What is a reward? A quick Google search tells me that a reward is a thing given in recognition of one’s service, effort, or achievement. It’s synonymous with a prize, an honor, a bonus, or a gift. In my opinion, this implies two things. First, a reward is deserving. That is, it’s recognizing something that required effort and was a success, and the reward should seek to perpetuate that success in the future. Second, a reward is positive and should make one feel the same.

Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the concept of rewards and how it translates in my personal life. I’ve surely achieved a lot that is worthy of a reward. Professionally, I worked hard to become a successful attorney, and now spend my days fighting for justice. That should be worth something. Personally, I’ve completely changed my life. I changed my mindset, lost a lot of weight, got healthier, and now pay it forward every chance I get. Similarly appropriate for a reward, in my humble opinion. Thus, I think I have satisfied the first step, i.e. I’ve put forth effort and achieved success deserving of recognition. It’s the second step, however, that proves problematic.

A reward should be positive and should make one feel the same. More specifically, the ways you choose to reward yourself for your hard work and success should be positive and should make you feel the same. The reward should perpetuate your success and happiness. I struggle with this.

I’ve talked before about my tendency to achieve a milestone and then sabotage it. Basically, I reach a certain weight goal or succeed in a fitness challenge, and then I reward myself with time off from the gym and repeated indulgences. It’s counterproductive and ultimately leaves me with the need to “get back on track” and fix my mistake. I’ve compared it before to a daily two-step: a couple steps forward, a step back, another couple steps forward, a step to the side….or something. Okay, so I don’t know how to two-step, but you get the idea. The most confusing part, to me, is the fact that these “rewards” don’t often make me feel good. So, I’m not sure why I want them. Sure, it’s fun to go out with friends and let yourself partake in the normal drinking and eating festivities. It’s nice to avoid the stress of meal modifications, or the subtle annoyance that can manifest when you’re eating a salad and pretending it’s the nachos your friends are destroying in front of you. These indulgences are part of life- they are fun- and that is precisely why they are built into most healthy and successful health plans. After all, it’s not about deprivation. It’s about balance. But, it’s the repeated indulgences, the ones that aren’t on plan- the supposed “rewards”- that end up backfiring.

Recently, I moved myself back into phase 1 of my health plan- the most restrictive phase. It was a planned reset, a way to switch it up so my body could get past a plateau. I was very successful. I felt in control, strong, and motivated. I was strict with my eating and workouts, and succeeded in losing a lot of weight during the two weeks. My body felt great, I felt great. Shortly after, I enjoyed the high from this success by going out a few times over a weekend. I reaped the benefit of my hard work when I got to wear new clothes that now fit me better, and I headed out on the town with confidence. And, because I felt so good, I was in an amazing mood. I laughed constantly, danced whenever music played, and thoroughly enjoyed the contagious energy of a happy, healthy life. When it came time to eat, I let myself indulge. Again, that would normally be fine, but it continued. With each meal during the weekend, I let myself indulge again. And, I wasn’t working out. After all, I worked hard and succeeded. I deserved a break. A weekend off was my reward. Right?

By the time I got to Sunday, my body was feeling the effect of being “off plan.” I was tired, had no energy, somehow still felt full, and had a constant headache. I wanted to stay in bed, but I was at least able to force myself to get up. Even then, I couldn’t be productive. There was no motivation or will power. I was just lethargic. Was this really a way to celebrate my success? Is this really how a reward should feel?

Absolutely not.

Alas, I finally bring this back full circle. What is a reward? When should we reward ourselves? MOST IMPORTANTLY, how should the rewards make us feel? Shouldn’t we be rewarding our huge successes in ways that make us feel even better? Make us feel alive? Shouldn’t we be celebrating all of the things we did to get us to this place by paying tribute to those things? We got ourselves to this place of overwhelming happiness by eating healthy, working hard, doing mental and emotional work, being vulnerable, opening up to new people and things, and living life. So, shouldn’t we pay tribute towards, instead of tossing aside, those building blocks? Shouldn’t we reward ourselves with more of those positive steps towards the best versions of us?

