I Forgive You, Fat Girl

Lets get this show back on the road.

 My "Dear Fat Girl" letter went viral in 2015 - and started a hurricane of journeys that would all eventually land me in a place where I was both inspiring, and terrified all at the same time.

 ( if you havent seen that before, --> https://sarieland.blogspot.com/2014/09/dear-fat-girl.html ) 

So here's the thing though... Life kicked my ass after that. I got divorced, I ended up in an abusive relationship, I swapped careers, and I ate my feelings away because I felt so defeated, that I sabotaged the success I had in my life. It was as if somehow, I felt like I didn't deserve it anymore. Long story short, I gained all 100 pounds back, + a little extra, you know, just to be an overachiever. Anyhow, as I trail through life picking pieces back up, kicking ass and taking names, moving mountains to get ME back, I have one last thing I need to address within myself... My weight. I've avoided acknowledging it thus far, but after kicking ass and taking names, this is my last step to freeing myself.

Dear Fat Girl was the start of my success once before, and tried and true, it will be the start of it again, but with a different focus this time. Dear Fat girl before, was a letter of pain, and focusing on the things I hated about myself, and the pain I was causing myself. It was the rock bottom of sadness, and a desperate cry for a "fix" as if I was not a valuable human until I made myself fit by society's standards. While this did fuel me, it left a lot of self doubt along the way, and it left me with the inability to still accept myself in the end. I hadn't realized how powerful forgiveness could be back then, so today I forgive you, fat girl. 

Dear Fat Girl,

I know that it's frustrating right now. I know. I notice that I don't really look at myself in the mirror anymore, and I don' t really get dressed outside of sweats and baggy shirts anymore. I won't be caught dead in photos, and I have grown uncomfortably comfortable with this belly roll, as I tuck my phone under it when I sit down. That alone is horrifying, but I laugh because that hides the vulnerability right? If I joke about myself and my weight, no one can hurt me with it, right?  I pretend that I don't really notice, but I notice. I just know better now than to think about it for too long, because I have been down those dark roads of self loathing and deprecation. I have done my share of tearing myself down farther than anyone else would ever tear me down. I've devalued myself FIRST so that others couldn't devalue me due to my weight... Ironic huh? I've fantasized about BEING someone else. Believe me, I know.

Walking is not supposed to be difficult - what the hell have I done? When I walk up the stairs, I am embarrassingly out of breath, and I can't sit criss-cross anymore without pain in my left knee and both hips. This is a bigger problem because I need to be able to live long enough to watch my kids get married...  I need to not let them down as a mother... I need to be able to WALK. My feet hurt, everyday now. As soon as I get out of bed in the morning, the pain is sharp, and I have to just push through it, knowing that I did this to myself. The kids notice now too, and they pity me for it - that doesn't feel good at all. I can feel the pit in my stomach getting louder and louder everyday that I try to ignore it. I have a closet full of clothes I can't wear anymore, and a Facebook full of followers that I don't post to anymore. I am so worried that I've let them all down... They followed me for inspiration and while I did provide that, what am I now? I'm not ok, and I need to be able to admit this if I ever want to fix this. I need to stand in this moment, acknowledge where I am, and let every step that led me here be in the past. It happened, let it go. I need to forgive those steps that led me here, and take one step forward at a time.

Fat Girl, I forgive you for the way you judged yourself when you stepped on the scale today and saw 250 pounds. I saw the way you looked at yourself in the mirror with such disgust, the way you would NEVER look at another human. I forgive you, for thinking that you are a failure, as you look through old photos of yourself after you lost 100 pounds, only to gain it back. You never cut yourself even a little bit of slack, or gave yourself grace when you deserved it, and I forgive you for that too. I forgive you for wallowing in your pain when you knew it wouldn't help you, and for pretending you couldn't hear it when your inner self was BEGGING and kicking and screaming for you to just get up and walk... to do something, anything to not go back there. I forgive you for believing you didn't deserve the good things, and for subconsciously punishing yourself by sabotaging your weight loss until you were all the way back where you started. I FUCKING FORGIVE YOU. You know the thing about starting at the beginning again? You know better. You know better than to let a day off track derail your week. You know better now, than to go into this as a way to "fix" yourself as if you don't have value. You didn't know that last time. You know better now, to give yourself the grace you offer others, and to take care of yourself in the process. You know now that life is happening, every day of the process, not just at the end, and to LIVE everyday of it deservingly. I forgive you for not knowing these things before. 

