Originally posted 2016-10-29 08:34:36.
Originally posted 2016-10-29 08:34:36.
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. 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.
I will tell you one thing right now. If you would have told me 5 years ago that I would one day become someone who works in the health and fitness world, I would have laughed at you. Then I would have referred you to your local psych ward because, well, you must be insane.
Up until a year ago, I really had no idea what healthy was. It was this fluid notion that skinny meant healthy, or weighing a certain amount was healthy, or fitting in to what everyone thought was attractive at the moment was healthy.
I, my dear friends, was far from healthy-mentally or physically. I went in vicious cycles of full blown disordered eating, to over exercising and restricting until the point of failure (because over restriction will cause failure.) , to that failure leading me to depression where I just gave up and didn’t care, which led me right back to disordered eating to try to correct it.
Add in PCOS, which makes it even more difficult to lose weight and feel healthy, and I felt I was destined to be this person constantly dieting and forever wishing she felt good about herself.
I, like so many others turned to the internet for what I thought would be inspiration to get healthy. I filled my feeds with perfect fitness models, super mom bloggers doing it all while still managing to have a rocking bod and clean house, to every jo schmo from high school trying to sell me anything and everything to solve my problem.
And I found myself sad and feeling less than. I once again felt like the fat girl on dance team pretending she had the stomach flu to avoid crop top uniform night. This wasn’t motivating me. This was defeating me. Where were all the normal women like me? Who chose leggings and struggle buns on the regular and don’t have full on contour at the gym? The girls who have been in the trenches of depression from not loving themselves? Where were the ones who have eaten Ben and Jerry’s for dinner and cried because they didn’t understand how to control it? Where were the women who are showing me that, “Hey, life has been really sh*tty. And it’s not fair. But if I can get healthy and happy through my storm, so can you.”
I worked with personal trainers who intimidated me. I worked with “coaches” who disappeared as soon as I bought the shake. I tried it myself, as silly as I looked, all on my own.
Eventually, I decided that I needed to become the person I needed. I turned to social media in hopes of sharing my story, and found I connected with so many women who had been where I was those years ago. And realized what a great need there is for health and fitness coaches that not only have the knowledge of fitness and nutrition, but also the experience of going through it themselves. It is very hard to help someone who you don’t understand where they are coming from.
I had to learn on my own and through lots and lots of failure what worked for me. I lost 55lbs and have kept it off give or take 5 lbs either way for over a year. But even with losing weight, I didn’t feel like I could fully help someone else just yet.
So quietly, I started researching. I spent late nights reading and emailing and researching everything and anything to do with the science behind PCOS, disordered eating, recovering from a damaged metabolism from a history of severe restriction, and how to apply it to your health. I also became double certified and in Weight Loss and Fitness Nutrition (NASM). I started applying my own experience getting healthy, education, and my own research and discussions with others that have been through what I have in my own life. Selfishly, this was all for me. I knew I couldn’t help anyone if I didn’t help myself.
This soon became my passion, and the small flicker of an idea to help others grew. It spread through my heart like wildfire.
I created Get Your FIT Together with Shelby for those girls just like me. I want to help the girl who is tired of quitting. I want to help the girl who is scared of the gym and nutrition and has no idea where to start, and just needs the help figuring it out.I want to show the girl who has suffered from disordered eating and years of restriction that food is not the enemy. I want to be the person who reminds you that you are enough and that you are worth it. I want to give you the tools to change your mindset from always feeling like you are on a diet and break the calendar mentality and teach you how to think of it as a lifestyle change. I want to show you that mental progress is just as important as physical progress. I want to show you that being happy and healthy isn’t just for those perfect people you see on the internet. It’s for everyone, despite your past, your starting point, your diagnosis or your mindset. And most importantly, I want to be the person I needed back then when I felt so lost.
So here I am, announcing that this girl, is excited to be the person I used to hate- a health and fitness mentor. I say mentor, because I feel the word coach is thrown around too often and takes away from the importance of it. Trainers often focus solely on the fitness portion of it.( You are not a health and fitness expert because you buy a shake and a dvd. ) Because in the sea of fitness and health personalities flooding you with quick fixes, unrealistic expectations, and intimidating into thinking the answer to health is “skinny”, I want to be the person who shows you it’s more than that. You are more than that. It is hard. But you can do hard. And I will be there, helping you each step of the way. Because you are so worth it.
