mental health Archives -

But Am I Enough?

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby Leave a Comment

I am so sorry for my absence.

I say this as if I know people read this. It may just be my mom. But in any case, I have been absent from my blog.

I have been struggling. When I say struggling, that is a true understatement. Between moving, gaining weight, battling anxiety and depression, and feeling insecure in every aspect of my life, I was drowning.

I worry that sometimes I have to hide that side of me, the one who feels lost at times. The one who still has darkness. The one that constantly doubts herself.

Over the last year, I have been on an amazing journey of self realization. This journey I have documented on social media. And in most aspects, it has been an absolute blessing. I have met amazing women, made amazing connections, and learned more about myself and others than I ever dreamed I could.

But I have often times felt out of body in this amazing, incredible, emotional experience.

I have made an effort to share my story. Raw. Open. Vulnerable. Scary.

And it has been amazing. It has led me to strength and courage and bravery.

But I am not always strong. I am not always courageous. And I am not always brave.

The last few months, I have been sad. I lost focus and motivation. I truly felt like every move I made was an act. And for me, that was hard. I am not one to hide my emotions. I have never been in a position before where people are looking to me for support and inspiration. What am I supposed to do when I can’t figure my own shit out, let alone help others?

But, I have spent time working on myself. I have been focusing on how I want to feel, not how I want to look to others. I have spent time eating and working out and treating me right, not on looking a certain way on social media. I have dedicated my time and thoughts to not impressing and inspiring others, but inspiring me. Because I had lost my fire.

I want to say, to all of you, that it’s okay to be lost. It is okay to feel like you are in a dark room with no exits. It’s okay to feel alone and scared and not enough. Everyone has been in that dark room. Everyone has doubts.

It’s what you do with them. I am not a perfect person. I do not have answers for everyone. I barely have answers for myself. But I have a heart that wants to help. I have a soul that wants to share. I have a drive to make changes for myself and others. And I have a will that cannot be shaken.

So I have been down, but I am not out. I may not have an amazing transformation before and after picture, but I have a story to tell. And so do you. So share your story. The good. The bad. The ugly. The everything.

Because you are enough. I am enough. We are all enough. And we need to remember that our stories, good or bad, ugly or pretty, help others know they aren’t alone.

I’m back. I am so back. Here’s to kicking ass and taking names.

Originally posted 2016-10-23 17:45:16.

Yes, I gained weight. No, it’s none of your F*%king business.

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 1 Comment

Let’s just get this off the table.

I’ve gained weight. Numerically, about 20 lbs.

Some of you are judging. Some of you are letting outs gasps and saying, “Bless her heart.” . Some of you are texting your girlfriend to say, ” I told you that PCOS chick gained weight! Ha!”.

Whatever you’re thinking, well-STOP. First, because I want you to know I am completely accepting and comfortable with this fact. I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need your comments. I don’t need your judgement. Because I am just fine.

And oh yea, because it’s NONE OF YOUR F*#king business.

My hesitation in writing this came from the fact that I am a health coach, and because of our messed up society that is stuffed full of diet culture, where worth dictated by numbers on tags and scales, I know many of you would find me hypocritical.

How dare she coach women about health when she clearly is not in control of hers?

Well I dare to because I think health is more than what the industry driven by shame and fueled by fear of not being what is currently considered ideal. I find nothing healthy about spending all my energy hating myself and obsessing over food.

Health to me is improving your quality of life. But what happens when your pursuit of physical health is destroying your mental health? What if the journey leads you down a road of obsession over food and using fitness and nutrition as a punishment and reward system?

In a season when every fitspo, home health coach will be filling your social media with their programs to “fix” you, I want you to remember one thing- you shouldn’t be shamed into health. You’re not broken. The health industry is, preying on our insecurities. Motivation driven by hating yourself doesn’t get you very far.

I gained weight. file-dec-10-11-26-50-pm I don’t need to justify it. I just stopped equating my worthiness with my physical appearance. I didn’t “let myself go”. The only thing that I let go of is my fear of judgement about how my body makes others feel.

