This is my Reality.

I don’t have a good sleeper.

I don’t know what a good sleeper is.

I don’t know what it’s like to get 3-6 hour stretches of uninterrupted sleep.

I don’t know what it’s like not to be exhausted.

I don’t know what it’s like to not feel like a zombie.

This is my reality.

I do know what it’s like to cry with my baby at all hours of the nights.

I do know what it’s like to question if he’s in pain, gassy, hungry multiple times a night.

I do know what it’s like to be told that I’ve put my son to sleep too early, too late, starving, incorrectly, and any other way that diminishes my credibility as a parent.

I do know what it’s like to be told I need to stop cosleeping because I may roll on top of him and kill him.

I do know what it’s like to be told to just “let him cry it out, he needs to learn.”

I do know what it’s like to scream, cry, blame myself because I just have a bad sleeper.

I do know what it’s like to doubt myself on a regular basis. Have anxiety attacks as the clock creeps towards bedtime. To want to just give up when it’s been two hours since the process has begun.

This is my reality.

Luca is a bad sleeper.

Luca had (has?) painful reflux, a cow milk protein allergy, a reaction to tree nuts through breast milk.

Luca screamed for the first six months of his life during every single moment of sleep.

Luca became afraid of sleep.

Luca could not handle sleep training. He would scream for hours, get so worked up he’d puke, finally say mama to stab my heart, and then cling to me thinking his life was over.

Luca is terrified of his crib.

Luca cannot sleep now unless he’s touching me.

It sometimes takes hours to even get him to sleep.

This is my reality.

Here I am at 11:45 at night. Have been trying to put my stubborn son to sleep since 8 pm. Have tried nursing, a bottle, white noise, lullabies, rocking, just about anything possible to get him to sleep.

Have tried moving bed time earlier, moving bed time later, filling him up before bed, moving feeding times around, scheduling, going with the flow, sleep training, co-sleeping- again just about anything possible to get him to sleep.

I cry most nights. I beg him to please just go to sleep most nights. I feel like a shit parent most nights.

Again, this is my reality.

But still I wake every day at 8:30/9 and I parent my son. I feed him breakfast, we play, he learns something new, we fight a nap, we have lunch, we play, we learn something new, we go out, we fight another nap, we play, have dinner- do you catch my drift?

My reality is that I do the damn best I can for my son. I be the best mother I possibly can for my child. I cry a lot because it’s all I can do when the frustration hits when he squirms and screams in my arms to fight sleep. When he wakes up 5-6 times a night shrieking at night, inconsolable because of reasons no damn doctor can explain except for teething and separation anxiety. I cry because no one knows the true struggle of raising a baby that NEVER seems to sleep but they so often can give opinions on where and how he sleeps; on parenting a child they just haven’t experienced because like I’ve said before Every. Single. Child. Is. Different.

This is my reality. This is my life of getting minimal amounts of sleep, doubting my parenting, crying with my child through the night, trying to keep my sanity while working & going to school, and just trying to not run away.

It’s a reality that is so not talked about. We hear so often “Oh is he a good baby, sleeping through the night?” I’m sorry, is my child bad because he doesn’t? Is there something wrong with him because he doesn’t? Do you feel I’m a bad parent because my child doesn’t? Do you see the line of doubt you place into parents heads with these assumptions on how a child is meant to act?

We don’t talk about the harsh side of parenting; the painful, gut-wrenching, pull your hair out, try not to yell at the world side. The side when you want to run and leave this child behind just for a second of quiet, peaceful, eight hour sleep. The side where you need sleep to function but you feel this painful bought of guilt every single time you ask someone to rake him just for an uninterrupted hour of sleep. When you feel guilty because this is the life you grew, the life you swore to protect and nurture but you feel like you’re falling apart because you cannot function. You cannot biologically function without sleep. But you feel like a failure for admitting that, don’t you? For admitting that you need something that takes time away from your baby.

This is my reality. This is so many parents reality and yet we hide within mom groups where moms spout opinions on babies they barely know. Where moms shame other moms because they choose other practices. Where surviving becomes shame because you did something that another mom deems unethical, dangerous, downright selfish. Where you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

We hide behind the shadows of the moms who know it all because we’re afraid to admit we don’t.

WE. DONT. KNOW. IT. ALL.

You could have raised 10, 15, 20 children and let me break it to you- you still don’t know it all.

Do you know what you know? YOUR children.

Do you know what you don’t know? MY children.

Let’s talk about the ugly side of parenting. The painful side of parenting. The scared, lost, and afraid side of parenting.

What is our actual reality?

This is mine, and I can’t hide it anymore.

Don’t forget to follow us on Instagram

@animalmama_408

Give Yourself a Break

I can honestly admit that before I had a baby I was never very active. Going to the gym always seemed like such an ordeal and working out at home was so hard when three dogs were running around tripping me whenever I went into a squat. I struggled to keep myself away from the carbohydrates, sugars, and getting in at least a gallon of water a day seemed to be quite the dilemma of my day to day life. Somehow I would be able to lose weight, but looking back I realized it was in the most unhealthy way possible. Not only was I struggling with supplying my body with the nutrients it needed to function, but I was also dealing with an underlying eating disorder that depleted me of vitamins and nutrients I needed to survive.

So what was stopping me from becoming a healthier person? Excuses, mental anguish from years of being bullied, and of course the satisfaction that I could live this way and still manage to lose weight.

Well then I had a baby.

When you give birth to a baby your hormones like to play sneaky, little tricks on your homeostasis. Homeostasis, you ask? Well the biological definition is all the systems in your body working together to keep equilibrium. However when I think of this term I also like to think of the psychological effects that can deter your equilibrium. Your hormones, though produced by a system in your body, tend to effect you mentally- especially if you’re a girl, hello PMS. When you give birth to a baby there is a large level of progesterone that depletes itself rather quickly once the baby is born. This, in case anyone reading this still believes post partum depression to be a psychological disorder, is what causes Post Partum Depression. Your body is going through a large withdrawal of progesterone, and it really does not know what to do. The withdrawal of progesterone causes your mind to warp right into a state of depression that can sometimes last for the “two week blues” or a few months to years down the line. It’s normal and nothing to ever be ashamed of. You created and gave birth to a human being, you’re allowed to take however long you need to get your body back to a state of “normal”, whatever that may be

Now back to homeostasis. Apart from the mental and hormone aspect of post-baby syndrome, our bodies change in even more ways. Our hips can remain as wide as they were pre-birth, our periods could change in drastic ways, our sleeping patterns change, we become more in tune with another human than we ever thought possible, and it can become much harder to achieve, or maintain, a healthy weight.

When I was pregnant I gained a normal amount of weight, however, before little Luca was conceived I had managed to successfully lose and keep off 206lbs. However, much to my dismay, the scale would go up every few weeks at my pre-natal appointments. I would watch as all my hard work appeared to deteriorate before my eyes. I was gaining back the weight I had worked so hard to lose. It was then that I decided post birth I would workout routinely, eat better, and lose the weight, plus more, to be in the best shape ever. As I am writing this we can all tell that did not go according to plan.

I came home with my newborn elated but exhausted and felt like I was glued to the couch for the following few weeks. Cluster feeding, reflux issues, cows milk allergy/intolerance issues- there just wasn’t time to sleep. There was barely time to shower, brush my teeth, and eat. The pounds quickly melted off and before I knew it I was only 10 pounds away from my pre-pregnancy weight. I was ecstatic. Maybe my body had not betrayed me.

Cue in PostPartum Depression mixed with a baby that cried for six hours a night.

My weight fluctuated. I would lose five then gain back seven. Sugar became my best friend through coffees with syrups that just weren’t necessary, quick snacks to eat so I could naps before he woke. It became a long process of feeding my body what was easy rather than what it needed. And working out? What was that again? There just wasn’t any time.

Through his last ten months I got lectures on his sleeping habits, his eating habits, what I should be doing as his parents because somehow I wasn’t doing a good enough job for anyone. I was losing myself slowly, falling into the daily cycle of trying to get him to sleep, trying to get him to eat enough, trying not to hate this body that seemed to be growing instead of returning to its previous size. My days blended together and I felt as if I was about to lose it, but I had to keep it together because he needed me, and apart from all the opinions and sanctimonious parents- he was a damn good, well taken care of, happy baby. I had spend the last ten months abusing myself because I began to doubt not only my ability to be his mother, but my ability to find myself again.

So, though ten months later, I have found that I can not only be his mother, but I can also be the person I know I need to be. It’s okay for our lives not to revolve around our children 24/7. It is okay to remember that if we are not in the best mindset, we cannot properly care for our children. So take the time to workout, take the time to drink a proper cup of coffee, and if you need to take a nap with them in bed with you (the horror, I know) do what you need to do. They’re only this little for such a small amount of time, and one day this will seem like just another period of life. Soon you’ll blink and they’ll be less than 2 months away from turning a year, or entering their terrible twos, or a day I dread- the day they enter kindergarten. We do what we need to do to survive. We keep them safe, alive, and happy- we deserve to not forget that we are human and sometimes we just need five minutes.

My advice to new moms:

Sleep when they sleep- I hated people telling me this when I was pregnant. How could I sleep when he slept? When would I shower, eat, do anything else that didn’t involve my newborn? It’s okay to not shower for a day or two (trust me you’ll blink and question when you’ve taken one last. Have you seen that episode of Jane the Virgin? When they try to trick her into taking a shower? No? Well go watch it. Season 2, episode 2).

Get a baby carrier- I love my baby carrier. I had an exceptionally clingy baby and when he would get this way I would put him in a carrier or wrap and wear him around the house. He would fall asleep almost instantly (especially as a newborn), or would coo inside and snuggle against my chest.
I had this one: https://www.lillebaby.com/baby-carriers/completetm/complete-all-seasons/lillebabyr-completetm-all-seasons-feathers.html

And this one: https://mobywrap.com

Honestly Moby Wrap makes an AWESOME new half carrier, half wrap. So next baby.

Don’t forget to take care of yourself- I did. I lost myself completely when I had a baby. I rarely went out, rarely did anything. Take some time to workout, drink coffee, talk on the phone. If you don’t have a significant other around see if you can have someone come over for a bit and watch baby even for as little as an hour. A happy and healthy mama is always best for baby. We do what we can, we survive how we need to.

Don’t say “I would never do that…”- Pre- baby I would always say I’d never do what other moms do. I’d silently pass judgement thinking I was much better because I would never do something with my child. Hell, I swore I’d never give my son a pacifier (cue night two of life when he wouldn’t calm unless sucking). You never know what will happen.

Moms, it’s time to give ourselves a break. We brought these beautiful humans into this world, gave them our bodies for long nine months, and went through a ton of pain to give them life. We deserve to give ourselves a break.

ALSO- I found a fantastic workout group that does workouts while wearing babies!

Enjoy!

Update

We took a small break.

I needed to get things in my own life under control before I threw myself back in blogging. I needed to get myself over a horrible self-hating period to be able to enter the world of vlogging. I needed to embrace my family and watch my no longer tiny bundle grow into a consistently mobile little stinker.

During this break we:

Watched Luca grow! Now at almost 10 months old, he’s over 20lbs, 29 inches long, and is constantly on the move. He learned to crawl about two months ago and has not stopped since the moment he could figure out how to move himself out of a spot. Now we are trying to walk and I just don’t think I’m ready for that. It doesn’t even seem like he was born so long ago, let alone that we are trying to plan what to do for his first birthday.

We took Luca on his first airplane ride. As a family we ventured to Arizona from New York (roughly a 5-6 hour flight total). We had a little layover in Chicago, but overall he did phenomenal. He slept for both rides on the way there and then for most of the first plane, and the entire second plane, on the way back home. Everyone loved him on his adventure. We were constantly complimented on how well he behaved, and of course my loving little boy flirted with ever single woman he came into contact with. Oh my future.

Luca also survived his first road trip. While in Arizona we made an impromptu trip to California. I have never been so in love with a state in my life, and if given the chance I would move to California in a heartbeat. The oceans were stunning and the people were so relaxed- I could most definitely see our future somewhere along the west coast. The car ride for the most part was okay. He napped here and there but he is still a baby so he did get a tad bit tired of sitting in that darn carseat. When you take a baby on a road trip just know that the 4 hour estimated time of arrival doesn’t include the multitude of stops you will make to take them out, and of course when traveling with a man who has a tiny bladder, pee stops- they are frequent 😉

In the last few months I think Anthony and I learned a lot as a couple. We didn’t give ourselves a break much when we first brought Luca home from the hospital. We threw ourselves into parenting that we forgot about each other and that our lives don’t have to be 100% consumed by our child 100% of the time. We still have a long way to go, but I believe we are on a much better track now than we were when little dude first came home. All great things in life require hardships and effort, and if both are willing to put it in then it will work.

As for our future.

I’m beginning 2018 with the intention of removing most of the negativity I brought with me in 2017. I want toxicity to be as minimal as possible in any shape or form. People who I believe are not worth the stress, and who pretense themselves under a title just to be able to give abuse and negativity no longer deserve a spot in my heart. People who do not show the same amount of care and love that we do no longer deserve my effort. My goal is to live for MY family. Anthony, Luca, and myself. My goal is to embrace the now and begin to see the positive so the negative doesn’t allow me to miss anymore.

I also want to end this year finally reaching a weight that I feel comfortable at. Since I gave birth to my son I have gone through an awful time of hating myself. My body, my appearance, just about anything about myself. I’ve been so harsh to the body that gifted me the best blessing, and I have harmed my heart in so many more ways than one. I need to remember that I am still human at the end of the day and as they say Rome was not built in a day. I will get to where I need to be to feel confident about the way I look. The scale may show a number, but confidence is within, and confidence is truly what makes the person.

As a family we are moving forward in a positive direction. We will talk more, understand more, judge less. We want to grow together instead of growing apart.

I’m sure there is much more, and I promise there will be many blogs, and hopefully vlogs, in our future.

Enjoy our adventure as we finally apply, and hopefully (GOD HOPEFULLY), get into vet school. Enjoy our adventure as we grow as a family. And enjoy my adventure as I grow into the person I want my son to look up to.

Rubberband

I once stood on a scale in a doctors office when I was seventeen years old and had it read 402lbs. A couple weeks later after exercising and trying to decrease my food intake I watched as the scale read 406lbs. That was the day I refused to step back into a scale. 

I had always been a chubby child that stood out as the largest child in their class. I had always been the child that was consistently teased and made fun of simply because I was heavier than everyone else. It was my life, and though I cried every day from the comments and torture, I learned to deal with it. Because that’s what I had to do to keep myself going. 

When I was fifteen i spent a lot of time in chat rooms meeting strangers on the internet. It was the only place I felt safe to talk to people. They could not see me and I was under no obligation to show them what I looked like. I met a boy online one night that would later become someone I would consider a very good friend. This boy had a secret that he didn’t want to be a boy any longer. He had been born a male that should have been born a female, and like myself, used the internet as a platform to speak to people without having to show himself. He disappeared one day. I had grown so fond of talking to him that i reverse searched him on Facebook. I messaged them, “Thanks for just ignoring me. It was nice talking to you, I guess.” The person messaged back and asked who I was. They had no idea who I, a girl who had been talking to a person with this exact name, was. I’d been catfished. I began to talk to this boy more about the incident at hand, and through this we became friends who could talk freely with one another. We found we have many things in common like our anxiety and some medical issues we had overcome in our short years of living. One day he confided in me the same secret his catfish had. I made it my job to make him feel comfortable in his own skin, a job I could not do for myself. I bought him clothes, took a sixteen hour drive to see him, all to just be the girl that once again did everything for everyone with nothing in return. My emotions had been played with, and I remember one night crying for hours because he was ignoring me. And I felt alone. I had such limited friends and he made me feel so special and important. I was just a pawn. I needed someone to love me, even if it was for personal gain, because I lacked the ability to love myself. 

When I was sixteen I met a boy on the internet. He would call me every day and we would text whenever our voices were apart. He knew what I looked like from my profile pictures but because it’s so easy to fool your image on the internet he did not know what I truly looked like til the night we finally skyped. I had grown quite fond of him but had always been so afraid to speak with him on a webcam where he could see my face. The night we Skyped his image went fuzzy and he disconnected. When I tried to call back he did not answer. I texted him and asked him what happened  and he replied that he just didn’t want to speak at the moment. I knew why, and so I simply wrote “It’s because I’m too fat, isn’t it?” He replied, “Yeah.” And that was the last we ever spoke. 

When I was seventeen I met a boy through a girl from my high school that didn’t really look at my weight, my mental health, or my overall appearance. He looked at the person inside instead of the oversized baggage I was trapped inside. The first day we met we spoke of his love for the career he wished to pursue and he showed me that a pair of scissors that EMT’s work with could cut a quarter. A few days later he bought me dinner at a hibachi place, though I took most of it home because eating in front of people was such a fear that i only took one or two bites. We became an official couple three days later. He showed me how to love myself. He never ignored a chance to stop my self shaming, he never ignored a chance to call me beautiful even when I felt putrid, and he never ignored a chance to remind me that I had to learn to love the person I hated so much. He held my hand at 406lbs and he held my hand when I reached my lowest of 195lbs. He held my hand when I cried in his car about the grandparents I lost, and he held my hand when I gave birth to our son this past April. He also held my hand when I made a decision about the thing I hated most about myself: my weight. 

In December of 2014 I made the decision to have weight loss surgery. I went in on December 17th very early in the morning to have about 75% of my stomach removed, only a pouch the size of a banana remaining. I remembered thinking to myself “this is if, I’m going to finally feel beautiful.” The weight shed off my body and at my year mark I had gone from my large 406lb self to a slim, 195. And yet still when I looked into the mirror i still saw my 400+ lb person. 

I accomplished losing over 200lbs and I still hate my body. 

I’ve kept most of the weight off for almost three years and I still hate my body. 

I’ve given birth to a beautiful baby and I still hate my body. 

I look in the mirror and all I see is excess skin that my major weight loss did. I’m still reminded everyday of torture I had put my body through. I still hate my body. 

I hate my body because I still haven’t learned to love myself. 

Loving myself is the hardest thing I NEED to learn to do. 

I will learn to love myself. 

I will learn to love myself because if I have a daughter I want her to love herself. 

I will learn to love myself because I need to stop hating the image in the mirror. 

I will learn to love myself because that is the only way life will become truly enjoyable. 

And I will learn to love myself because I need to see myself the way others see me. 

I’m loved by so many and need to stop hating a person so many care so deeply for. 

I need to stop hating the person my son loves. 

I need to stop hating the person he smiles and giggles at. 

I need to stop hating the mom he cries for when she’s not there. 

I will stop hating myself, if not for me, for him. 

Anthony started putting my broken pieces back together when we first met, but my son was the glue that was missing to keep the pieces together. 

We need to learn to love ourselves because even if we don’t see it, and even if we don’t believe it, we are perfect just the way we are. We fight so hard to fit a societal standard of appearance, or the appearance of someone else, that we forget we are our own person. I will be the first to admit I get jealous when someone thinner than me looks good in something I would feel horrible in, but I still have to remember that I am perfect just the way I am. 

Believe in yourself and learn to love yourself. 

I will be along on this journey as well. 

Believe In Me

I remember being afraid to go to school every single day. In 8th grade I played sick so many times in the morning that it prompted my mother to ask if I, a thirteen year old girl at the time, had something I needed to tell her. I feigned sick so many times that when I actually was ill I had to go to school because they couldn’t tell the difference between real and fake sickness. I had trained my body so well to be on my side that it would give just the right amount of sick symptoms, so much so that I could no longer tell when I was truly sick and when my anxiety just wished to take over. When I was in seventh grade we went through a family situation that made an anxiety level I could handle on a daily basis (well as well as a 12 year old could) and turned it into a level that made me feel completely out of control. The thoughts that normally trailed through my mind like a freight train had turned into race cars running circles in my head on the Autobahn in Germany. I was being torn from the inside out and I had to find a way to compensate my mental state with the physical. My family felt like it was falling apart, I could no longer control the anxiety that had so long taken over my mind, and I felt that I needed to justify the feelings on the inside in a physical matter. I began to introduce myself to self inflicted pain to try and control the scramble that had taken residence in my mind.

People never understand the impact that their words have on others until that person makes a drastic decision about themselves and their life. Words were thrown in my direction for as long as I could remember. I would hear “You’re so fat” “You’re worthless.” “Please don’t eat me.” “Why are you so fat?” “You’ll never find someone to love you.” It only takes so long before these words begin to embed themselves into the DNA of your own thoughts. The letters taking part of your chromosomes and replicating until they flood your being. The words become so known that when they’re said by someone new it just becomes numb. Many would think numbness it better than feeling, but what they do not understand is once you’ve gone numb you have all but given up. You don’t want to fight anymore, you don’t want to think, feel, or be. These words had made there way into my core and made me believe that I was no longer worth anything more than to be just another body in the ground. I was no longer worthy of feelings, of love from any person in my life, and most of all of living.

Depression and Anxiety as two separate entities can make a person feel alone and ashamed. I remember viewing the commercials for antidepressants and it looked so easy to cure someone of the feelings I felt on an every day basis. It looked so simple to make someone who frowned for 2/3 of the commercial smile for the remaining 15 seconds. I wondered why the years I spent going to a doctor whose job it was to cure the illness in my head was not doing what the commercials showed the medications should have done. I wondered why I was still frowning, contemplating the point of my young life, and not smiling and enjoying the life before my like the people in these commercials. I didn’t feel myself getting better, I didn’t feel myself becoming the person I somehow still believed was harboring deep within. I could no longer be the girl that was constantly made fun of, the girl that was constantly bullied. I could no longer be the girl that was screamed at while walking across the street to “move her fat ass quicker.” So I stopped trying to be the girl I wanted so badly to get rid of.

Being alone, no matter how much you tell yourself is okay, is not a feeling one can live with easily. I craved the understanding of just one person. I had wanted to rid myself so badly of the person I’d become, the person named Bianca that I began to impersonate other personalities to the people whose attention I needed the most. I was trying so hard to no longer be the girl that everyone hated based on outside appearance that I began to push those who had gotten to know me away. I would impersonate other people, add people to my life that truly did not exist, and I made lying look like an art. It did not matter if a person had grown to appreciate me for the person I had been, I needed them to appreciate me for things I did not have, for a person that truly did not exist. Looking back I realized I ruined a lot of friendships through an illness I could not control, not that I truly wanted to admit it was there. For the truth was I was ignoring the illness that had been brewing behind the surface. I was hiding behind the idea that if I ignored it it would go away. And this only made me that much more alone.

When I was sixteen I had crossed the line. A friend I had made while hiding my interior had fallen subject to my cover up. I don’t truly understand why what happened did to this day, but when it all came to the surface I found no point in hiding any longer. I let my illness pour out like a river flowing down a mountainside. I felt like an ice cream cone melting in the heat. I was being swallowed by the immense cloud I had swallowed for so long that I could not cope with it all coming out at once. I no longer had friends, I no longer had anyone to distract myself from the dark cloud inside waiting to come out. I no longer had a barrier that kept the darkness within, and so when it came out there was no longer a point in fighting. I let it drip out, seep out, and then fully drain till the illness I had so long been fighting consumed me. I stopped going to school completely, I locked myself into a dark room, and I convinced myself that I was no longer worth the fight. My life no longer had a point and it was time to let the cloud consume me whole.

My illness caused fights amongst my parents and gave them the fear of one day walking in on their only child no longer living. With my last light I held through the cloud of darkness I told them it was time for me to get serious help, and a week later I emerged from a hospital stay with a feeling of victory for believing I had killed the cloud that had tried to take me. The belief that I had won only lasted roughly three months. It was then that I lost my grandmother and it was then that the cloud began to reemerge. My grandmother had been in the hospital at the same time I had been and had made sure to call me at least once, if not twice, a day when I felt at my lowest. She would make it her goal to make me laugh at least once so I did not feel so alone. When she died I felt as if God was betraying me. I felt like God was trying to punish me for trying to take control of my own mortality by taking someone’s whom I loved. I was alone again and everyone was the enemy.

As I went back to high school and finished my education I learned more and more that my disease was so misunderstood by those who did not have even a morsel of anxiety or depression. As I got older and further understood that my illness also contained bipolar, I began to understand how to deal with the highs and lows of my emotional spectrum. The titles of my illness did not bring any further understanding to those around me though. Teachers, principles, and even family members who did not understand did not think it necessary to try and even grasp a small part of what someone they interacted with on a daily basis was going through. Teachers and staff would say “Oh I have bad days also” and family would find it necessary to remind me that I was just too emotional. They didn’t understand that their lack of understanding, their blatant disregard, and their condescending tones did not aid in achieving their goal of rectifying the situations.

It took many years for me to understand how to cope with the illness I was dealt, and even more time to aid my mind in healing on the proper medication. It took me years for me to unweave the DNA the words I had been beaten with in my youth had given me. I still cannot eat comfortably with people around, I still cannot look at myself in the mirror with a smile, and I still, even after losing over 200lbs, do not see a body worthy of love.

The words that escape our mouths can act like knives on the skin. You never really think a critique of someone’s appearance, weight, etc could be their breaking point. We need to start thinking before we speak.

We need to begin to realize that sticks and stones may in fact break bones, but words do also hurt.

Words could be the simple thing that could bring someone to the point of taking their life.

Who are we to make comments on someone’s life? Who are we to think we are better than anyone? Who are we to call someone fat? Stupid? Ugly? A slut?

Who are we to tell someone that their invisible illness does not exist?

Who are we?

Remember at the end of the day that we are all human. We all have to remember that is is our job to make this cruel world just a bit more bearable. Do not live in hate. Do not live in fear.

Believe you are much more than the illnesses you have. You are much more even when you feel you are completely out of control.
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And lastly…

May we all learn to see ourselves as those we love most do.

hhh