When the alarm clock went off at 4:30 a.m., I turned it off without even waking. By the time the second alarm went off at 4:45 a.m., I was already contemplating whether I was actually going to make it to the gym. The third alarm at 5 a.m. came with the final decision: I was way too tired to get to the gym. If I’m honest, this wasn’t an unusual process. It always takes more than one alarm to get me up, but on any other morning I would have found a way to ignite the day. I would have remembered all of the reasons why I’m doing what I’m doing, all the great things that come with changing my life, and I would have been in that gym by 5:15 a.m. Not this morning. On this morning, my “why” was nowhere to be found, but my pillow was and that’s where I stayed.

It wasn’t what I ordered. I specifically ordered a sushi roll that was wrapped in cucumber. This wasn’t an indulgence meal, I hadn’t planned for it to be, and therefore I had every intention of staying on plan. When the waitress set down the modern plate with the beautifully decorative sushi roll in front of me, I didn’t even notice it at first. I saw the sauce livening up the plate, the perfectly sliced avocado meticulously laid over each piece, and the rainbow of fish like a mosaic hidden inside a pocket. Then it hit me, “Shit, there’s rice.” My life nowadays doesn’t come with a lot of “can’t’s” because the new me doesn’t limit herself. But, my life does come with a lot of “I choose not to’s” and one of them thus far had been “I choose not to eat off plan.” Rice was off plan, at least for this meal.

I sat there in a silent panic. I honestly didn’t know what to do. Perhaps the obvious choice would have been to tell the waitress that this wasn’t what I ordered, have her take it back, and wait patiently for another 20 minutes while they prepared my “on plan” food. I hesitated because I wasn’t positive it was wrong. I pictured the menu and read through each roll in my mind. Was this the roll that was wrapped in cucumber or was it the roll at the bottom of the menu? Did I just order the wrong thing? My lack of confidence prevented me from bringing the mistake to anyone’s attention. I also was starving and I didn’t have another 20 minutes to wait. The same timing and starvation issues also ruled out the possibility of just boxing up the roll and ordering the correct one. Plus, I spent $10 on this roll- ridiculously overpriced- and boxing it up would be pointless as I didn’t plan an indulgence meal for later either. The final brainstormed solution was to just eat the middle of the roll, the part that was on plan, but I quickly ruled that out, too, couching my objection in the fact that it’d be a waste of money and food. Somehow that meant more in that moment than whether it was actually worth it to my continued success, commitment, and overall health.

So, in the end, the winning decision was to just eat the roll. It was only one roll after all. Just six bites. I’d let most of the rice fall off and I’d avoid letting myself clean the plate. How much rice is this really? There’s no way this one-time, unintentionally off-plan meal of minimal rice was going to derail me too much, right? But the truth was, a part of me knew it would. The extra calories and likely sugar wouldn’t make too much of a difference on the scale, but my mindset was about to take a blow. One small slip leads me down a slippery slope- something I’d learned about myself in the past- and because I knew it wasn’t the best decision, I devoured that sushi roll as fast as I could. I have no idea if it was good or something I’d ever order again for an actual planned indulgence meal, because those six bites were gone before I had a chance to think about it. I just wanted to get my mistake and self-sabotage over with.

The scale went up. It was another two-pound gain, but this time for the second day in a row. Four pounds in two days. My training has taught me that this happens. Our bodies retain water at various times, and it’d be nearly impossible to truly gain four pounds of fat- or muscle for that matter- in two days, especially when I was still exercising the requisite 70 minutes a day. So, it didn’t make any sense. My training has also taught me that the number on the scale is just data, and it only serves to provide information about our bodies, not define us as people. I truly believe this, and in fact have written before about us all needing to free ourselves from this number.

Any other day I would have walked away from the bathroom scale somewhat laughing. I have a tendency to talk to my body as an unruly child when things like this happen, so I laugh knowing that I am perfectly fine doing things the hard way. My body being stubborn is not going to stop me from succeeding. I didn’t laugh this time. I instead relented to the negative feelings and thoughts radiating through me. “See, I shouldn’t have missed that work out.” “I knew that sushi roll wasn’t on plan and I ate it anyway. This is what I get.” “Everybody else is dropping weight and I’m stuck in the 340s, what is wrong with me?” “I shouldn’t be hitting a plateau this early. I’m not doing something right.” “Maybe I’m just not meant to actually succeed. Maybe I’m meant to be stuck.” “Why can’t I get myself past a couple slip ups?” “I can’t do this.”