But regardless, I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my body. I could list the numerous life occurrences that some may accept as worthy of justification for weight gain. I could apologize about how I did XYZ to get here, and quickly follow up with how I am going to resolve it. I could explain to you that at my thinnest I still felt unhealthy and trapped in the diet cycle. I could make sure you understand why I’m still acceptable where I am, even though society might say differently. But I won’t.

Because my weight is not something that needs to be resolved. I’m heavier. And I am happier. To me, this is healthier.

I’ve found acceptance in the fact that health is individual. It is not one size fits all. It is a complex balance between mind and body, and the connection between the two is crucial to understand.

And for those who view me differently for it, I bid you ado. You are the exact unhealthy weight I need to lose.

I have gained. I have gained strength to break up my unhealthy relationship with connecting guilt and reward to food. I have gained the understanding that my confidence can come from something other than my body. I have gained the knowledge to see how closely related your mental health is to your physical health, and both need to be nurtured. I have gained the understanding that loving the hell out of myself doesn’t come with size restrictions.

And I have gained the strength to tell anyone who has something to say about my body that I don’t owe you an explanation. And I certainly don’t need your validation.

Originally posted 2016-12-10 23:44:21.

Pancakes and Panic Attacks:Parenting with Anxiety

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 2 Comments

We woke up today, just like any other day. It’s just you and me and a pancake date planned. After all, we don’t get many days where it’s just you and me. I thought I was ready. I perfectly planned your purple tutu and favorite polka dot bow last night. It was laid out neatly, right next to my list of quick things we needed to grab at the store. It would be a quick stop. After all I was prepared.

We’re shopping away, laughing and giggling as we work as a team to knock things off my perfectly planned list. Toilet Paper-check. Milk-check. Tampons-check. Bathmat-check. Wait. Wait. What size do I need?

And then I feel it coming. It comes like a freight train and I am chained to the tracks, forced to watch the wreckage.

[Tweet “And then I feel it coming. It comes like a freight train and I am chained to the tracks, forced to watch the wreckage.”]

Why didn’t you measure the bathroom Shelby? How could you forget? When will you have time to come back to look for another mat? There’s no time. There’s too much to do. Because Shelby you must always be doing and if you stop doing then something will fall apart. Something always falls apart. Something will go wrong. My God, what if something goes wrong? And people will expect you to have a damn bathmat. Why can’t you do this? Why are you constantly failing? People expect you to have it together.

Now I’m sweating. I feel like I’m being swallowed alive by the shelves of bathmats in all different unfathomable sizes around me. And feel the train run over my chest. I am gasping for air, but my chest feels like it’s been crushed. And I struggle to breathe. I didn’t realize it, but people are looking, waiting to see if I can relax. Because, for fucks sake Shelby, you should be able to relax. Why can’t you relax? Then I try to relax but my heart won’t slow down and I panic all over again because I can’t get the damn bathmats to stop swallowing me alive. Okay think about other things. Oh shit- all those THINGS. Things you need to do. If I don’t do them I will let people down and if I let people down I am failing and Shelby you CANNOT FAIL. I can’t breathe now. I am gasping for breath, sweating and shaking, in the damn bath aisle of Target.

You saw it all. You witnessed mommy break. I promised you princess outfits and pancakes and you got mommy’s panic attack.

Soon, after I regrouped, after the train had backed off my chest and the air was back into the room, I stood up. I took you from the Target employee who had come to help, and held you in my arms. This is my coping skill. In those moments of fear and feeling of doom, I need to know what is real. I need to touch what’s important.

Anxiety is different for everyone. I have learned mine is stress induced. I function just fine and lead a seemingly full, happy life because I know my triggers. Most days, I know I am so much more than my anxiety. I am smart and brave and kind and good. I am not a failure. I am enough. But some days, the doubt and feelings of inadequacy creep in the cracks of my tired, overworked, overstressed self. It gets under my skin and spreads like a rapid virus that may show its ugly head, or may lay dormant until triggered by an outside force.