Why would I, or any of us, allow myself to forget the point of the reward? Why would I confuse what actually makes me happy? It’s not food or a lazy day that makes me happy. I’m not saying those can’t bring some sense of happiness every now and then, but the real happiness is in the perpetual opportunity to love yourself and feel worth an exhilarating life. The real happiness is the moment you’re sitting in your car at a light, singing to the radio, dancing, and smiling because you are having an amazing day even though nothing has really happened. Real happiness is the moment you realize your favorite jeans fit you again, and now you can wear an outfit that makes you feel like you belong with all your stylish friends. Real happiness is when you catch yourself laughing out of nowhere because you’re dating again and that comment he made during dinner Friday night might have been the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. Real happiness is the feeling of confidence. It’s when people compliment you and you actually accept it because you no longer hate yourself. Real happiness is the feeling of emotional resilience. It’s when something arguably negative happens, but you’re able to handle it with strength and perseverance, and you move on with your life still intact. Real happiness is when you know yourself well enough to know what you deserve and what you don’t, and you no longer settle for anything that doesn’t bring you joy. Real happiness is when you take the time to take care of yourself, and when you succeed, you celebrate by showing what a boss you really are. Real happiness is Sunday meal prep with super friends, Thursday night bootcamps where you laugh through the pain, and girls’ nights at hockey games where nobody in your crew knows the rules but everyone knows how to scream when the goal siren goes off. Real happiness is when you finally get to be who you want to be because you’ve worked hard to slowly remove all the things in your life that used to cover you up.

As we move forward on our journeys, let’s work on rewarding ourselves the right way. Let’s do something deserving and choose rewards that are positive and make us feel the same. Let’s pay tribute to all of the things that we did to deserve to feel this good. Let’s celebrate by doing them all again, except this time we will be better, stronger, and happier. We didn’t come all this way to confuse what types of rewards we deserve. We didn’t come all this way to “reward” ourselves by covering ourselves back up. We are lucky enough to finally feel real happiness, and I don’t know about you, but I plan to protect that happiness. So, if you need me, I will be on my road to success. I’ll be on plan, in the gym, eating healthy, living a balanced life, and doing everything I can to make sure nothing and nobody takes this happiness away from me. And yes, I will probably be in my favorite jeans, dancing, and laughing just because.

Everything seems so familiar yet I have never been here before. I am a new person and this person hasn’t been anywhere. I am the best kind of explorer, dominating uncharted territory, and living the wildest of adventures.

The most intriguing thing about changing your life is the new person you become in the process. While there are familiar parts of who you are that remain, most improve so tremendously that you don’t even recognize yourself, and others are too new to even know where to begin. As a byproduct, every situation becomes uncharted territory, and you are the adventurous explorer discovering a new world.

I am still in the thick of my own adventure, and I honestly hope it never ends. Learning new things about myself- getting to know who I really am, how I tick- has been the most exciting ride I’ve ever been on. Every situation is a new one, but comes an odd familiarity. I constantly find myself thinking “I’ve been here before, I think. But last time I felt a lot different. So, maybe I haven’t been here yet.” It’s an opportunity to engage in the best of “do-overs.”

Here’s the tricky part: in order to enjoy the do-over and/or discover the new world, you have to actually let yourself enter the uncharted territory. What I sometimes struggle with is the need to cling to what’s familiar, and that often means clinging to an old feeling, thought, or way of handling a situation. The problem with this is obvious. If I’m only following the map I created last time, I’m not discovering anything new. I’m also hindering the new person I’ve become by only allowing her to follow in old me’s footsteps. Simply put, this isn’t fair to all the self-improvement work that’s been done. This is the equivalent of planning a trip, saving up the money, taking the time off of work, learning all the eccentricities of what you’re actually allowed to pack nowadays, fighting your way through security, getting to the gate, and then simply sitting down and watching the plane take off through the window. Hell no, people! We did the work, and now we get to fly!

If you’re like me, don’t be surprised if “old you” rears her head in the middle of your new adventure. I sometimes find myself beginning to react to old thoughts or insecurities before realizing that those insecurities don’t actually exist anymore. In these moments, I end up having to take a minute to flesh out how I, as the new me, actually feel. More often than not, new me just fine and embracing the opportunity to enjoy something new. So, don’t be deterred by the random thoughts of self-doubt, slight panic, or tempting calls from your comfort zone. Instead, silently thank the old you for her input and then tell her politely to shut up. Allow yourself to enter every situation as the new you and get to know how the new you handles it. I promise that most situations will be pleasantly surprising, if not overwhelmingly refreshing.

You deserve this adventure. You deserve to enter most situations with an unrelenting confidence. You deserve to know who you are, to be the best version of yourself, and to discover and create the life YOU want. You deserve to love yourself. You deserve to become the master explorer of your own life. Uncharted territory is waiting for you. All you have to do is drop the map, be brave, and embrace the wild adventure.