I forgive you Fat Girl. I forgive you and I will forgive you every time you find yourself feeling less than you deserve, because I know you will identify those moments now. I forgive you because you are human, and an ever evolving human at that. You have so much on your plate at all times, and I forgive you for letting your own needs be the ones that slacked while you made the world everything your kids needed. I forgive you for taking this long to forgive yourself. There will not be a day that goes by from here forward, that I don't remind myself that every step in my journey, even backwards, I grow and become wiser. Sure I need to lose 100 pounds again, but this is so much more than that. I need to feel the sun on my face again without guilt. I need to get out of this 9-5 (that's really like a 9 to 4825793 as often as I work overtime until nothing is left) and discover my potential. I need to see what I was put on this earth to do and not spend it working, paying bills, eating, and taking one step closer to the end of the game without even playing. So fat girl, I forgive you. The past is behind us, we are letting it go. If we could do this once before, with not even half of the amount of knowledge and wisdom that you have today, we can do this again, more meaningfully. I deserve each day that I get to open my eyes in the morning. I deserve to LOVE everyday as I am, while I discover who and what I can be. I deserve all of the love, that I so freely offer other people, and I deserve the success that comes from this. 

Sincerely, 
Sarie.
P.S. I forgive you for calling me Fat Girl for so long, and muting my identity. 

Ghost

 It's been 592 days since the walls bled, on the day I finally found the courage to lock the front door. It felt like only a paper thin barrier between us and you, and my rapid heart beat was the only thing I could hear or feel as I held back my tears in front of my children. They were too young to understand mental illness and abuse and love. 

We spent 655 days with you before I locked that door. The first 75 consecutive days of that were undeniably joyful, peaceful, and full of new feelings, attraction, and butterflies. 330 days in,  you were diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and bipolar disorder, as well as disassociative disorder. I felt both helpless and obligated to help you. I knew everything was wrong, and I felt hopeless as I looked around and saw how entangled our lives were and how hard it would be to keep my head above water as I began a war for my own freedom while keeping everyone from seeing the turmoil I felt so trapped in. 

Day 655 was the day the walls bled as I collapsed in front of my locked front door and tried to untangle the feelings I was left with after giving everything I had to push away someone I loved in order to put my broken pieces back together. I felt like I was in another dimension, this couldn't have just happened. The sounds of the world fell silent and my echoing breath and pounding heartbeat filled my ears and I felt sick to my stomach. Gravity felt as if it had shifted my world on its axis, and everything felt upside down. I couldn't catch my breath or even picture how life would look going forward...

You called me from blocked numbers, and you emailed me. You emailed me sometimes 7 times a day for over a year after day 655. Sometimes it was to break down and beg for our life back and sometimes it was to be malicious and tell me that you hated me and hoped I hurt the way you did. I kept myself together like a house of cards, but the thing was, I did hurt the way you did. You made sure of that, and then it fell silent...

I pushed it all down and locked it away because I was so afraid to open the closet and face the ghost of you. I pushed it down and every so often it would bubble over and I would be full of emotions that I didn't know how to handle and trauma that I didn't know how to cope with. Ironically, it was the first time I finally felt like a Disney princess... I was Belle and you were the prince I loved, trapped in a Beast of disorders so deep that I often wondered if I had watched you die in there somehow. Day by day I saw less and less of you left inside the beast. I wasn't a princess in the end, and there was no happy ending for us. How does one even start to cope with those emotions? I don't know either; down they go.

It's been 592 days since that day, and life is calm and light and happy. Each day I drink coffee in the morning, and proceed with my day, ending it with 2 anti-depressants and a sleep aid as I turn off the lights and lay in the dark. "You'll be here soon" I think to myself. You always show up at night when my defenses are down. I drift off to sleep, and there you are. You're there so often, in my dreams, except in my dreams you are typically calm, and just in the background, but I can FEEL your presence like the heat of the sun on the back of my neck. My trauma awaits its invitation to be sorted out, but reminds me each night that I cant push it down permanently. Your face in my dreams is hauntingly comforting as I had let my self worth dwindle down to almost nothing and as I push down my trauma, I remain stuck in a place where I feel like I am not worthy of better. 