My outside force is fear of failure. I just don’t want to mess anything up or let anyone down, especially you, my sweet girl. I want you to know your momma is strong and capable and knows what she is doing.

At the end of the day, I just have to remember to be in the moment. Whatever it takes to get me through. In seconds, in minutes, in hours. Just get through. Just get off the floor. Just breathe. Because there will always be things to do and lists to make.

But right now, I owe you pancakes.

Originally posted 2016-07-15 16:52:08.

Stop the Carousel-I Want Off: My story of depression and self-hate

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 2 Comments

*trigger/emotional warning*

(disclaimer: this post is not meant to put blame for what I went through. It’s meant to share my piece of my story and I own it all. I have an amazing family and wonderful support system.)

I’m going to tell you all something I’ve never told a soul. Why? Because maybe it will help someone. And honestly, I feel strong enough to tell it finally.

I used to hate myself. I hated myself so much I didn’t want to live. So much so my mom had me hospitalized after I refused to eat for 3 days and found me crying on the floor of my bathroom with a kitchen knife after school one day.

Why talk about it now?

Because it’s part of my story. A really dark part. I used to feel ashamed of it. I used to hide it away and try to forget it.

It hurts me looking back knowing now that it wasn’t my fault. Mental illness runs rampant in my family. Not that that is the only reason I was depressed. I wasn’t given the tools I needed to understand or cope with my feelings before it got to this point. I was a ticking time bomb of instability labeled as a “moody teenager who didn’t like being chubby.” I felt completely crazy because “girls with so much opportunity shouldn’t be so angry at the world” but I wasn’t angry at the world. I wasn’t in control of my world. It was spinning and I couldn’t see straight.

[Tweet “I wasn’t angry at the world. I wasn’t in control of my world. It was spinning and I couldn’t see straight.”]

Even after I was hospitalized and sent home 3 days later, it wasn’t spoken of. I felt shame for how I felt. I felt shame for something I couldn’t control.

It took my aunt taking her own life 5 years later for anyone in my family to take mental health seriously.

I no longer feel depressed, yet I am aware of it when it does come. I see a counselor regularly for not only anxiety but just for my own mental health well being. I treat my mental health just like I treat my physical health.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I am not ashamed of it anymore. I have learned that just like your body heals, so does your mind- if you treat it right. Mental illness isn’t something that needs to be hidden in dark corners. It’s present in people you know in your everyday life. People who you look up to. People you wouldn’t imagine. And it’s hard and scary and lonely if you go through it alone.

With PCOS comes an increased occurrence of anxiety and depression. I urge you, if you are struggling-seek help. If you have overcome or are facing mental health issues, share your story. Because it’s not shameful to be going through it. What’s shameful is making people feel like they are less than because of it.

Originally posted 2016-06-12 11:51:11.

Thank you for your concern: A letter to the elusive "helpful" keyboard warrior.

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby Leave a Comment

To the people on the internet who want to “save” me,

I got your messages. I have read your comments. I have received your emails. Thank you for your concern. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your message telling me that you love my page and think that (insert product/diet/lifestyle here) will benefit me. I am assuming you saw PCOS in my name. Maybe you are unique and spent a minute looking at my page and saw I formally was an unhealthy weight. Or maybe you dug deeper like the little overachiever you are and noticed I have struggled with an eating disorder, depression, self hatred and anxiety. And while those things are a big part of me, it is not WHO I am.

I assume you have good intentions. I like to believe the best in people. I am sure you are not just trying to sell me a product. That would just be cruel using my perceived weaknesses as a sales pitch. I know you aren’t searching hashtags looking for vulnerable women to impose your opinions or products on. You must know better. I am positive your days are spent trying to better people by telling them how wrong they are for how they eat or what they wear or how they look.

I want to tell you that I don’t need saving. You may assume because I put myself out there on the internet, that I should be okay with you pushing your opinions on me. I can’t stop you. I have chosen to share my story and with that comes critique and unsolicited comments. I’m okay with that.

But for one second, I want you to think about yourself. I know, this must be hard since you are so selfless with the giving of your opinions. Imagine something you are insecure about. Something that hurts you. Your weak spot. Imagine working on that struggle every day. Imagine the tears and grief and sadness you have felt along with it. Hard right?