The struggle. We’ve all been through it. We’ve all heard that “the struggle is real,” and it is. Everybody has a struggle and it comes in different ways, at different times, and for different reasons. Regardless of how determined we are, how committed we’ve been, or how bad we want it, I don’t think there’s a way to avoid the struggle. I think it’s a part of every journey, and I’ve learned that it’s a very important part.

When I felt myself beginning the downward spiral and compounding my “failures” one after another, I was desperate to stop the spin. Old me was relentless in clawing her way back into my daily life with her negative self-image and delusional lack of self-worth, but new me wasn’t going to have it. New me took over and went into auto pilot to begin correcting the problem before I even consciously realized what I was doing. New me began reaching out to anyone and everyone I could. I talked about missing a work out, I talked about eating off plan, I talked about the scale going up. I confessed my slip-ups to my super friends, I admitted my insecurity and fears that I wouldn’t be able to get myself back again, and I let the struggle- my struggle– become a public part of my life. To me, voicing this vulnerability not only prevents it from silently and maliciously eating away at us, but it motivates us to change the situation, and it empowers others to help us get through. At least, that’s what it did for me.

It was during one of my desperate rants to anybody who would listen about what I did to sabotage myself that a friend of mine asked me what I would later realize was a very hard and blunt question: “Did you really expect to be perfect?” Personally, I had a reactive answer that I wanted to blurt out, but very quickly began wavering. The most realistic answer is, of course, no. Nobody is perfect. The ‘compulsive need to justify’ answer is “No, but…” Then the question becomes “but what?” My answer, the absolute truth, was yes, I expected myself to be perfect.

Isn’t it true that even though we realize it’s unrealistic, even though we often coach those around us that it’s okay to fall down, we still tend to hold ourselves to this unattainable expectation of perfection? I think that’s the reason every small slip can feel catastrophic. It explains the tendency to let the few drops of rain turn into a downpour. It was a huge wake-up call for me.

I was literally expecting myself to be perfect. I never anticipated the day when I would miss a work out or mess up slightly on the health plan, because even though I was told that it would happen and I’d have to survive it, I never expected it to happen to me. I found comfort in my perfect streak of working out six days a week and eating only the foods that were on plan. I figured if I was literally perfect, then it only made sense that the results would be perfect, too. Less than perfect wasn’t an option, and that’s what missing a work out or falling off plan represented. In my head, though somewhat subconscious until truly tested, there was only one road to success and I could only be on that road if I was perfect and deserving. Isn’t that the most unrealistic expectation you’ve ever heard? I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing to myself, but once I did, I laughed. Out loud. A lot.

I’ve talked before about committing to the reasons why you want to change your life, about being your own transformation everyday, about setting yourself free, and about the power of vulnerability. Now it was time for me to prove that I meant it. It was time for me to figure out how I was going to deal with this struggle, how I was going to be okay with “less than perfect,” and how I was going to continue to succeed anyway.

Here’s what I did: I celebrated the struggle.

We grow in hard times. The success that comes afterwards is really just the pay off; it’s not the place where we learn who we are and become who we want to be. Instead, we learn those lessons and become that person on the battlefield. That’s where we are tested, pushed, challenged. That’s where we have to dig deep even though we are exhausted and might not know how. That’s where we carve out who we are, how strong we can be, all the things we can do, and all the places we can go. It’s in surviving the struggle that we succeed. So, celebrate the struggle.

For me, celebrating my struggle has resulted in a complete mind shift. It’s become exciting. I even went out and bought some new ‘struggling work out leggings.’ I made sure they were colorful and loud, different than my usual choice of black, because these leggings need to scream “I MAY BE STRUGGLING, BUT I’M STILL HERE!” That’s my success story this time. That’s what the struggles above taught me. That’s where my inner peace and positive mindset live: in the idea that I am still here. I am still doing it. I am still pursuing my better life, living my transformation, and remembering my why. I am still worth it. This struggle, any struggle, will not get the best of me. It will never be the end of me. Because new me wants more, and new me is crazy enough to believe I can have it.

So, maybe the lesson here is that the expectation of “perfect” can manifest in various ways and can exist on any path. Maybe it’s our ability to keep going that truly makes the journey a perfect one. Or, maybe it’s not meant to be perfect at all, but instead perfectly imperfect. There’s so much we can learn on this journey, especially in the struggles along the way. So, instead of letting the struggle get the best of you, embrace it. Celebrate the fact that you are strong enough to struggle and strong enough to survive it. Live in the moment, learn something, and maybe go out and buy yourself some celebratory struggle pants.