Your ghost lives inside me. I can feel you in my veins when certain songs come on. Its again another reminder that I can not simply wish my trauma away. As I lost my independence in our relationship and the aftermath, I gained 100 pounds of emotions and sadness. I let my healthy, active self hide behind the cushion of the weight because she felt lost. 592 days later, these pounds will not budge, and perhaps that is in part due to my inability to free myself.  It is 8:45pm, and as I type this, I know that as I turn the light off tonight, you will be back again, leaving me feeling haunted. Trauma is a truly bizarre thing, and although I find myself afraid of opening the closet, and seeing what life will be like when you're truly gone from inside of me, I long to let go of the weight of this. I want to breathe. I want to not hurt. I want to not be haunted by you in my sleep. I want to let it all go, and I want to be me again. 

As I sift through google looking at therapist after therapist, I can feel my comfort zone being challenged. I may never see your face again after this... I don't remember what that feels like and I fear I will disappoint myself or others when I only have myself to offer. I wonder if I am ready to break free and open the closet, releasing all of the things I have suppressed. One more war, only with your ghost this time... Only time will tell... In the meantime, I will see you tonight, with the goal to say goodbye. 

Yesterday Was Heavy, Put it Down,

Hello. 

It's been 10 months and 22 days since I gathered up the strength to leave you for the very last time. In the last 10 months, you have sent me 66 emails, called me hundreds of times from random numbers, left items on my porch, sent me hurtful text messages, and found any way to reach out to tell me that you are suffering because I left you. You wanted me to know that you have fallen into the darkness and can not get up because I left you. You wanted me to know that you were suicidal because I left you. You wanted me to know that you felt utterly alone, because I left you. I'm not even sure you listened to me to hear exactly WHY I left you. 

Its been 10 months and 22 days, and I never got the opportunity to tell you tell you what I felt for the TWO YEARS we were together, and so I do believe it's my turn.

I watched you fall apart. I was there from the moment you broke the very first time, until the very end. I wish I could say all I did was watch, from a distance, but instead I dove headfirst into your pool of darkness and swam with every ounce of life I had in me to try and save you. You didn't see that because you were too busy making waves and getting upset at me for not being able to swim in them. 

I met a mild mannered young man, in the process of a gender transition, but who had not yet started the hormonal transition process. You were kind and funny, and charming. I have always been the type to push people towards their goals, and perhaps that was where I failed. I helped you set up the appointment to get started on testosterone, and as you grew into the man you wanted to see in the mirror, your anger grew with you. I began walking on eggshells to avoid upsetting you, and God forbid there be a change in my work schedule, because you did NOT handle change well at ALL. 

Fighting with you was never productive. You were never actually interested in solving the disagreement, you were only ever interested in being upset at me for having a different viewpoint, and rather than trying to understand mine to at least understand me a little better, you proceeded to drown me with your words until I had nothing left but the ability to sit there silently, and then you would escalate. You slammed doors, screamed, threw things, sometimes AT me, slammed your head into walls and kicked doors, put holes in the walls, and destroyed items that were sentimental to me as a way to "show me how I made you feel." I'm here to tell you that you are responsible for the way you feel, and that you do not, as a grown adult, have the right to project or blame your unhappiness on me. I will not accept that responsibility any longer. 

it's been 10 months and 22 days and you still show up in my dreams as they shift into nightmares. I cant explain why the dream always turns so dark as soon as I see your face. You showed up in an attic space in one of my dreams, and shortly thereafter, everything started to fall dark and I woke up in a cold sweat, and couldn't fall back asleep. The damage you did is inside of me and its taking me 10 months and 22 days to realize the extent of what you did to me. 

You've sent me 66 long, drawn out emails. They always say something sad because you know that I am highly empathetic and you have always used that against me. You tell me that you hate me, that you wished you'd never loved me, you wish you had never met me, that you hope I see you one day at your best and that you get the chance to walk by me and not even stop. You follow those emails with another, saying that you are sorry for what you said when you were drunk, and that you are so alone and that you have no one anymore. The problem is, I have blocked you on every form of communication and you still find another way to reach out. You've even created a new email address, and shown up at my old address to drop off a box of all of the old cards and letters I had given you from when we were together. It's just not enough for you for some reason, it's like you thrive on hurting me. 

You were always threatened by anyone who was close to me, even though you wouldn't dare admit that. You would say awful thing about my best friend, to drive a wedge between us, and then you would say awful things about the company I worked for until you had talked me into quitting. You liked to say that you were only supporting me, and not controlling me, but you never liked it when I was away, even if it was at work to pay the bills that you were not helping me with. I was working 40-60 hour weeks WITH my kids at work with me so that you could sit at home and cry about needing a mental health day for the 11th time in one week while I drained the life out of myself to pay the bills and still come home to the toxic energy you were serving me on a silver platter. 