I am doing well. Awesome, actually. I’m on a great path. I’m strong, I’m focused, and I’ve achieved great success. I feel amazing. To reward myself, I will eat whatever I want. I’ve earned it. I will eat beyond when I’m full. I will eat until I feel sick. And for a moment, it will feel good. Being overfull will be satisfying, comfortable, familiar. Then things will take a turn, and I will feel bad. I will feel guilty. I will feel worse, like a failure, and I will be disappointed. This is not a celebration.

Food is everywhere and it is meant for everything. At the very least, it is fuel for our bodies. This is true, but rarely do our feelings of food stop there. No, food is much more than that. Food is comfort. Food is love. Food is celebration. Food is home.

We bring food to comfort our loved ones through a hard time. We provide food to show appreciation. We have food to celebrate a big occasion. We use food to welcome our family home, to show our love, to share a piece of ourselves. Food is part of our memory base. We get nostalgic for home-cooked meals, or we describe an event by talking about how good the food was. In fact, most often, food is where we start when planning an occasion.

So, what happens when food turns on us? What happens when it’s no longer a celebration, but a downfall? When it no longer is exciting and feels good, but instead makes you feel out of control, shameful, and disgusting? How do we turn food back from foe to friend?

I’m someone who considers herself to have a food addiction. I’ve never had a doctor write that in my chart, but they don’t have to. My relationship with food is stronger than most of the relationships in my life, for better or for worse. I’ve had times when food has been my biggest enemy and times when food has been my most loyal friend. It has gotten me through my hardest times, and has also created some harder ones. To me, it isn’t a question of whether or not I’m hungry; it’s a question of whether or not something is missing from my life. And if so, my go-to experiment is to see if food can fix it.

With this confession, it should be no surprise that the decision to change my life, although the best decision I’ve made, has also been a hard one. It was me breaking up with the longest standing partner I had. It was me letting go the relationship to which I had been most loyal. And there are days I miss it.

I wouldn’t go back permanently, but there are times when I let myself visit “the ex.” I flirt with food that’s slightly off plan, look forward to the date I have set where there will be no restrictions, and allow myself to enjoy every second of it. I never feel guilty about these moments because they are allowed. After all, food is part of everything. We aren’t required to give up on its excitement just because we are choosing to be healthy. We are just required to stay in control of it, to practice moderation. So, I have no regrets after controlled decisions to enjoy the food celebration.

It’s the other moments I regret. The moments where food sneaks up on me, takes control, taunts me, and I allow myself to ignore my long-term goals for the sake of immediate, delicious satisfaction. The problem is the satisfaction is never as sweet as I think it will be, nor as long lasting. It’s painful and leaves destruction in its wake.

It’s after one of these moments that I find myself reflective. Yes, food is good, can be beautiful, and is a very big part of our culture, even in positive ways. It can, and perhaps should, be used to celebrate moments in life. But, we can’t let its power become confused. We can’t allow ourselves to assume that the more food we have, the better, as if we are soaking up more and more of the beauty of the moment. We can’t allow food to overshadow the actual celebration. Because make no mistake about it, feeling overfull, shameful, embarrassed, and sick is not a party. Feelings of being out of control and self-destructive are nothing to celebrate.

Tonight I remind myself that I have worked too hard for too long to get out of my one-sided, abusive, unhealthy relationship with food, and I will not simply run back to it because life throws a few obstacles my way that make me crave its familiar comfort. I will leave behind the notion that food is my companion- the one thing that always seems to be there- and I will instead remind myself that I am worth companions who can listen, speak, lend me a helping hand, express love and appreciation, and feel things I feel. I will continue forward on this path that will undoubtedly lead me to a place where food is once again part of the party, but the real celebration is the brilliant life I’ve created with loyal friends and loving family, unconditional love, and healthy, addictive, belly-aching laughter. Cheers to all the things that truly do make this a wonderful life!

For the longest time, I let what I could and couldn’t do define who I was. I was someone who didn’t like to shop, preferred to watch things on T.V. instead of going to a sports game or movie, didn’t like concerts or amusement parks, wasn’t a fan of swimming or the beach, would rather hang out at home in comfortable clothes instead of getting dolled up and hitting the town, and was afraid to fly. I often hesitated to commit to certain plans with friends or family, claiming to have a conflict, and even took control of plans to calm any anxiety I had about where we were going or what we were doing. My identity became very small, very limited. I still had a lot of friends and a lot of opportunity to participate in a variety of events, but, to me, the realistic choices were few and far between.