Now imagine overcoming it, or at the very least accepting it. Imagine growing into a point of accepting and sharing and loving your story. You are proud and strong and encouraged.

Then someone comes along and tells you you aren’t doing it right. Someone comes along and tells you it’s not enough. You aren’t worthy of feeling good because you aren’t as good as you could be.

It would hurt right? Maybe piss you off?

It is really hard to overcome your insecurities. It is even harder to share them with others and open yourself up to critique. It takes bravery to find your way in this world. I am so glad you found yours. It must be important to you since you feel the need to force your thoughts on strangers on the internet.

I am strong enough to not fall for what people try to sell me anymore- whether it is in the form of product that will “fix me” or words said to make me believe I am unworthy. But so many others are not. Your “concern” may just break them.

In the day of Dr. Google and online forums being replacements for medical and mental health advice, I understand everyone feels they are an expert. It’s easy to feel powerful and all knowing sitting behind a keyboard tapping away your beliefs and thoughts and imposing them on everyone. You may assume you understand me from looking at my page.

But you don’t know everything. Your opinion is just that. An opinion. Feel free to express it, but don’t impose it on others. Post it on your own wall, your blog, your diary, anything you own. But not on me. I am not an open forum because you can see my pictures on the internet.

I’m sure you are thinking, ” Well if you don’t like it why be so public on the internet?”

Touche, my friend. You are so smart. I could very well pack up my 695 pictures, my plethora of stories and tales and lock them away so I don’t open myself up to your opinions. But who would benefit? No one. I share my story to not only help others, but to help myself. I refuse to be stopped because you feel I am doing it wrong. For every one of you doubters or concerned followers, I have 10 that get who I am. They understand that behind the few characteristics you pulled from your skim of my page as weaknesses, are bad ass qualities that make me much more. I am smart. I am a fighter. I am empathetic. I am a believer in supporting and being kind to others. And I am not buying your bullsh*t.

So from the girl you see on my Instagram as someone to save, sell to, or correct- Thank you for your concern. I am so glad you took the time to let me know how much I need fixing. But the one fact you failed to see is that I don’t need saving. I am not broken.

Sincerely,

A fabulously flawed women who fought hard to get where she is and knows that your opinions should be kept to yourself and will refrain from speaking hers about you.

Originally posted 2016-06-11 18:48:10.

The Weight of 8 pounds: My battle with self sabotage and self acceptance

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 14 Comments

8 pounds. 12472798_10154160245807125_434016845677688167_n

8 pounds was all that stood between myself and the great meltdown of March 2016 (Yes, it was that bad. Read on.)

As I lay on my bathroom floor, curled up in the fetal position, tears running down my face and unable to catch my breath, I thought to myself ,

Are we here again, Shelby? Is this who we are? You hypocrite. Muster up some self love. What would you tell the girls to do? Stop this right now.

But I didn’t stop. In fact, I lay there, right next to the heap of clothes I shed trying to convince that scale she’s a lying jerk, still clutching the phone displaying the progress pictures I took because I was sure they would prove my theory wrong about what the scale had to say. They didn’t. They reflected a person who had gained 8 pounds. I lay there wondering how I got there.

Let’s rewind…

If you’ve been following me for a while, I’m sure you know I have lost weight. About 55 pounds from my highest. But what shiny, nicely laid out, strategically selected transformation pictures won’t show you, is that I have been battling mental weight.

Your health, mental and physical, is not a destination. It is fluid. It changes. It’s not like one day, you weigh X amount of pounds, and you are magically this happy, self confident person who has no problems. But you see, no one ever told me that. So when I reached my goal, and wasn’t happy, I was pissed.

I worked my ass off for this. I’m here. Where’s this so called happiness?

I had hyper focused on losing weight, and only weight, and only fitting in a pair of pants that, sure I knew how to work out and eat right and lose weight- but what else? Now what?

In comes life, like it always does. Kids to be raised. Friends to have wine with. Vacations with carbs around every corner. Working on personal projects and creating a life you want.