If you are interested in learning more about my programs, check out the GYFT programs section of my site! Or email me at Coachshelby@survivingshelby.com
Originally posted 2016-06-08 11:50:57.
While shopping yesterday, avoiding adulting and trying on all Target’s clearance had to offer, I heard in the dressing room next to me two girl’s voices. They were no older than 14.
At first, I heard them laughing and talking about some boy. And then the tone flipped quick and I heard one say, ” I’d look so much better if I was as skinny as you. You suck. I just won’t eat tonight” And her friend didn’t object. They just kept on talking. As if saying not eating to fit into clothes is acceptable conversation. Or it was so normal in their lives it wasn’t even second guessed. It was as easy as saying, ” I’ll have fries with that.”
My heart sunk. I used to be that girl. Somedays, I still am that girl. All of a sudden as I stood half naked, mom bod in all it’s glory, I was overcome by sorrow. It was like I was 14 again. Back then, I would stand in front of a similar mirror, pinching and wishing away all my perceived imperfections. All I wanted was to be as ‘skinny’ as someone else. My sister. My best friend. Kelly Kapowski. ( I also wanted her boyfriend ) Anyone else but me.
Skinny became my obsession. And eventually that goal lead to my struggles with disordered eating. I spent most of those precious years meant for first dates and driver’s licenses consumed in depression, hating my body, and deflecting all my shortcomings onto others. I didn’t care about myself, so I destroyed others. I’d do anything it took at the expense of anyone or anything to be 1 pound less. This rageful, angry girl was actually dying inside, literally and figuratively, hiding it behind a charade of angst and ‘behavioral problems’. I was slowly self destructing, one uneaten calorie or one binge at a time.
When I realized people could probably hear me blubbering and were bound to bust down the door to the sight of my bare ass and last night’s mascara running down my face, I got my shit together. Me, being the fixer I have grown to be, quickly planned a powerful, life changing intervention. I imagined it saving her. Maybe, just maybe- she’d eat that night. Maybe she would not succumb to the pressures we all feel to be and look a certain way. Maybe, this hot mess express could be the catalyst to propel her away from the rabbit hole of self hatred. I wanted to be the person I needed back then.
[Tweet “I wanted to tell her how unimportant skinny is. Skinny doesn’t get you into college. It doesn’t make you friendships ( not the kind you want, anyway.) It doesn’t make you a better person. It doesn’t make you more lovable or liked. If just makes you skinny. That’s it.”]
I wanted to tell her how unimportant skinny is. Skinny doesn’t get you into college. It doesn’t make you friendships ( not the kind you want, anyway.) It doesn’t make you a better person. It doesn’t make you more lovable or liked. If just makes you skinny. That’s it.
I wanted to go into that dressing room and point out anything beautiful about her other than her size. I wanted to drive to her house and throw out her scale. I wanted to take her to lunch without all the numbers and counting and planning of how to rid your body of it immediately after. Just eat. And talk. And learn all the things that make her beautiful, none of them having to do with whether her pants fit or the number reflected back at her.
I said nothing. I froze. Whether it was from my own sadness, or something else. I ugly cried on the way home, regretting it. Wishing I could have just grabbed her hand and looked in her eyes. Maybe more for me, than her. Maybe for my daughter, who I worry I will pass on my old habits to. I thought about how just the other day, I walked in, and saw my two year old doing the scale dance. Get on. Get back off. Get back on. And the guilt set in. Sh*t. That was taught. She’s doing what she sees me do. Without even knowing it I was setting her up to disapprove of herself. You can’t just preach it. You can’t just say it. It’s not enough. You have to show them how to love themselves. And the best way to do that is to be an example of what it looks like.
She’s counting on me. Right then, I vowed to work on breaking the self hatred cycle. I will be an example of what loving my body truly is. Some days I may be faking it. I will still fight the mirror. The scale. The bitch of a voice inside my head that creeps in and tells me I am not good enough. And I worry it will always be there. But I will not let my daughter grow up believing her worth is determined by whether or not she fits into a pair of target jeggings.
When I got home, I hugged my daughter so tight, and thought about the girl at Target. I may not have been able to help her. But this girl in my arms, is all on me. I picked her up and we sat at my mirror. We had a fake tea party and ate REAL biscuits. We planned adventures. We danced. And as she caught her reflection, she exclaimed,
“Meme pretty like momma. Pretty happy mommy.”
And I was. And that’s who I will be, for her. Always.
Originally posted 2016-05-04 10:22:50.
I may be dating myself by saying this, but the closest I had to social media when I was in high school was AIM. ( I had some killer away messages, let me tell you.) I was messed up enough in those socially formative years. I can’t even imagine if I was worried about how many followers I had or if someone was sending my high school boyfriend Colin DM’s on Instagram. In my younger years, I was impressionable. Hell, 3 years ago I fell for the whole “I have to tell you it works in the brand name to overcompensate for the fact that its just Saran Wrap and water weight you’re losing” bit. So yea, it still lingers. (News Flash- if they have to name it ‘ this shit really makes you lose weight’ or something similiar, it probably doesn’t)
It’s human nature to want to put your best self out there. It’s ingrained in most of us from birth to succeed. Win. Be liked. We are raised idolizing celebrities and sports stars that get paid to run and throw a ball or lay in bed and take a perfect selfie. But this idolization has grown. It isn’t just mainstream celebrities or limited to your 8pm shows or drive to the work on the radio. Hell, Kim Kardashian makes millions for… do we even know yet? Has this mystery been solved? (Seriously though- what the fuck does she do? )We strive to obtain the social norm of perfection.
In a day where everyone is constantly connected and flooded with pretty square pictures or the most craftily stringed together words the 140 character limit will allow, everyone wants to be popular. Get one more like. Gain one more more follower. There is article on top of article telling you what you should believe and what you should wear and how you should eat and when you should blink. Everyone has become a fitness expert. Everyone knows how to tell you what you are doing wrong and what you can improve and why you aren’t good enough. We spend our days comparing. It’s hard not to. But, my friends, comparison is the thief of joy.
So when I talk to younger girls, my heart breaks. I am on the last leg of my 30th year, and I still have to dig deep to find my self love and confidence every morning when I wake up. Then dig even deeper throughout the day. I’m like the archaeologist of digging for that self worth, yall. (Minus the degree and ugly brown get up they wear. Or is that just in the movies?) Not only are they worrying about what to wear, remembering their dance team tryout dance or their speech for student council, but they are constantly connected. I can’t imagine how I’d find ways to love myself, if every morning I wake up to my Instagram feed to perfect bodies. Or stepped away from my computer to, you know, LEARN at school, and came back to 2398 tweets, DMS and Facebook messages. I get overwhelmed when I set my phone down to go fill up my wine glass and have 2 notifications.
This is a recipe for self worth destruction.
So when I get asked,
“Why are you so real? You really put EVERYTHING out there. You’re brave.”
I usually smile or emoji politely and simply say,
“I strive to be an example of a real woman in a real world. That’s all.”
But the long hand version of that answer is this:
This world is scary. Especially for young girls. Especially today. I was one of those young girls. Cutting out the Victoria’s Secret swimsuit pictures and putting them on my fridge to stop me from eating. Buying the same outfit as Tonya, the cool girl, so people would like me more. Thinking I needed better boobs to be pretty. Now today’s it all about butts, who knew? But my point- No one is as perfect as their social media feeds. They all wake up with morning breath. And wear leggings on days they are bloated. And cry. And struggle. They just don’t show it. And it’s a shame. A damn shame. I needed someone to show me my mess wasn’t abnormal. My body was like 90% of other women. I needed someone to show me what it’s like to fail. I needed examples of women who have gone through some shit. Some really hard, down in the gutter, dark and twisty stuff- and survived. Because that’s all any of us are trying to do. Survive. Feel less alone. Accepted. Supported. And I don’t think you have to be a size two, living in suburbia former high school cool girl who married the hot guy to feel that. So here’s to the girls who don’t have their shit together. The ones who have cried in a bathroom. The one’s who have fought battles no one knows about. The one’s who keep working on themselves. The one’s who aren’t afraid to show the real them. The non highlight reel. Because those are the examples we need to see. That’s who fills my feeds. Who runs in my circle. Because real is so hot right now.”
So to you, the girl who just picked herself apart after endlessly scrolling your feeds- Stop. Stop this. Stop right now.
Unfollow anyone who doesn’t make you feel good about yourself. Online and in real life. Rid yourself of the obnoxiously unattainable “perfect”. Because, you my friend, kick ass. So go out into the world and keep doing that. Every. Damn. Day.
Originally posted 2016-03-19 19:07:05.
So I just finished my second Dietbet.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t win.
But that’s okay. You want to know why?
I stayed motivated because of it. I lost 5 of the 6 pounds I was supposed to lose.
It connected me with other women dealing with the same issues as me.
And I created a new one to start April 1st. (That way if the number is scary on the scale we can just say April Fool’s Fool! Just kidding, health is serious. So is my desire for King’s Hawaiian rolls sitting on my counter. They are so damn delicious. Longest side track thought ever. I digress.)
Because I am team Screw the Scale. (I need a shirt with that one it!) But it’s the motivation factor I enjoy. I stay a lot more accountable when I know 12,000 people are peeping my progress. And when I put money into it. I want my money back.
So tally so far:
January dietbet-0 Shelby-1
February Diet bet-1 Shelby-0
April Diet bet- I’m coming for you. And I will lose those pounds. And the Hawaiian rolls I just ate while typing this. We are all human, right?
If you want to join, come on down!
Originally posted 2016-03-14 14:09:55.
Oh, Monday. How you mess with my emotions. I usually like Mondays. I am the weirdo who thinks of them as a fresh start. Everyone always starts something new on a Monday. A diet. A workout routine. A new job. They quit a bad habit.
Because, Mondays are our fresh start. It doesn’t matter what you did before then- they are your fresh piece of diary paper. Rewrite your story. Starting now.
So for me, Monday’s rock. Because when I slip up, and I do- alot- I can start fresh.
But today I was just not feeling it.
I had a great weekend. But it was filled with all the really bad stuff that is so delicious. Beer. Mexican food. Staying up too late. Skipping the gym. NOT skipping the queso dip. Cookie Crisp at midnight, because WHY NOT? You get my point.
So waking up, I was the epitome of bloating. Not even my leggings were having it. Try again later when you’re not filled with salt and poor life decisions. We ain’t THAT stretchy girlfriend.
I felt exhausted. My body hurt. I regretted all the fun choices I made. And then I remembered it was the half way point of our Dietbet.
Shit. I have to take my progress pictures. What am I going to wear? I think the internet would frown upon a pantsless progress picture.
So I found the stretchiest pair of leggings I owned. I talked myself up.
It doesn’t matter what you look like, girl. It matters how you feel.
Oh right. I feel like shit.
I’m not doing this. I’ll take them later.
And then I immediately said
Get your ass in front of that mirror.
I was not going to put off progress pictures today. Because I am going to own every part of my journey. The good. The bad. And the bloated.
And let me tell you, I stress all the time don’t overthink what you see on the internet. Especially when it comes the weight loss and fitness pages. All those girls you follow on instagram? They took 2348235 pictures before finding that perfect lighting, perfect angle picture.
The results of my progress pics? Not great. But, not bad either.
I took them, took a quick glance at them, and then put my phone away.
I refuse to pick myself apart anymore. I have stretch marks. I have excess skin and fat pads. I have flaws.
But I also have things that no one can see in that progress picture. I have self love. I have self forgiveness. I have self acceptance.
And those things, are more important to me than how I look half naked after too many tacos.
So with that, I put on my running shoes, I turned on my gangsta rap, and I got outside. Sunshine is the cure for so many things. It’s my crack. (Crack is whack, kids.) It energizes me. Makes me happy. Makes me feel like I get accomplish anything.
I woke up not wanting to move off my couch let alone work out. But I changed my perspective, and put in 5 miles.
So here’s to Mondays. To fresh starts. To starting new. Starting over. Starting over AGAIN. Here’s to fresh diary paper. Here’s to forgiving your past, and focusing on your now, while moving toward the future.
Originally posted 2016-02-29 12:38:52.
Hi, I’m Shelby and I’m a recovering habitual quitter.
Well that felt good to get off my chest.
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.
This month, I ran a Dietbet. I also must have been smoking crack or high on Christmas spirit, but I also committed #noboozeJanuary. And this month has felt like one long ass Monday without my wine. It’s been hard reintroducing the scale back into my life. I had broken up with her so long ago, and for good reasons. I was using it as the sole measurement of my success, and the truth was, it was hindering my progress. I gave it up and started using progress pictures and measurements and how I felt overall as gauge of my progress.
But I wanted to challenge myself. Not only to lose the weight, but also to break the mental mind game I had with the scale. I wanted to prove to myself that even if the number didn’t change, and I lost my 10 dollar buy in, I was still okay with myself because my success is not dictated by a number.
And most importantly, I wanted to help others. Even if I didn’t win, and didn’t drop a single pound, if it helped and motivated someone else to succeed, that was enough for me.
So the first weigh in happened right at prime chubby time- post holidays and all the carbs and wine and Christmas candy. I really gave literally no sh*ts about what I put into my body over the holidays. And the scale showed. I was up 6.4 pounds. And I was responsible for every single one.
Seeing the number on the scale, as well as the motivation I got from the 5oo women participating with me was enough to get my ass back on track. I got back in the gym. Not just when I felt like it. Every day. I tracked my marcos meticulously. I hit them most every day. And most importantly of all, I gave up the mommy juice.
I didn’t step on the scale for the first time until a week into it.
I have been kicking ass. The scale is DEFINITELY going to reflect it.
I am only down 1 lb? ONE?
And I knew it. Old habits were sneaking back in. I started doing the scale dance. ALL.THE.TIME.
*Step on scale*
Shit. This can’t be right.
*Step on scale again*
HELL NO. This thing is straight up lying to me.
Okay this is ridiculous.
*Trims split ends*
You get my point. The scale dance took over my life. And it controlled how I felt. So two weeks in, I finally did what was best for me. I put that thing back in the closet. I was not going to let it control how I felt about my progress. I knew I was kicking ass. I knew I was feeling good and healthy and making progress. I am not going to live in a state of being controlled by a plastic electronic device. Screw you, scale. You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.
This past week, I stepped it up. I started drinking all my water. I was getting extra time in at the gym. I ate cleaner than a ever. And most importantly I didn’t get on the scale.
Last time I checked, I still had 1.5 lbs to go.
I worked my butt off to try to get it off, but I also accepted that it might just not happen. PCOS can make weight stubborn and act like a rude houseguest that doesn’t get the hint to get the hell out. I had to be okay with it if it wasn’t where I wanted it to be.
So I woke up this morning, fully prepared for my goal not to be reached. I just chalked it up to a good motivation for the month, and was determined to keep on pushing.
I hyped myself up to get on.
For real? Let me just double check.
Oh man, scale. You just made my life. I hit my goal by the skin of my teeth (0.2 lbs)
I quickly snapped a picture and sent it in for verification.
I was ecstatic.
And I promptly went about making myself a plate of celebratory chocolate chip protein pancakes. I deserved the treat for this past month. And I started pulling down which bottle of wine I wanted to crack open tonight.
Until I remembered,
Shit. I am not verified yet. I might have to reweigh. And I won’t be where I was this morning after that glutinous pancake feast. Fool.
And I’ve been sitting here, stressing all morning. Waiting for the verified email to come through. Because I know if I got on that scale again it might not be as nice. I had pancake bites this morning that weighed 0.2 lbs. That .2 lbs stood between being a winner and being a loser.
And then I got my shit together, and realized- I’m not a loser at all. I kicked ass. I feel amazing. I helped others lose. I am proud of myself. So whether I have to reweigh or not, I know who the real loser is. The scale. Because it does not control how I feel about myself. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
If you are interested in joining my next dietbet, let me know and I will get you the link! We will start February 15th, just in time to bypass the Superbowl snacks and Valentine’s chocolate.
Originally posted 2016-02-01 14:19:24.
I debated whether to write about this topic. Not because I am ashamed, embarrassed or trying to hide it. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. I joined this big bad social media world in an effort to find other women just like me, dealing with PCOS, and who are not letting it control their life. And along the way, I have myself become a voice in this. And I am proud of that. I want to show other women with PCOS that they aren’t alone. We are all dealing with and struggling through the adversities we have been handed.