Although I may have not realized it at the time, nothing I was saying or claiming to be was true. The truth was: everything about me- my identity- was controlled by what I perceived to be something I could do (hang out at home in sweats with friends) or the millions of things I couldn’t (fit into certain chairs or tables, wear a swimsuit, find a cute outfit that fit, or fit into the seat on an airplane). After a while, it became easier to do nothing than to try to do anything. And even though I probably knew the truth on some level, I played it off as just being a “laid-back person who prefers the easy and casual to the superficial nightlife and overemphasis on appearances.”

On a conscious level, I didn’t really know this was happening. Or, maybe I did, but I forgot. I was never trying to be fake. To the contrary, I considered myself to be a real and genuine person who cared to be honest and of good character. I guess the reality was I had a secret, I had a problem, and I didn’t know how to fix it so I did what I could to cover it up. And I highly doubt I was alone.

In this world, there are real and natural limits that prevent overweight people from participating in a lot of things. Those at a healthy weight probably never think about these things, and likely take for granted the fact that they don’t have to. For the rest of us, we are painfully aware of weight limits, how wide a chair is, whether we are going to be able to get an arm rest down on a plane or in a movie theater, if the seatbelt will fit, whether there’s enough room in the booth at a restaurant, or if the clothing store even carries the sizes that we need. We live in fear of humiliation and often protect ourselves by passing on an event entirely. After all, I can deal with the sadness of missing out on a vacation or not going to an amusement park with friends. I’m not sure, however, how I would handle the public shame if the flight attendant thought I needed to buy a second seat or the ride conductor at six flags needed me to get off the ride because he couldn’t get the safety bar down. After a while, these fears multiply, and pretty soon we’ve convinced ourselves there’s more we cannot do than things we can.

The driving force behind my personal success this year has been the desire to get to know myself separate from my weight. I no longer wanted my identity to be defined by the limitations my weight problem placed on my life. I wanted to really get to know myself, not just what I could and couldn’t do. This, of course, requires some work. On the one hand, there are certain things I can’t change. I can’t make designers carry bigger sizes, and I’m fairly confident the major airlines care more about making as much money as possible than they do about making customers a little more comfortable with wider seats. So, whether I like it or not, I have to get myself to a healthy weight to rid myself of these natural limitations. On the other hand, I have to stop waiting to live life. There’s nothing that says you can only have fun, feel good, be sexy, happy, have confidence, be adventurous, be desirable, spontaneous, and love yourself if you have fall within a normal body mass index. I let myself feel that way for a long time, but it’s not true, so I have to shake it. I have to get out of my comfort zone now, try new things, put myself out there, and start to learn what I actually like and dislike regardless of how much I weigh.

What I’m learning now is getting to know myself is spectacular. It is probably the most fun thing I’ve done with my life thus far. Turns out, I like shopping, I like wearing new clothes, and getting to feel a little fancy. I also still like nights at home in sweatpants, but now it feels like a choice instead of my only option. I’ve learned that I like going to sporting events every now and then, but will likely choose to watch it on T.V. most of the time because it’s a lot warmer and less expensive. I’ve learned that amusement parks aren’t really my thing because once you fit in the ride, it throws you around in the air with nothing but a tiny safety bar preventing you from plummeting to your death, and let’s be honest- how often are those rides really inspected? I’ve learned that some restaurants have really tiny booths (they must share notes with the airlines) and it’s okay if I’d prefer a table instead. And finally, I’ve learned that I’m not really too afraid to fly.

I’m not saying it’s easy, and I detest the judgmental, blaming comments of those who couldn’t possibly understand. But, I am saying that we have the control to decide we don’t want to miss out on life anymore. We can decide we are worth everything we want, even if our wants are as simple as riding a rollercoaster or finally getting to splurge on a new outfit. Life is absolutely worth living, even at 300 pounds. In fact, I live it brilliantly just as I am.

I just can’t tell anyone. I won’t. It’s embarrassing. It’s annoying. It’s too personal. They would look at me differently. They wouldn’t understand. They will judge me, and then I’ll be too exposed. This is my secret, and nobody else needs to know. I’m fine. I can take care of myself.

How often do you find yourself thinking about something you’re struggling with in life? How often is something bothering you? How often do you stay in that place- that hole of mental anguish- alone? Or, maybe you do reach out to someone and attempt to talk about it, but there’s always something you’re not saying. Perhaps you’re talking about someone else’s actions and how those actions made you feel, but you’re silent as to why someone’s actions made you feel that way. How often is the truth of most feelings the fact that you’re lonely, you feel like nobody really understands you, and you don’t know how to change any of it?

Hopeless- 1. a : having no expectation of good or success : despairing. b : not susceptible to remedy or cure. c : incapable of redemption or improvement. And hopelessness? To me it’s a suffocating sense of being; it’s a psychological realm that causes physical pain and mental conflict. It defines itself. It’s hopeless.