But with all that, comes stress. Pressure. Old self sabotaging tendencies. And weight.

8 pounds of weight, to be exact.

And, man, how heavy these 8 pounds are.

If you’ve lost a lot of weight, you know what I am talking about. The feeling of pressure to keep it off. The voice in your head that doubts you and belittles you.

You’ve put yourself out there as an example of someone who can do it. You messed up. You liar. You CAN’T do it.

You can’t be proud of yourself now, Shelby. That stomach roll and double chin is back to remind you how much of a failure you are.

No one will give a shit what you have to say if you can’t even practice what you preach.

As I sat last week, creating a challenge for other women to help them lose weight, as I accepted my certification from NASM, and as I got email after email about how inspiring I am with my weight loss, something in me broke. Snapped. That self sabotaging voice got too loud. It started winning battles with the self assured, confident, strong voice I fight so hard to have. And for the first time in a long time, I felt defeated.

And I know it’s just a number. I know that deep down, if I refocused on myself vs. pouring my everything into others, I could get it off. And I will get it off. But at what expense?

Sure, I have gained 8 pounds. But you know what? I have been happy. Stressed beyond belief, but genuinely happy and fulfilled. Some nights, that fulfillment has been in the form of Little Caesars Crazy Bread, but hey. Have I slacked on my workouts? Absolutely. Have I had 1 or 3 extra glasses of wine I could have skipped for the gym? 100%. And I am not sitting here saying that eating carbs and drinking wine and being happy trumps taking care of your body.

I am saying there has to be a balance. You can’t neglect yourself and your health and get lost in the service and happiness of others. You can’t spend your every waking minute on the treadmill praying for that number to go down. You can’t miss out on life because you’re too busy waiting around for the perfect situation. Perfect size. Perfect number staring back at you from the scale. And you can’t let the voice telling you you aren’t good enough to succeed or don’t deserve to love and embrace yourself, at all stages, drown out the bad ass warrior voice reminding you just how much you can.

Sometimes you wonder where to find your strength and confidence. Sometimes you forget how far you’ve come. Sometimes that old voice wins, and you end up lying in a puddle of tears and leggings on your bathroom floor.

This morning my old voice won.

But then I remind myself of all the things I am proud of. All the things that make me happy that can’t be measured by my pants or my weight.

Am I proud that I gained 8 pounds? No. Of course not.

Am I ashamed of it? Hell no.

I am human. We all are. There’s no super human woman out there that hasn’t slipped up or lost her way or doubted herself.

So as I picked myself up off the bathroom floor and wiped away my tears, I caught my reflection in the mirror. And I bust out laughing.

Was I really just in the fetal position crying into my Lu Lu Roes? Get your sh*t together, Shelby. There are people who need you. And today, that person is you.

**I share this story not because I am proud of getting of track and gaining weight. I share it because I want everyone to know that if it happens to them, they aren’t a failure. The only failure is quitting on yourself. There is no shame in falling down. There is no shame in breaking down. The same is in making others feel like they are any less for doing so. **

Here’s the progress pictures that broke open the flood gates. I wasn’t going to post them because I could name 2089 things that I don’t like about it. So that proved right there, I needed to do it. For me.

To forgive myself for my past. To accept myself as I am right now. And to focus on the future.

Originally posted 2016-03-28 15:42:24.

The Habitual Quitter

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 1 Comment

Hi, I’m Shelby and I’m a recovering habitual quitter.

Well that felt good to get off my chest.

I am was the girl who quit. My older sister was pretty and popular. My younger sister was smart. And I was the quitter. It was my thing.

I quit Daisy scouts before even going in because I was too afraid to go in the classroom filled with blue vests. I quit dance team one year because I felt like I would never be as good as the other girls. I’d quit jobs. Quit relationships. Friendships. I was a full blown quitter.

And once you get labeled something, you almost feel like people expect it from you. So many times I would want to sign up for a new activity and my mom would say,

“Now Shelby, if I pay for this, you’re not going to quit again, are you? ”

Well yes, mom. I probably will. The minute it gets scary or I feel inferior, I’m gone.