It's been 10 months and 22 days, and while I do recognize how abusive this relationship was for me, and still continues to be after the fact, I also recognize that I loved you truly, and deeply which was the very core of the reason that I allowed you to deplete me of everything that made me happy, as I tried to save you. It turns out you never wanted to be saved, you just didn't want to go down alone on a sinking ship that you wrecked yourself. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I am NOT in any way bashing mental health issues. I walked through FIRE to help you when you needed to rest... But no one ever stops to see what mental health issues can do to the other person. The person being projected upon. The person who is always in the line of fire. I hope you get the help you need, and I do hope that you reach your best. I hope that one day you might read this and for the first time, see just the smallest glimpse of what this was like on the other end. it's been 10 months, and 22 days, and I'm here to tell you I'm unsubscribing to any further abuse. 

"Yesterday was heavy, put it down."

Tell Them I was the Warmest Place You knew, and That You Turned me Cold.

Here goes.

I've laid awake in the depths of my thoughts, for countless sleepless nights, about what I needed to say in regards to my last relationship. I say "needed" because I believe that our experiences are meant to shape us, but also because I understand the value of the lessons we, and others, learn from our stories. I've pondered what happened, what I've learned, and how it affected me in ways I didn't even realized until after the dust had settled. Oh what a plot twist he was...

You saw the photos on social media... We were so in love. You saw the "happiness." He posted a romance novel about me on Facebook and Instagram every time he posted a photo of me. 200 likes and countless comments told us how perfect we were together. You saw him sing to me in videos, adventure with me, and even propose to me. You saw what you were supposed to see, because in reality, there were so many things you didn't see. That photo of me with the romance novel about me being the light of his life, followed a gut-wrenching fight where he stood in front of the bedroom door to keep me from leaving, because he had told me I was a piece of shit, no better than his ex. I had packed his things, and as I picked up each box to carry them downstairs, he violently punched each box out of my hands destroying the boxes and slinging his things all over the floor. "You think I'm such a FUCKING MONSTER!! You never take accountability for the things YOU do wrong!" He would yell. His happiness or unhappiness was always my responsibility.

I want to make something very clear; I loved him unmeasurably. The passionate love you saw on my end was genuine, and perhaps that's why I stayed for 2 years despite having started to question whether this behavior was a problem before we had even spent a year together. Unfortunately, it's not enough to just KNOW something is wrong when you love the person. He would threaten suicide, cry, breakdown and apologize and I would feel obligated to pick him back up again. I knew in my heart if I asked him to leave, he would cause a scene and I was not prepared to handle that. I did not want to be the reason he ended his life, and I didn't want to even risk finding out if he was bluffing or not. A life is a life, and I cant gamble with that, even when it costs me my peace. Perhaps that is where I went wrong.

Let's start from the beginning. I met "H" in 2018, shortly after moving to Virginia. We matched on Tinder and met in person, and clicked right away. We started officially dating about a month later and he immediately moved in with me. It was good for several months... H was my best friend, and we spent all of our time together. He started to have a heavy opinion on things about 3 months in - things like my job, my parenting, and his opinion found a way to change mine somehow. He would tell me that my job was taking advantage of me, and he fed me these opinions until one day I quit that job, which he also suggested. I didn't realize then, and maybe he didn't either, but this was a control behavior that is often used to sever the things that make a person independent, so that they will "need" their partner more (whether that is financially or emotionally etc.) He began altering the way I parented my kids, becoming more militant and strict, and just seeming overall more unhappy with anything we did. We started to walk on eggshells to keep him happy.

His moods were so quick to change. One small trigger (like my work asking me to stay an hour later to help) would send him spiraling downward into a rant about how I don't take his feelings into consideration, and how my communication skills were terrible. He would jump off of the deep end over such minor things, that I started to find peace in being away from home. I started to realize that this was something mental health related and began to do research, hoping to help guide him in a direction that would end in him seeking help from a therapist who could give him solutions to tone down these behaviors. My research all pointed to Borderline Personality Disorder, and this was later confirmed.