I haven’t figured out what it is, but somewhere along the way we learn to keep our deepest and most vulnerable feelings a secret. Perhaps it’s the old lesson of not airing your dirty laundry. Perhaps it’s the art of being respectful and having manners, never wanting to be inappropriate by bringing down the conversation with talk of personal struggles. Maybe it’s an act of self-preservation. To talk about your struggle is to admit a weakness, and we would rather be strong, superficial, and misunderstood than risk vulnerability, pity, and exposure. Regardless of its origin, this lesson is one we hold dear, a habit that is hard to break, yet one that should be destroyed as soon as possible.

I have always known how to talk about feelings. I often counsel friends and loved ones through their break-ups, help people get back on their feet during a hard time, listen, understand, and have always felt comfortable with whatever mess people need to turn into. I don’t judge. I am the ultimate glue and pride myself on being someone who can hold others together. As a writer, I even analyze feelings. I give them words, explore them, and then turn them into poetry in an attempt to understand them. I’ve done this for years. Recently, however, I’ve realized that I was never talking about my own feelings.

I could talk about my day forever. I could talk about the endless situations that I was in and how those situations made me feel. I would dwell on one particular problem, often involving a struggling relationship, and put my listeners through a daily replay of my inner monologue. Why would he say that? Why wouldn’t she care? How can they be so selfish? What is so wrong with me that I keep ending up in these situations? I would analyze and then reanalyze until I thought I had figured out how to move on, and then a few minutes later I would start over again. It was never satisfying. It never felt healthy or productive. And as much as I thought I was being open, I realize now that all the banter was my way of talking about what I was comfortable with so I didn’t have to address the rest of it, the truth.

The truth was I was lonely. I didn’t feel like anybody really understood me, or even cared to try to. Even deeper, I didn’t feel worth anybody’s real time to try to understand me, because I had no idea what there was to understand. I’ve talked about this before. To feel loved, understood, and accepted by other people, you have to start with yourself. You have to love yourself, understand yourself, and accept yourself. You have to KNOW that you are worth everything you want. The best part is, once you get there you no longer need other people to love, understand, or accept you. You are no longer looking for that satisfaction. Don’t get me wrong, though, they will absolutely fall in love, because self-love = happiness, and people are drawn to happiness.

The point here, though, is not another lesson on how to fix your loneliness. Instead, my intention is to discuss our pattern of keeping it a secret. When I was in that place, I didn’t talk about it because I assumed nobody else would understand. I assumed nobody else felt it, and as soon as I opened my mouth I would be ruining my image forever. I had this fear of people hearing everything I had to say and then just looking at me puzzled before responding “hmmm…I’ve never felt that.” And then what? I try to laugh it off? I try to act like it’s no big deal and we can just pretend I never said anything? No. At that point, I would be the puddle of a person running down the gutter that everybody else would jump over to avoid ruining their shoes. Right?

I still don’t know how common this feeling might be. Even writing this now, there’s that old voice in my head that is screaming “WE CAN’T TELL PEOPLE THIS!!!” But, “we” have to. In my opinion, the biggest problem with this feeling is that it leaves people with the impression that not only are they alone in their struggle, but they are also weird. They aren’t normal like the rest of functional and happy society. It’s just another thing that ostracizes them. The loneliness facilitates the feeling, and then the feeling perpetuates the loneliness. It’s a vicious cycle.

How do we break it? How do we escape? We rip it open, pour it out, speak up, and create the expectation for ourselves that we will no longer struggle alone.

Here’s what I’ve learned: I’m not alone. One of my mentors- a woman I respect dearly- once stood before a class of individuals who were trying to change their lives and said “stop thinking you’re special…right now… because you’re not.” She was right. You are not so special that you’re the only one to ever struggle with whatever problem you’re struggling with, and as soon as you actually start talking about your struggle, you’re going to learn just how common you are. You’re going to learn that you’re not alone. You’re going to learn that people have been studying your problem for years and have theories on what caused it and how to fix it, people have gone through your problem and have gotten themselves out of it, people are in your problem right now and still surviving, and some people are worse off than you are. The best part: you’re going to learn that you’re normal.

