learn how to write.

9) HAVE MORE FUN! Every day carve out time for FUN.
PROGRESS: This is tougher than you would think. How about FUN every other day? NO! Must stick with REVOLUTION/RESOLUTION!!! Must make a fun chart with pies and graphs to keep track of all the FUN I am going to have.

10) Investigate my life, figure out who I am and stop repeating patterns that are learned and that have hurt me.
PROGRESS: It's all in the journaling, Baby. This is a tough one. But no one said a Revolution was going to be easy.

11) KISS MORE BOYS.
PROGRESS: ZERO. Enough said. But I will physically attack someone and throw them down in the street and mount them if that means I can report more progress next month.

You Say You Want A REVOLUTION

How I Lost 50 Pounds (& Became the Bomb)

I really got my "Hello Kitty" panties in a bunch when I wrote "A Clarification and A Shout Out of Love" about this not being a dieting blog. BECAUSE IT ISN'T. Because there are a million of those. Because I want THIS to be more SPECIAL than THAT.

But there is another reason, too. It's because, in the past when I have become OBSESSED with DIETS and dieting and measuring and points and fat grams and carbs and carrots and corn have SO MUCH SUGAR!, I AM NOT REALLY LIVING. I always thought that being CO-DEPENDENT meant you had to be co-dependent on a person.

Then I heard this.

A friend said that being co-dependent means using someone (or something) else's chaos or dysfunction or depression, as a WAY TO NUMB YOURSELF. You totally concentrate on this other person or thing AS A WAY TO NOT DEAL with your OWN LIFE and FEELINGS.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

That's been me & dieting. I'm one of those people who gives up EVERYTHING so I can GIVE it to SOMETHING else... I'm co-dependent... on dieting. The more I IMMERSE myself in it, the more I get to put off living my life because I'M TOTALLY & ONLY DEVOTED TO IT. I am worshipping at the alter of Lean Cuisine!

So that's why this isn't a dieting blog. Because that is not A COOL WAY TO LIVE. I don't want to ignore my life.

HOWEVER...

When I wrote "You Are Not Alone," I got an avalanche of comments from people saying that are sick and tired of extra weight they are carrying and they have shame or pain over it. AND IF IT'S ANYTHING I HATE IT'S WHEN PEOPLE FEEL SHAME & PAIN.

So I want to tell you how five years ago, I lost fifty pounds. I was overweight. I was OVER myself. I had just emerged from a job I hated and saw becoming a sitcom writer as a DREAM and a WAY TO LIVE MY DREAM LIFE. All the things I ignored while I had worked my previously HORRIFIC JOB, I wanted back - self-love, time to take care of myself, meeting boys, looking cute in jeans, no neck fat.

Yes, I did some dieting. I switched cereal for egg whites and turkey bacon and added fruit. I threw the bread off my sandwich at lunch and added a double salad, double broccoli (my office Nickname) or double anything green. I stopped eating after 7pm and cut way back on booze and sugar. And yes, I moved, I ran, I ellipical-ed, I biked, I jumped and jacked.

But that was 30% of the work. THE OTHER STEP I TOOK WAS LIFE CHANGING.

I kept a journal.

99 cents saved my life. Every doubt I had about my new job, I wrote about. Every fight with a sister, parent, boyfriend, co-worker, Starbucks barista, idiot who changed lanes without using his turn signal, I wrote about. Every fear about where my life was going and with who, I wrote about.

I NEVER PUSHED DOWN ONE MORE FEELING. I never had an emotion "eating" at me. I got to stay present, focused and could look back on good days when I was having bad days and smile, "Look how far I've come!" Instead of numbing out with food, I pushed through the hard stuff and put it on paper.

EVERY DAY, I felt more fearless, strong, in control, FIERCE, motivated and truly, amazing.

The weight fell off. IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF THE JOURNAL, IF YOU ARE NOT CONVINCED, how about this?

The second I stopped... the weight came back on. It was after my cousin died and the pages were too painful to face. I didn't want to cry or be sad or to be angry. I DID NOT WANT TO FEEL ANYTHING. If I didn't write it down, it could not be happening.

Only it was happening. So I numbed it with sleeping, inactivity, Cheetos, Doritos and the occasional (everyday) donut. Soon it was five pounds that came on, then ten, then twenty, then more and more and more.

I was stubborn though, I WOULD NOT WRITE AND I WOULD NOT FEEL.

So I am saying to you "You Are Not Aloners" who REALLY WANT TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN YOUR LIFE - get a journal. It's not about making your diet better, IT'S ABOUT MAKING YOUR LIFE BETTER. It's about seeing your fears on paper and then realizing, they don't have so much power anymore. It's about making a list of goals and then keep going back to them until you accomplish them.

IT'S ABOUT not getting so lost in this HURRY UP world, because if you write it down, YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHO YOU ARE, WHAT YOU WANT & HOW TO GET THERE.

You will be amazed by how something that takes 10 or fifteen minutes EVERY FEW DAYS will GIVE BACK TO YOU 100 fold. I'm going back, more committed than ever, to the pen and the page. Not just to get back to size 8 jeans (though I CANNOT WAIT!!!) but so I never lose myself again.

How I Lost 50 Pounds (& Became the Bomb)

The Afterness

I'm sad. I feel bad for feeling sad. Stupid, really. It's all about that very famous actor who died at 28, all alone, who I never knew, who I can't even say I was an amazing fan of. Just that he is gone and I know all about the Afterness.

While all so much is speculated about his death, who knew what and when, all I can think is... for his family... it all starts now. Their hearts will be heavy and filled with regret and sorrow and questions and regret and regret and regret.