“Of course not, Mom.” Rolls eyes.

Two weeks later I quit.

I mean it’s like riding a bike. Once you have quit something, it gets easier and easier.

And I am not just talking about jobs or relationships or daisy scouts. I quit on myself.

Maybe it was because I was insecure. Maybe it was because I didn’t like myself. Maybe because I was scared.

But for whatever reason, I couldn’t stop.

When it came to my health, I was the typical yo yo dieter.

Try this magic shake. *Drinks one sip and checks if i’m skinny* Shit, this doesn’t work.

Do this workout dvd. *Can’t breathe or jump or move my body* Screw it. This is a joke.

Calorie restrict for 2 weeks to fit in a dress. *Dress doesn’t fit* Eat the entire kitchen.

See it’s so easy to give up. But eventually, you get tired. You get tired of people expecting you to fail. You get tired of failing yourself. You get tired of starting over. It’s just fucking exhausting.

It wasn’t some grand epiphany. Nothing significant or monumental happened to make it happen. But one day, I just got tired of my own bullshit. I thought to myself,

What will happen if I stop quitting on myself? What if I forgive myself for my mistakes? What if when a lightbulb burns out in my house of life, I don’t try to burn the whole thing down?

And I just stopped giving up on myself. It didn’t happen overnight. It was tiny choices and decisions made each day, each hour each minute.

*You can finish this mile, Shelby. Move your ass*

*Answer your damn phone. Your anxiety is not winning today.*

*So you didn’t lose this week. But you feel better, don’t you? You are not stopping.”

*So you ate a whole cheesecake? That doesn’t mean you don’t get your ass up and work out. You fell down. You aren’t staying down.*

*Share your story. Don’t let the people who don’t understand it make you stop sharing your heart.*

And just like that, I started realizing how strong I am. Strength truly comes from within. Proving the nasty mean voice in your head that tells you you aren’t good enough, wrong.

I am making big changes in my life. I am pursuing my dreams of helping others in their health journey-mentally and physically. I would have never in a million years thought I’d be 3 weeks away from completing what needs to be done to do that. I would have been on the wine wagon drinking away using the unused study flashcards as a coaster.

I am not perfect. I have a past. I have my failures. My flaws. My shortcomings.

I am a lot of things.

But I am NOT a quitter.

Originally posted 2016-02-26 14:32:09.

Eating Disorders come in one size : Miserable

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 1 Comment

Telling your story is healing. My battle with disordered eating has been something I have fought to overcome for so long. And in a way, I am still healing. But in a day and age of being constantly ‘connected’ in a place where social media is bombarding you with photoshopped false illusions of ideal, it can aggravate and bring to the surface insecurities. Even the fitness and health pages of ‘normal’ people are constantly showing you their highlight reel, perfect angle, best lighting and posed images giving women the idea that their normal isn’t correct. I feel it is so important for anyone with social media influence to keep it real. In a space that’s so often filled with false illusions, unrealistic images leading to unrealistic expectations, and a 20 billion dollar diet industry preying on the vulnerable, we need more voices of what real and healthy is. Healthy is not being perfect- but loving yourself anyway. Healthy is working on you, for you. Not to fill someone else’s ideal. Healthy is knowing that your worth isn’t dependent on the size of your ass, the curve of your backs, the space between your thighs, the number on a scale. Healthy is measured in how much you value your body for what it can do, not what it looks to everyone else and not by how many likes you get on instagram.

My ED story

ed2

The first time I heard my infamous title, I was 14 years old. It was the first day of high school. I walked the already scary, overwhelming halls, and heard it.

“Oh look! S has a little sister. They look so much alike. Except she’s the fat one.”

Were they talking to me? Why are they looking at me like that? I ran into the bathroom and hid in the bathroom stall until I heard the warning bell-crying.

My sister and I had always been compared. In dance, in school, in life- but never in looks. And now I knew and had confirmation for all the things I already felt. I was the ‘fat’ one.

I couldn’t think of anything else the entire day except how fat I was. I was starving from not eating dinner or breakfast from first day jitters. But I wasn’t going to let them see me eat. So I skipped lunch.

This became my thing. Skipping breakfast and lunch and starving all day. And coming home and eating everything I could touch.

And then one day, the purging started.

It took over my life. My life was based on when I could binge and finding ways to cover my purging. My life was based on whether there was a bathroom close enough to where we ate out to purge immediately after. If there wasn’t, I wasn’t going.

No one noticed until it was out of control. It’s not their faults, really. My mom was working 60 hours a week, raising 4 girls all while carting us to and from dance and activities.

I was hospitalized and in and out of treatment centers my entire junior year of high school. I wish I could say it helped, or that I got better. I didn’t, just smarter.

I spent years going in and out of states of half ass recovery and relapse. I’m talking all the way up until I got married and had my first child. That little bitch in my head kept calling myself ‘The Fat Goodrich Sister’. That’s all I was sometimes. Still am on bad days.

I’ll spare every detail. It took a big scary life changing event to wake my ass up. In 2011 I almost lost him. My only saving grace. My son.

My son was diagnosed with a scary, life threatening disease. All of a sudden, my world just changed. Nothing mattered except that little boy. Over the course of a year I spent 67 nights in the hospital bed with him. SIXTY SEVEN days on the hem/onc floor of that children’s hospital. For once, I realized how unimportant all my selfish bullshit self destructive behavior was.

Wake the fuck up, Shelby. This child? Loves you. needs you. Sees your beauty. And he needs a strong, healthy mother. Mentally, physically and spiritually.

I know the point is to rewrite a happy ending. Well, my life is a happy ending. I’m blessed. My son is in remission. I have a beautiful family. I have faith. I have friends. I have a healthy strong body.

ed1

And I have an eating disorder. It doesn’t go away. It stays with you, whether it’s rearing its ugly head or not. ” the fat sister” lives in my head. But she has a new sister in there, telling her to ‘ Shut the fuck up, get over your own bullshit, and see all your amazing blessings.’

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If you are suffering from an ED disorder, there is help. I am always here if you need to talk.

another great ED resource is:

The National Eating Disorder Association : https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org

Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

Originally posted 2016-02-22 08:36:05.

Always send your Thank You notes…

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby Leave a Comment

People give advice all the time.

I give it way more than I probably should.

But everyone has one piece of advice, one tidbit, one little morsel that hits home with them. That they carry with them for the rest of their life. It sticks with them for all different kinds of reasons and they are learned in different seasons. But you will never forget it.

My advice that I carry with me in my heart? A lesson of showing gratitude. Appreciation. Love.

I was always told to write thank you notes.

But it’s the thank you note that I never sent that reminds me just how important it is.

This weekend was emotional. Hell, this past week, month, year has been emotional. For many reasons. But overall, I was just emotional. Reflective. Pondering.

And I came across the thank you note I never sent.

I am blessed beyond measure when it comes to my family. We are all wildly different- but in the big scheme of things I am truly lucky. I have two amazing, smart parents who despite being divorced and having their differences, raised us girls right. (or tried with me-my damn rebellious spirit.) I have 3 beautiful, unique sisters that despite how much we have put each other through, we love each other like no other and know we are always there for one another. Amazing grandparents. 10850263_10152974585997125_5736595902173979974_n 12299324_10205248281545932_925541190688424213_n

And then there was my Aunt Judy. She holds a special place in my heart. My dad’s older sister, was an amazing woman. Despite all my struggles, battles, rebellious streak, trouble I got into, I know going to her house I would feel welcomed. Embraced. Loved. Non judged. I was always greeted with the sweetest, warmest hug. Although she probably never knew it, going to her house every Thanksgiving was an escape. A treat. A light in a sometimes dark young world.

Every holiday, birthday, special occasion, she sent a card. Even when I was well into adulthood. It was a small reminder of her warmth and and kind heart.

Two years ago, she sent a card when my daughter was born with a check and the sweetest words.

And I meant to send a thank you note.