Imagine sitting down to watch a football game- it seems appropriate since the season is upon us- and seeing the opposing team coaches sitting on the same sideline, sharing each other’s playbooks, telling each other what their plan is to win the game, and then instructing the players accordingly. What if executives of competing companies got together and devised a plan to both succeed, or the stock exchange was a bunch of people calmly deciding whose turn it was to gain control of the market? How would the world change if criminal courtrooms didn’t have prosecutors and public defenders, but instead just had a group of attorneys who rationally and fairly determined whether it was the prosecutor’s turn to get a conviction or the public defender’s turn to get an acquittal? Or, instead of fighting our way up the corporate ladder, what if promotions were given out equally and to everybody? All of this is absurd, right?

Competition is natural. It’s even useful. It pushes people to be their best, and then be even better. To an extent- although there’s no denying the concept of “unfair advantage”- this notion of competition somehow facilitates a certain hum in society. It drives people towards something, it creates standards that companies have to maintain, and it perpetuates a burning determination in life. We compete everyday, and I’d even assert that it’s the outcomes of our various competitions that dictate how we feel, what we have, and who we are. As a society, we even celebrate competition. We are on the brink of football season, and that means football parties, which of course wouldn’t be nearly as fun if the goal was for every team to succeed. And don’t even get me started on election season.

Less obvious, though, are the endless competitions we face personally. Maybe we are competing for attention, for love, for a place to belong. Some might have to compete for food or shelter. Others are competing for personal success, a way to place value on the space they occupy on this earth, or even just a purpose in life. And all, I assume, naturally compete on some level with themselves. I wonder, then, do the characteristics of competition help in our internal struggles in the same way they arguably benefit our outward ones?

I grew up an athlete. I played several sports and was coordinated enough to be good. I was a comfortable starting player in an important position and considered necessary to help win the game. Even now, I still play a sport, so to speak. I spend my days in an adversarial courtroom with the expectation that I will competently and confidently represent my team, making all the necessary moves to bring back a victory. With these experiences, I’ve learned a thing or two about competition. At the end of the day, you are trying to beat an opponent. That means, you must be stronger, faster, smarter, and more prepared, and if you’re not, you fight like hell to make sure your opposition doesn’t know that. Weakness is death in a competition. Weakness serves only to benefit another’s gratification by allowing them the opportunity to strike.

It makes sense that this approach would be gravely detrimental to a true transformation in life. For, if to transform was equated to competing, we would strive to keep our weaknesses to ourselves. Our goal would be to prevent our opponents from knowing any of our struggles. In my opinion, the competition would get the best of us, and the transformation would end up being the sub-par opponent in the game. So, to transform, we must not compete, but instead strive to connect.

By definition, to connect is to unite or bind, to strengthen, to establish a relationship and communication, and to associate mentally or emotionally. This is what we need when we are making the terrifying and vulnerable decision to change our lives in some way. We need connection. We need people who will listen to our struggles and build us up, help us, unite, strengthen us, and create relationships so we know we aren’t alone. We need support, stability, and the safety to know that our weaknesses won’t be used against us. Sure, there will be friendly competition, and that internal desire to be better will still be a driving force in our change. However, at the end of the day, we need to be sitting on the same sideline, sharing our playbooks, discussing the ways we hope to reach success, admitting our challenges, taking turns with good days and bad days, and then celebrating everybody’s win. Competition drives us to shut down and exude invincibility at all costs. Connection allows us to be open, vulnerable, to heal, to grow, and ensures that we can all help each other cross the finish line.

The lesson here is to use competition to your advantage in the arenas that are appropriate, but also realize that there’s a time to put the game away and instead make a true connection. In my opinion, if we don’t acknowledge the difference, we will sell ourselves and the people around us short. If we are constantly competing, people will shutdown when they are around us. People will feel the competition, deem us an opponent, and refuse to show any weakness for fear that we may strike. Let us instead join the same team, connect, transform, and forever win.

So far, this blog has been an amazing thing. Its purpose is very personal to me. Team TATE is my way of showing who I am, sharing it with others, and holding myself to my own expectations. This is my journey from my darkest times to radiant light to anything imaginable and more. It’s similar to some of the social experiments I studied in college. Basically, we try something and see what happens, see how people respond, and from that we can understand patterns of human behavior. Maybe, we can even predict, preempt, or facilitate human behavior. So, what am I trying here?

One of the most amazing mentors I’ve had to date said to me, “Start to change your life, and be that change. Live it everyday, let people see it, and then watch what happens.” The problem is “being the change” is much easier said than done. Changing your life is very hard, but even more challenging is the fear that comes along with broadcasting it. We fear change. It creates instability, vulnerability, and discomfort. Even when we are moving from a negative situation to something more positive, we are still moving from something that we’ve become accustomed to, somewhere we are comfortable, a place that is predictable, and we are forcing ourselves into the unknown. Fear can immediately halt a movement. It’s a barrier that can stop you in your tracks and send you for the hills. F-E-A-R: Forget Everything And Run.

But, what if, instead of allowing fear to halt our movement, we instead force fear to fuel it? I’ll be honest, this blog and my incessant commitment to broadcast the new me is, on a very real level, terrifying. The fear relates to being vulnerable. In the first few days, I wondered if this was too much for me. Even after the first post, I asked what I had gotten myself into, because now I was formally and publicly committed. However, I heard my mentor in my head: “be the change…and then watch what happens.” Here’s what I’ve learned:

People like vulnerability, especially when it is real and honest. It makes people feel like they are not alone. Vulnerability is a feeling that we all know very well, but often may assume that others don’t feel its potentially paralyzing effect. We jump to the conclusion that others must be stronger than us, built differently, or not affected by the same things we are; so we do our best to keep our vulnerability silenced to appear the same. Yet, while we take great pains to hide our vulnerability, we often reach out and comfort those who let it show. We support our friends who we know are going through a hard time. We comfort someone who is crying. We offer someone strength when we see they are falling apart. And we love someone harder when we think they feel broken and alone. In fact, when we see someone overcome these obstacles, when we actually witness someone live through their vulnerability and come out stronger, we are overjoyed, in awe, inspired. It makes sense then, that once we figure out how to just be vulnerable, we will receive that same love, comfort, strength, and support in return. We will leave people overjoyed. People will be in awe. We will inspire.

I’ve been lucky enough to experience this firsthand even in just the last couple months. A couple quick stories come to mind, although there are probably many. The first occurred on my way back down a mountain after a very strenuous hike. I was still over a mile from the bus and confused about how there were still inclines on the way down. I had been hiking for hours, I was hot and thirsty, and I had run out of calories a long time ago. Keep in mind, I was never a hiker, and on this particular day, I weighed upwards of 380 pounds. I wasn’t sure I could take another step, so I stopped and bent over at the waist, my hands hard on my knees, chest aggressively reacting to my gasps for air, and my heart beating in my eardrums. I knew people were walking up the trail, and normally I would try to act fine, as if a hike up a mountain was an everyday thing for me, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the energy to care what these real hikers thought of me. Then it happened. What kept me going and actually got me to the bus was the encouragement of a complete stranger. As she passed she said, “you’re doing good, you’re almost there, keep going.” She never would have said that if I sucked it up for 20 more seconds and let her pass assuming I was just fine. It was my vulnerability that created her encouragement that led to me completing a 6-mile hike at 380 pounds.

The second story is one that I wasn’t even aware of until after it happened. This past weekend was the first Team TATE event (more on this later). I was very nervous, largely because I was hosting something I had never hosted before. I wanted it to be a representation of what Team TATE is all about, but that meant I had to speak, give directions, give insight, and share my journey with people I deeply respect and want to make proud. Overall, it was a success. I put myself out there in ways I hadn’t ever before, learned a lot, and left room for improvement next time. Afterwards, I learned that one of my dear friends had been having a very hard week. She had fallen off plan temporarily, struggled with some anger, and somewhat retreated into herself instead of reaching out. When asked how she was able to get back on track, she said it was the Team TATE event, specifically being with positive people who cared for and supported her. So, in the end, our vulnerabilities collided into each other and we both walked away with personal accomplishment.

Ultimately, I’m diving into fear, embracing vulnerability, slowly sharing where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going, and inviting you to join along with your own transformation. This isn’t licensed advice. This is just human experience. I am not a professional therapist, trainer, life coach, medical doctor, or nutritionist. Nor do I currently have any letters after my name that instill immediate knowledge and confidence, unless me being an attorney somehow speaks to your internal struggle, which it shouldn’t. The point is, I am just human. I have experienced things in my life just as all of you have. Some good, some bad, some amazing, some terrible, but all worthy of their respective time slots in my past. And all a very integral part of my future. My commitment is to continue to force my fear of vulnerability to fuel my transformation. To be vulnerable, I’ve learned, is very powerful. So, embrace your power.