Everything is all right and then there is that phone call and you are never the same again. In ways people can never describe. You feel different, things look different and you feel like you physically packed up and moved away from the person you once were.

And the internet is a monster that will tell you details that you will never want to know and can be the gap between two mountains that widens so you can never jump to a healing place. I learned the hard way, you do not google the details of your loved ones death. You do not want to hear a witness say they never saw so much blood in their life.

I know I'm not grieving this person's death, I do not know him. I am grieving the parts of my cousin's death that I have packed up in a box and tucked under the bed. Then when someone else dies, same age, circumstances that make no sense at all, it's like all those bits of grief and suffering emanate from the box and once again, the house is haunted.

But his family... that tears me apart.

The Afterness

The Importance of Thrilling Yourself

When I was fourteen, my cousin Michael died. He was seventeen. He was skiing. He was on vacation. He was doing something he loved, doing something he was good at, doing something he'd done a million times.

If there was ever a pivotal point in my life where the road diverged and I could have chosen the Adventure Girl path or the Fearful Follower Girl path, it was then. And I chose the latter.

A trained beach life guard, I became afraid of the ocean. Then heights. Then going fast. Then slipping. Car accidents. Bicycles with peddle brakes. Walking under ladders. Trees that looked like they could fall over at anytime. Power lines. Dogs. Possums. Microwaves. The Easter Bunny. You name it, I became afraid of it.

Because in my world, things that are bad will probably happen with no warning, no notice and make no sense. One day you are doing something you love, the next day, you are gone.

But I don't want to be that way any more. Because all this FEAR doesn't amount to much LIVING. Yet it's amazing how ingrained it is in me. The other day, still in Kauai, we go to get snorkeling gear but I don't rent any. What's the point? I will be too afraid. It will be a waste. IT (the gear) will sit in the sand TAUNTING me.

"A five year-old can do this." Shut up!

"Last week, a eighty year old with two hip replacements did this." I said, SHUT UP!

After a while, my friend offers me his snorkeling mask. I put on it on, dip my face in the water. FISH EVERYWHERE! Yellow ones and blue ones and green ones and orange ones and some that are yellow, blue, green and orange all at once! It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It's like "Fish TV." A woman is shooting fish food out of a tube and they are swarming her. SHE IS GIGGLING WITH DELIGHT.

The more confident I get, the more I push the fear away. Soon I am submerged, then I am swimming, I am pointing, I am leading the way. I AM HOGGING THE GEAR and I don't care. I am thrilling myself. Not just what I am seeing with my eyes BUT WHAT I AM FEELING IN MY HEART.

And I realize, "THE MORE YOU DO, THE LESS YOU FEAR."

The next day, at the waterfalls, I don't just want to look at them, I WANT TO BE IN THEM. My bathing suit isn't on but WOULD IT BE SO BAD TO GET MY CLOTHES WET? No. So I sit on a smooth rock and use it as a water slide into the waterfall. (It's a small rock, but IT STILL THRILLS ME, because the feeling is SO UNEXPECTED and therefore JOYOUS.)

What else scares me? What else can I do? How can I get back on that ADVENTURE path I turned (running, screaming scared) from? When an opportunity presents itself how can I say "YES" instead of the every predictable and resounding "NO."

The more you do, the less you'll fear.

Surfing, rock climbing, canyoning, parasailing, parachuting, zip lining, hot air ballooning, snow boarding, roller blading, ocean kayaking, kite surfing, skim boarding... more and more and more and more...

The Importance of Thrilling Yourself

Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone

I'm in Kauai and my BATHING SUIT ANXIETY is at a ORANGE LEVEL (sweating, nervous stomach feeling, debating faking an illness so I can stay in bed so no one will SEE ME IN IT.)

Then I think, "I'M IN KAUAI." C'mon! It's AMAZING! It's BEAUTIFUL! There are things to swim in! Get that pink spandex, girdle-like bathing contraption on!

I resist. I could have put it on at the house. Then at the clean, non-hepatitis getting bathroom at this cute little shopping center. No.

Not ready.

Because... I'm embarrassed. How I will look. But my butt reminds me of two cats fighting in a bag. Really, want to know what my butt looks like? Put sweat pants on. Now, go into your bedroom. Get two pillows off the bed, fold them in half. Now put them between your sweatpants and your bum. If you can stack a shelf of books on that bum or someone can rest a cocktail on it, THAT'S MY BUM.

In Kauai. With that bum. And now I'm supposed to be HALF NAKED in front of my friends like that? With CHUB RUB thighs?

MADNESS. Then I think, "Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone." Meaning, do I somehow think I look like Kate Moss in my regular clothes but it's only when I don a BATHING SUIT, that my body EXPANDS ten-fold in front of them and to THEIR ALARM and HORROR, the secret is out and they are shocked to realize I AM A CHUNK.

No. My fat is not fooling anyone.

And would these friends, who are so loving and cool, and probably more loving and cooler THAN I EVEN AM TO MYSELF, ever want me to MISS OUT on SNORKELING and SWIMMING and GENERAL WATER TYPE FROCKLING AND FUN because I did not want to be seen in a bathing suit?

Get over yourself. And I did. Because sadder than the thought of me in a bathing suit was the thought of me being IN THIS BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING place and sitting out on the full enjoyment of it.

So I changed in a gross Port-a-Potty (my punishment for not previously getting over myself). AND I SWAM AND I SNORKELED AND I FROLICKED.

And nobody cared and neither did I.

You've missed out on too many good times because of how you feel about yourself. I know. Don't do it again. Okay.

Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone