My therapist says I am compliant, which sounds a little prisonerish to me, but she’s right. I love to be a good patient. I figure for all the schooling and student loans someone has to go through to listen to me talk about my problems, the least I can do is check out a book, read a depression article and write a blog. This is homework.

I went to therapy to talk about Sharon and my crushing sadness. I knew it would be productive but I couldn’t see how, so I just trust the process. But what has actually been troubling me is how hard it’s become (recently) to do stuff. Stuff that wasn’t hard for me before. Like going to the gym, eating well and going to church. I just felt maxed out from doing all the regular stuff, like work and family. I told her I just don’t enjoy the things I used to.

Which is like step one on every depression med commercial ever. Totally set myself up.

Sounds silly, but this was a complete shock to me and just reading a six page article made me realize how VERY little I understand about depression and my own mental health. Now of course today, I am reading all kinds of things related to the topic, but for me, the central idea is this:

I felt that it was impossible to cope with something I couldn’t name and wasn’t educated about. Now, I was a little bummed out yesterday, because, who wants to be depressed! But knowing WHAT it is, that I am not “broken” and understanding why I don’t feel like me is actually very empowering and oddly enough I actually feel better and WANT to move towards healthy coping mechanisms. Hopefully this can be the start of that.


No Excuses Mom Challenge 2 Update

I was stoked to be third place in the last challenge and was determined to kill this time around. Fast forward a couple months, and I’m like why didn’t I quit while I was ahead? Take the money and run! 

But I didn’t because even though it sucks sometimes, I like the external pressure and accountability. This stage is a real grind. Even though I’m  far from my goal, I haven’t been down at this weight for a whole, so my body and behaviors are like, woo we got some wiggle room, y’all!

Legit. I’m wearing shorts for the first time in three years. My legs are still hot, but they’re actually seeing the light of day. It’s a new era. 

So am I killing it this time around? Not. At. All. But I’m still in the game and staying accountable. I feel like I look decent and even need to buy new clothes in the “regular” section. Not sure I’ll ever be a single digit size in jeans/shorts/dresses but I got a size medium shirt. It was probably tagged wrong , but I’m not  complaining. 

We’ll see how the rest of the challenge goes. I think there’s six weeks left. My definite focus is on nutrition and being active. I’d like to get down to the 180’s. 6ish pounds to go! Not including my cheat meal tonight. Back on it tomorrow. 

Keep on keeping on!

❤ Christina

Like so many days, this morning I drive to work with a lump in my throat that will turn into a full blown sob before I get to the parking lot. My chest aches and I want to punch something. Scream. It’s absolute bull shit that we are not given more than we can handle. I cannot handle this. My heart is constantly breaking. I’m a thoughtful person. I have philosophised this to death, using science, logic, my faith. And sometimes I can get through it. But today, not so much. I am so Angry. About everything. And I just don’t know what to do with it. 

3 Reasons Why You Should Absolutely be the Middle Aged Mother Crying at a Jack Johnson Concert

.1) Nobody cares. Seriously. They’re all texting. Fucking lame. (And yes, I added that to my dictionary. #rebel)

2.) You don’t get out much. Seriously. Sometimes it seems like all your free time is meal planning and the gym. And yeah it feels good to let lose. So do so.

3.) Zombies don’t dance. These millennials dgaf. If your old khahki-clad ass wants to get down and throw out a hip. Go for it. These kids are too cool and they don’t care. Nobody is you-tubing you.

Here’s the thing; it’s no secret dealing with some heavy shit right now. But I’m telling you. This is a gift. Whether you’re at home, at a Jack Johnson concert, or at a party. If you could see this life they way I do now, but I hope you don’t, you will have a little tear, because it’s fucking beautiful.

Party On.

Day 2 – Where Do You Want to Be Ten Years From Now?

Alive, for starters. I’m currently waiting to hear back on blood work, so hopefully I am on the right track!

It’s crazy to think that I will (hopefully) be 45. My kids will be 15 and 10! And I’ll probably be wishing they were still little because I will have forgotten how it feels to be kicked all night and go to work on half a night of sleep. Sweet sweet memories.

Not going to lie, this one is tougher than I thought. Because I really don’t know. And maybe it’s because I’m tired and my spirit is sad, because I usually love this kind of thing. But I just like…I don’t know. Of course, I’d like to be somewhere different, but doing what?

Writing full time? Yeah, good luck constantly marketing yourself and pay who-knows-what for health insurance for you and the kids.

Same job I have now? I’m not complaining, but I think I would be disappointed with myself to swim laterally for another decade.

Another job? While I do a certificate to keep my career options fresh, since I finished college 12 years ago! (Ah!) But how could you ever leave where you are? Everything is perfect, except that’s it’s already been 9 years of doing the same thing.

I honestly just feel afraid (per my first post) of rocking the boat. And of course admitting that makes me feel like a total coward. It’s why I never joined the Peace Corps. Or went away to college. Don’t get me wrong, these things are NOT keeping me up at night, but just a reality which brings context to this current state of indecision.

What would you do if you could not fail?

Well, I would be a journalist.

It’s all I ever wanted to do.

But I’ve stuffed that dream so far down, hoping it would die. I suffocated it with binge eating and self-help books about Finding Your Purpose. Haha. Ironic. The truth is I always felt I was too stupid to undertake such a thing. And that was before the age of internet trolls. Where people tell actual smart people they are stupid and should rot under a bridge and various other harmful suggestions.

And then I was lazy. And sometimes a little drunk. And now I’m 35 in a mid life (hopefully quarter) life crisis of listlessness and self loathing.

But, I’m working on it. Hence, the blog project. Actually practicing my writing, putting myself out there, taking on self-taught courses and learning materials.

This is total pity party. And I don’t even have any cake. Such a half ass.

So yeah, ten years from now, I’d like to be a journalist. (Whatever that looks like by then).

Signing Off,


30 Day Blog Challenge – Some Basic Things About Me

I’ see that creatively I exist in two modes: consuming and producing. And I’m beginning to feel a little over fed so it’s time to reel in the consumption and start producing more.

I found a 30 day blog challenge.

Day 1-Some basic things about me:

I’m afraid of most things. The dark. Sharks. Since Sharon died, I can’t stand to be home alone. I’ve always been a little geeked about being alone but it’s on a whole other level now. It’s getting better, but I used to get panicked and couldn’t go in the house. Don’t know if I thought she would be there? Or just afraid of feeling the enormity of my emotions in the vacancy. I can tolerate it now, with the kids and once I managed completely by myself, but I did have a pizza.

“You really should get over that.” Maybe that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know. But I heard something from Brooke Castillo about dealing with your emotional wounds and taking off the band-aid. And that is to do it slowly. Have compassion for yourself.

“You need therapy.” I had some. Thank you. It’s probably why I can sleep now. Even without the TV. And yes, Time Heals All Wounds, and that’s why I can breath now and I don’t have body shaking anxiety coursing through my veins 24 hours a day.

Things are improving.

And I’m not being facetious.

Something less daunting/sad about myself (or maybe it is sad)- I get pretty restless if I don’t have something concrete to work towards. I’m happiest when I’m achieving and that probably makes a less than complimentary statement about who I am as a person, but that’s okay. It’s not a money thing either, because THAT would be evil, haha.

I kicked butt in a lot things so far in life, personally:

Study abroad in college, lived with a host family for 6 weeks (Mexico)

Reading Tutor

Library Board Trustee

Quit smoking

Saved up for the down payment for a house

Bought said house

Wrote two novels ( yeah, they were published at Kinko’s but I’m still putting them on the list!)

Won a Table Topics Competition (impromptu speaking-super nerve wracking)

Achieved Advanced Communicator Bronze in Toastmasters

Ran a half marathon/10 mile race in the forest preserve (damn near last place, lol) various 5ks

Toastmaster of the Year

ESL Tutor

Got my CSCP certification. (By the skin of my teeth, but still got it!)

Started my writing business. Yes, even got paid. Well, the check is in the mail, for real.

What about your kids? Well, yeah parenting is work, but you kind of HAVE to do it. I’m referring to efforts outside of the mandatory.

So I just find myself asking what’s next? I definitely have shiny object syndrome. Do a blog. Write a novel. Pick a writing niche. Market your business. Network. And I love learning and books and want to help people. Mothers in prison. Books for prisons. Because running my own life isn’t challenging enough. Wasn’t I just crying to myself about feeling like there isn’t enough of me? But my urge isn’t to do LESS. It’s to be more valuable. Maybe that’s how I expand my capacity. Consume less; create more. Do. Give. Or maybe I’m completely off base. Hopefully I have the balls to at least try and then I can let you know how it all turns out.

Love Always,


I Googled Grief and Took a Quiz

Per said quiz, I have Complicated Grief. Marked by a strong yearning for the person who has passed and a preoccupation with their passing. More the fact that it happened, than the circumstances, I guess.

This is all very true. I feel like there is a little voice in my head that says, “pssss…..hey. No matter what you’re doing or feeling right now, this very bad, awful, terrible, heart breaking thing happened to you, and it suuuuuuuucks.”

It’s like an neon “open” sign hanging on my prefrontal cortex, but it rather than “open” it blinks, “PAIN”.

Because of this, I understand things on a deeper level than I did before. I watch those TLC shows and a lot of people’s detrimental behavior is attributed to a traumatic event. Whether it be huffing canned air, hoarding or pain killers, I get it now. They’re just trying to unplug the sign for a little bit. I’m not saying it’s right, I just know the feeling.

Speaking of feelings… I’ve held it together pretty well at work. No sniffling in the handicap stall yet. My favorite times to cry are driving to and from work and before bed. The car is good because I can really howl it out if I feel like being dramatic. Obviously before bed is less than ideal and I’m having trouble sleeping. I wouldn’t mind trying a medication but not with tending to the baby at night, so I have to turn the sign off by myself.

Well, it seems as though I’m pretty much a sad sack ball bag. So what could I possibly think to console myself? I wrestled with this idea of feeling robbed, that she was taken too soon. Then I equated it to reading a really good book, with no other copies in existence and less than halfway through someone snatches it and throws it away.

Damn! I wasn’t finished with that!

But then I think to myself that we’re all here for a set amount of time. So there’s no being robbed because that time wasn’t ever mine anyway.

And yeah, it was a really great book. But if I could get it back and look at the rest of the pages… they would be blank.

Go ahead, cry your eyes out now, cause you know that was GOOD!

Thanks for reading and being a part of my process.

Much love.