I bought it. Wrote it up. Addressed it.

But life happened and I never sent it.

She passed away from Thyroid cancer last year.

I never did get around to sending that thank you note. And for the longest time it killed me on the inside.

I was too ‘busy’? Too busy to show someone I loved I appreciated them. I loved them. That their kindness and generosity touched me.

What a ridiculous person I was to think I was ‘too’ anything to do the little things that mean the biggest things. Like she had done for me. It broke me up inside.

I keep it on the shelf in my closet. I see it everyday. I keep it there so I can see it, not to make me feel bad-because I know she would forgive me. And I forgive myself. You have to. Forgiveness is a powerful, healing thing.

I keep it there to remind me to slow down.

Life is fleeting.

You have to just slow it all down. Relax. Escape the busy. Cherish and spend time with the ones you love. Remind them how much they mean to you.

In a world so focused on being ‘busy’ and ‘connected’, you have to step back and get busy connecting to the human things. Not a screen. Not how many likes you have on your facebook page. Not how many people follow you on Instagram.

Go play outside. Go hug your mom. Dance in the rain. Call someone. ( The real, dial the number and talk. )

And always send your thank you notes.

12065710_10153784238997125_4187849780494569689_n — Although I look like Buzz’s girlfriend in Home Alone (woof) this was one of the happiest Thanksgiving’s spent at Aunt Judy’s

Originally posted 2016-02-15 07:43:07.

I Am Not Your Victim Anymore

July 9, 2017 by coachshelby 1 Comment

I am a victim of your sexual assault.

I have never uttered those words before. But, you see, I’m tired. Carrying around what should be your guilt for 16 years has exhausted my soul.

You will probably never experience consequences for violating me that night. It was my fault. That’s what you told me. Why would you?

After all, I invited you to that party that night. I drank too much and lost control. I picked out the clothes you held on to when you told me how much I wanted you to touch me. It was my fault I went into that bedroom with you to use the bathroom at the party. It was my fault I was frozen and couldn’t mutter the words get off me when you said, “No one will believe you said no. So might as well do it.”

I stayed silent because I thought I deserved it. I stayed quiet because I thought just because I was able to fight you off and get out of that room before you could get that last article of clothing off me, I wasn’t assaulted. I got drunk, wore too tight of clothes, and I deserved it.

And I’m scared. Scared every time I turn on the news and hear words like ” just locker room talk” or hear sound bytes of powerful men saying things like ” you can do anything you want. And they’ll let you”. It sends me right back to that dark bedroom and all I can feel is a chill running down my spine and your hands on me and I’m that broken, fragile, unworthy girl all over again.

But I have a beautiful girl to raise now. I have this amazing responsibility of teaching her all the beautiful things about herself. I need to teach her she deserves respect. I need her to know her body is her own. I need her to understand that she needs to speak up when bad things happen, even when she’s scared.

So I need to set the example. I will not be scared. I will not accept what happened to me.

You put your hands on me without my consent. That, is the definition of sexual assault.

You stole so much from me. It’s taken me years to understand that I’ll spend my life repairing the harm you did to my self worth in just 30 minutes.

I bet you don’t know that I’ve spent the last 16 years relearning to understand my body is more than the things done to it. I am more than the labels placed upon me that led me to stay silent. You made me feel cheap, disposable, and unworthy. You made me feel that I deserved it.

What you did to me was not okay. I chose to forgive you, for my own inner peace. Although the things you stole from me forced me to become strong and brave, I don’t give you credit for that. I shouldn’t have had to spend my young adult life cleaning up the mess you made of my soul.

But I did.

I am a powerful, brave, ambitious, beautiful, worthy woman. You, nor any person, can take that away from me. I will chose to believe in love and have faith in humanity, despite your hateful disgraceful act against me. I get to chose my place in this world, not you. I will fight fiercely to remind every woman and girl that they are worthy. I will forgive you, because I need to stop being angry. But I will not stay silent.

Xoxo

~~Your victim.~~

A brave, strong, worthy woman.

Originally posted 2017-01-20 08:01:36.