In my life, I have a new rule that I don’t struggle alone. No matter what problem I’m feeling, whether it’s an emotional breakdown or simply not wanting to go to the gym, I talk about it. It no longer lives deep within me, eating away at my well-being, and gaining power as a preciously protected secret. It’s immediately exposed in a 5-minute phone call or a simple text message, or a blog post, or a status update, and stripped of whatever control it may otherwise have had over my life. To my surprise, this simple rule has greatly reduced the struggles I carry on a daily basis to nearly zero. I’m not saying it’s eliminated all of life’s problems, but it has silenced the inner monologue and allowed my energy to be spent on healthier, happier, and more productive things. I now have super friends who literally know all my secrets. So, instead of spending my time trying not to give away any clues of loneliness or insecurity, I spend my time laughing, having fun, getting to know people, letting them get to know me, building relationships free of conflict, exploring, trying new things, and simply feeling good.

I highly doubt that I’ve stumbled upon the cure to all of life’s unhappiness- after all, I’m probably not that special. But, I have absolutely discovered the cure to my own unhappiness and I think that makes me a superhero. I encourage you all to discover your superpower and then use it to slowly change the world, even if it’s only your own.

Friends gather around a table at a local bar. Each are there to wind down from another long day. With each sip and bite, they create distance between themselves and the demands of their shared office, their often exhausting profession. The conversation starts the way it always does. One-by-one telling a story about the drama of their day, laughing at the jokes only people in their job can understand, and then feeling relief when all can commiserate with the daily annoyances. Eventually, the alcohol starts to set in, the fried food silences the stress, and the stories move from venting to divulging. This is the part of the evening where these friends begin to bond over something other than work, in fact, over everything but work. After all, lately their best stories exist in their personal lives. So, they begin to share their moments of embarrassment, invited recklessness, transition, excitement, and sheer abandon. Stories of the secrets of their past, one and more night stands, dating, and the spectrum that exists between the thrill of singlehood and true commitment. For me, this is when that voice in my head starts to speak up.

I am not a stranger to these situations or conversations. I am often the one who can make a table laugh, and am never shy about pointing out the hilarity in the simplest thing. But, there tends to be a point in the conversation when I no longer have a story to contribute, and that usually occurs about the time we discuss putting ourselves out there.

Dating. It is one of life’s true tests. It’s one of the arenas where we see whether all our training to become a certain person proves successful. This arena implies certain expectations and we all fall victim to the demand. We wear what we can to hide the flaws and accentuate the flawless. We strive to display our endearing qualities while storing away our specific kind of crazy. And, we decide where we are going to set the bar and who we are going to allow to clear it based on what we perceive to be our own self worth. This is where we must be brave. We expose ourselves figuratively and often literally, and allow another to determine what is likable and what is not. We face rejection head on, and if we collide, we face the terrorizing consequences. The bravest know how to deflect this terror. They can avoid the immediate urge to cover themselves, leave the arena, and never enter again. Others deploy various tactics to self protect. And there are some who give up entirely.

It’s around a table in a bar with a bunch of friends that one often gets to hear how others handle themselves in this arena. And it’s after the sips of beer and bites of fried food that some may begin to reflect on their own skills in this particular battle. So, what happens when you are the one reflecting, and when that reflection reveals the fact that you aren’t in the arena?

I don’t think it’s uncommon to remove yourself from various arenas in life when you lose faith that you can survive in them. I think it’s natural. We are built to survive, and sometimes that survival mechanism effects removing ourselves from threatening situations. However, if we allow this belief that we cannot survive to always consume the possibility that we can, we are left with removing ourselves not only from the bad, but from all the good. We are left with living life as a spectator, often falling silent when the conversation turns to stories of glorious battles and well-worth-it wounds. We are left without stories to share.

Theodore Roosevelt apparently figured this out long ago and employed people to live in the arena. His famous “man in the arena” quote, although surely meant for greater battles than simple dating, is one that comes to mind when I’m faced with the daunting decision about where to stand.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiams, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

This quote gives the visual of a true gladiator, one who is deserving of respect and awe instead of criticism and judgment. Is the dating arena this grandiose? I don’t know. But, I do think there is something to be said about putting oneself out there. There is something to respect about the decision to live life available. Or, just the bravery necessary to allow possibilities, even if some might sting.

I don’t know what it will take to get myself back in the arena, but I do know I’m going to figure it out. Because I want the dust on my face. I want to know great enthusiams and great devotions. I want to spend myself in a worthy cause. And, if I fail, I want to fail daring greatly at all things.

For those who are with me, let us find a way back into all the arenas of life. For, this is where we earn our battle wounds and the stories that follow. This is where we experience excitement and abandon. This is where we feel the rush of living life. And living in this spot will ensure that silence never befalls a night around a table with friends.

Have you ever felt like you were living in a box? A box that defined what you were allowed to do. A box that determined what you could like, wish for, expect. A box that dictated how you could act, whether you could be loud or quiet, confident, smart. A box that told you whether you could feel beautiful and whether you could expect to be loved. A box that said what you could wear, decided whether you were someone who knew how to have fun, and told you whether or not you were capable of doing certain things. For the longest time, I lived in a box, until finally the box became too small and I had to break out to avoid suffocating.

If I had to draw a visual representation of what my life used to be like, I would write a bunch of words to represent all the amazing things I had: family, friends, laughter, an education, intelligence, creativity, a kind heart, dreams, the cutest kitty that ever was, and a lot going for me. Around all of these words would be a box made up of a very thick black line, and written inside of that black line would be phrases like: weight problem, poor self-image, pain, loneliness, “I don’t know who I am,” and “I don’t know how to love myself.” On the outside of that box, I would want to write all of the things that I hoped for, but I wouldn’t be able to. So, in reality, the outside of that box would remain blank white paper, and that nothingness would represent my hopelessness. The blank white paper would be the perfect visual representation of the fact that I didn’t know how to really want or hope for anything, because I felt like I was never going to have anything more.

The problem is that there is only so much that can fit inside a box. So, for me, the more I was able to achieve, the more suffocated I felt. It was almost as if even the good things became bad because they took up space that I desperately needed. And because I didn’t know how to break out of the box, I started to push things away. Eventually, I felt very limited. I only had what I could fit into this little box, and the physical barrier between me and the rest of the world prevented me from sharing all of the beautiful things I had, and from seeing all the brilliance that was to come. I was angry. I didn’t want to be in a box anymore. I was mad at the people who put me in one in the first place, and eventually realized the only person to be mad at was myself. I put myself there, and I let others keep me there.

For the longest time, all I was was overweight. Others might have seen more, but, to me, I was just a person living inside of a tiny box that was sealed by her weight problem. It made me feel like I was only allowed to be a certain way. It made me feel like I was only capable of doing certain things. It made me think that I wasn’t worth all of the things I wanted in life, that I’d never truly be seen, loved or understood, that I wouldn’t get to travel and explore the world, that I probably wouldn’t have a family of my own, get the fairy tale wedding, or ever be genuinely happy. I felt like others limited me, too. In my head, people saw a lot of great things about me despite my weight, never realizing that my weight was a part of me. It left me feeling unacceptable as a whole. It made me feel that I was never going to be good enough or deserving just as I was, and of course, the unrealistic and superficial societal expectations nowadays didn’t help anything.

But, none of this was actually true. It was just the world I let exist in my life because I didn’t know how to see outside of my box. From my perspective, my weight quite literally sealed my fate, until one day I realized we are not meant to live in boxes. We are not meant to be defined by the problems or limitations we have in life. We are not the sum of our struggles. We are adaptive creatures who can rise above and live life loud. The struggles are there to help us become our best, not stifle all we can be. So, whatever it is that is sealing your box closed, keeping you from sharing all of the things you have achieved and acquired, and preventing you from seeing all that you are capable of, break through it. My struggle with weight can no longer trap me inside of a box unless I let it. Likewise, you will not exist in the confines of your box unless you let your struggle keep you there.

If I drew my life now, the image would look very different. I would be standing in wide-open space. There would be recently-cut green grass under my feet that goes for miles, and a clear blue sky above me. And I would be writing words and phrases to express all of the amazing things I have, wonderful experiences that got me here, and then all of the things I am so excited for. I would write everywhere- almost as if the world was a dry-erase board. Memories of traveling to soccer games with my dad, teaching my brother how to treat women, laughing attacks with my sister, the ways my mom became my best friend- all of these would stand in the grass. In the air would be all the places I’m going to travel, relationships that have come and gone but taught me something about myself, the goals I’ve achieved, and what I’m capable of. And the sky? It would be full of all of the surprises that exist outside of the box. The support system I now have that loves exactly who I am, the confidence I feel comfortable exuding, the phrase “I am absolutely stunning inside and out,” a drawing of my future family, hearts, sound-bytes of aha moments, and pictures of aging happiness. There would be the feeling of growth, acceptance, and fulfillment. Oh, and I would write the word “ice skating,” because, yes, I can do that now. In my new world, there is no box around me, and no room for anybody who tries to put one there. I exist freely, I am happy, and, guess what, I am even still overweight. And I love ALL of me.

So, what does your drawing look like? Are you in a box? What keeps you there? And what are you going to do about it?

I want to be noticed, but I don’t know how to be seen. I want to be remembered, but I don’t know how to be known. I want to be missed, but I don’t know how to be significant. I want to be wanted, but I don’t know how to be worth it. I want to be extraordinary, but I don’t know how to be free.

I want to be an artist, but I don’t know how to paint

For years, I found myself stuck in this endless cycle of wanting things that I didn’t know how to get. Whether it was something as big as wanting a certain type of life for myself or as small as wanting someone’s attention when I was out and about, I didn’t know how to overcome the obstacles that prevented me from having all I wanted. At the time, I considered these circumstances the natural limitations on my life. Often having thoughts of “those things just don’t happen to me” or “I’m just not like that,” I assumed that life delivered gifts sparingly and the rest of us were destined to be ordinary. At least on some level, I was thankful for what I had. I realized that I had a good family, decent people in my life, and never had to go through true problems such as hunger, homelessness, or violence. But the truth, even if it was me being ungrateful, was that none of these things were enough. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t living. I was simply fine and merely surviving.

I allowed myself to live life with a lot of questions about why such things were happening, and went to bed night-after-night making myself promises to change that I’d never keep. In some sense, my entire adult life to date had occurred during groundhog’s day. I was getting older, I was advancing in my professional life, but I still woke up to the same day every day. And that day was one where I had no control over myself, my life, or anything else. I might make a few good memories every now and then, get hope that things were changing, but nothing could get rid of the shadow that existed. Nothing could get rid of the underlying loneliness, self-hatred, subconscious depression, constant struggle to find happiness, and the feeling that I was never going to be one of those people who was just happy.

At some point, I stopped caring. I accepted the idea of living a mediocre life. On the surface, I was seemingly confident, funny, somewhat outgoing, and successful, but underneath I didn’t believe any of it. I didn’t feel any of it. Even more unfortunate, the surface me had a tendency to attract people. I was someone who always had friends, but the poor fate of my close friends was to get to know a very different me. At the risk of sounding a bit over-dramatic, let me explain that I don’t believe I ever projected myself as a deeply depressed and unhappy person. In fact, I think people would be surprised to hear that’s how I felt. Instead, I think I presented as someone with a lot of friction in her life. I maintained “friendships” that were wholly wrong for me, pursued relationships that emphasized my lack of self-worth, and often placed way too much pressure on random situations to satisfy the holes in my life that I didn’t know how to fill myself. In sum, I lacked self control in all things, and therefore my life was full of a bunch of square edges and rough surfaces trying to push past each other.

I bring this up because I think this is a very subtle and real problem that creeps up on people. We don’t realize we are out of control until we are way too far gone. For me, I didn’t even realize how bad it was until I decided to change it. All too often, I think we assume that things are good enough. We may not be happy, we may not know how to love ourselves or make the right decisions in life, we may have a lot of friction, but we don’t necessarily think we need a formal diagnosis and prescribed medication so we must be fine. Here’s a thought, though: maybe life can be more than fine. Maybe it’s actually meant to be extraordinary. 

I embraced the notion that I had the power to change my life very reluctantly. People say mindset is everything, but I was convinced that my mind thought what it wanted, whether I actually wanted to be thinking such things or not. I had no control over my mind- surprise, surprise- almost to the point where I thought of it as something separate from me. Guess what? It’s not. I am my mindset, and everything around me is merely the artwork I allow my mindset to paint. So now, I paint happiness. I paint self-love. I paint hope. I paint friendships that support and appreciate who I am as a person and how I want to live my life. I paint family moments full of love and belly-aching laughter. I paint a future of excitement. I paint music and dancing, success and creativity, brilliance and beauty. I paint smooth surfaces and rounded edges that glide past each other with ease. I paint me exactly as I want to be.

Changing my life has been hard, but it is the most rewarding hard thing I have ever done and continue to do every day. It is so incredibly freeing that all I want is to pass it along to anybody I can. I paint constantly and leave it everywhere, resulting in a very colorful path, and honestly…I just want to dance on that path. When people ask me to explain “the shift,” or the moment things fell into place, or how I figured out how to actually change, I find myself talking in circles. While the actual act of changing is hard and continuous, the decision to change was so unbelievably simple. I just woke up and decided my groundhog’s day was over, and I was finally ready to embrace tomorrow.

I invite you to pick up a paint brush and embrace your tomorrow. Because, you can do this. You can live the life you want. You can have all the things you need to be truly happy. You just have to decide you’re worth it. It will require you to learn how to paint. You will feel uncomfortable, the lines will be shaky, the colors might be off, but eventually you’ll realize that you’re a true artist. And your life, your artwork, is nothing short of extraordinary.

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.