But on the flip side, I don’t want PCOS to be my identity. I am more than PCOS. We are all more than the struggles we are facing.
It’s off topic, but this came to light the other day at the gym. It was the strangest and coolest experience I’ve had. I saw two girls staring at me. THE.WHOLE.TIME. I was working out. I was thinking, “Can a girl get some squat work in without others creepin’ on me? Ya I know my gym clothes don’t match and my hair is greasier than the bacon pan sitting on my counter from breakfast- but c’mon. We are all here to get work done.” And I continued on, and went about the rest of my sets. And I found them in the bathroom, before I left, and one said ” You are that PCOS girl. The one with funny faces and great hair. On instagram!”
Oh fuck. Now I’m the asshole who thought they were judging me. Geeze, Shelby. Chill out.
And we chatted and talked for a good half an hour and I found out they both have PCOS and I made two new friends. And as we said goodbye, one of my new home girls said, “You are so much more than funny faces and great hair. I’m so glad you are real.”
**Am I putting it out there I am fake? Shit. We gotta fix that**
Dose of realness for the day: hair loss
My hair has always been my thing. Even when I was heavy and couldn’t fit in my clothes and had to wear stretch errrrrthing, my hair could always look good. It never betrayed me.
Until it did.
After I had my daughter, my hair was coming out. And I’m not just talking a little bit. I am talking handfuls and clumpfuls at a a time. I would wake up in the morning with a rat sized hair ball on my pillow.
To make it worse, I was heavier than I ever had been, I was in the the deepest, darkest pits of postpartum depression, and I was tired. Not the “didn’t get enough sleep last night tired” the “I’ve been up for 4 days straight crying and trying to take care of a baby who I think hates me because she won’t stop crying and I can’t fix it and my world is ending” tired.
I couldn’t believe that it was happening. As if I wasn’t dealing with enough issues already.
But one day, I just decided I didn’t want to let that be one more thing I was sad about. I may be chubby, and tired and crabby, but I WILL NOT HAVE BAD HAIR.
So I started researching. What can I do to get my hair healthy and growing and not falling out in chunks?
HAIR REPAIR STEPS WITH PCOS
BIOTIN: I started taking biotin. It is a vitamin that helps preserve and promote hair, skin and nail health. I still take it to this day. ( You do NOT need some fancy, 40 dollar MLM magic pill, I promise you. My biotin costs 4 dollars at Walmart, y’all.)
NIOXIN: To promote regrowth, I started using the Nioxin shampoo system. You can buy it from your hairstylist, buy it at a reputable salon or even on Amazon. It helps thinning hair and I saw tremendous regrowth in the months that I used it.
Clean eating: I started cleaning up my diet. When I cut the processed junk out of my diet, my overall health improved. But so did my hair. It’s so important to understand everything you put into your body affects the outside of your body. Skin. Hair. Weight.
FitnessFoxheadbands: I was in the depths of depression when my hair started falling out. I was sad and tired. I wanted so badly to feel confident about my hair when I felt so insecure about everything else going on in my life. I went to the internet in search of a headband that would not only cover my thinning spots in my temples, but be stylish, and wouldn’t pull to prevent even more breakage and loss and wouldn’t give me ‘headband headache’. I found the etsy shop FitnessFoxHeadbands. They were so cute, and so inexpensive- I had to try them. I am so glad I did. I am still wearing them almost daily, even though my hair has improved. I wear them to the gym. To Target. Out at night. I am not one to promote or discuss products, but I am so passionate about them. They truly helped me feel more secure and pretty when I was in a bad place.
*If you want more info on Fitnessfoxheadbands, check them out on instagram (@fitnessfoxheadbands) or at their website www.fitnessfoxheadbands.com and use my code SHELBYE and you can buy 4 get 2 free!
This morning I noticed my hair is thinning again, in my temples area. And I am going to restart Nioxin, and make sure my eating is clean and I am taking my vitamins. And I am going to be okay with even if I am doing everything right and treating my body the best I can, sometimes we can’t fix everything. I will do my best, and rock headbands until then. And I will be real and accepting of the fact that this might just be my hair. My hair will always be my thing. And I will make bald temples cool.
Originally posted 2016-01-30 10:50:59.
Your shopping cart is empty.
Items/Products added to Cart will show here.