I am learning now, how many times I was manipulated into staying stuck in that situation. It is unnerving to see clearly how many occasions which I felt like I was trapped. "What if he burns my house down? What if he takes my kids? What if he kills himself in my house for my kids to find?" These thoughts seem extreme, but when you've watched a grown man get on the floor and slam his head into the floor over and over until he gave himself a concussion while screaming uncontrollably, its a reasonable fear. I just wanted to get out without the blow up, and I didn't know how. Often times in the heat of his blow ups, I would muster up the strength to demand him to leave, but he would up the ante and hurt himself until I backed down. I became depressed, I started gaining weight, and my anxiety was worse than ever.

It didn't get better even after I finally left, as I struggled to stay strong and push away someone I loved, who was trapped inside of someone I was afraid of. I would see glimpses of the man I loved, and wonder if there was a chance he would "get better." It's so hard to rationalize this with yourself while you are dealing with a broken heart and being manipulated at the same time. There are just too many moving parts and ultimately I am human. I went back to him so many times when I felt small and responsible for his unhappiness. I know how much that didn't help, but again, I loved him and naturally I missed him... The "him" that was trapped inside, under the rage and the borderline personality disorder. He was institutionalized multiple times, medicated, court ordered to stay away from me, and even put in jail for violating that order, and I still felt responsible for whether or not he would stand on his own two feet. It's so hard to just stand back and watch someone drown themselves in 3 feet of water, and to know that all they have to do to save themselves is to stand up - that's why I saved him, over and over again.

Even as I type this, I wonder what sort of consequence might arise if he reads it, but I need this closure. I will never claim to understand what it feels like to be him and have your mind work against you so often, nor do I want to lessen the magnitude of how mental illness can impact a persons actions as they suffer through it. I did see the pain BPD caused him, and often I was the only stability he had. If you have ever walked in these shoes, you understand. I won't go into detail about how bad it got, or how my kids were impacted. We all watched someone we loved transform into someone we didn't know, and we all have to heal from that battlefield. They say you come back from war either wounded or wiser - but I believe it's both.

The price of anything, is the amount of life you exchange for it, and while I firmly believe that I overpaid, I gained a lot of perspective from this. Someone I loved, once gave me a box full of darkness. It took 2 years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

Fat Girl Returns (read this if you followed my weight loss journey)

Welcome back family.

Sorry for the title, it will make sense here in a few. I wish I could tell you guys that this post was another smooth sailing description of my life, but lets be real... My life is smooth sailing because I choose to roll with the punches and make the most of it, not because I'm without everyday stresses and struggles.

I love that my weight loss journey inspired so many people, and that my transparency allowed people to see the real, raw process. I showed you my self hatred, my emotions, my tears and my weaknesses and stayed transparent as I overcame all of those and learned to love myself. Being truthful and honest with all of you helped keep me accountable in a way, but I also know it made your own journey seem more realistic and attainable. Its been 6 years since the day I hit my "wall" and officially couldn't take another day in my 240 pound body. Within that 6 years, I lost 100 pounds, became certified as a personal trainer in 5 different areas, was featured all over the internet, cracked under pressure to look perfect, battled bulimia (and won,) got divorced, moved cross country, trained so many AMAZING clients, gained back 30 pounds, lost it again, gained back 40 pounds, switched careers entirely, and tried to keep myself together in the process. Its not that its hard to keep the weight off, the hard part is keeping the same level of motivation when your life and you as a person change. We all do that. That is so fucking hard, pardon my language.

I quit my job as a personal trainer in May 2019, in the middle of giving all I had to my clients and making sure they had the most supportive personal trainer in existence, and my reasoning was that I needed something more. I needed something that was going to pay the bills better and be more stable. I decided to get licensed as a real estate agent in Virginia and took a leap of faith that this was my calling. Perhaps I was running away from something. See, in that timeline above, it says "gained 40 pounds back, switched careers entirely..." and that was all written in order. I gained 40 pounds back and have yet to lose it again because I let stress take over, and I chose to not control the way I eat when I'm stressed out. I switched careers because I was embarrassed to be such a heavily certified personal trainer and look anything other than perfect. Personal trainers are especially prone to disordered eating because everyone forgets we are human too, and the expectation to look flawless is strong - not to mention the way we look impacts our credibility to the public, although it shouldn't.

That's my mistake guys, because from the beginning I've preached to you guys that you have to forgive yourself for being HUMAN and approach your journey focusing on what you have to GAIN versus what you have to lose. You don't take this journey to fix yourself or to make yourself happy, or to make someone love you more... That mindset will only lead you down a rabbit hole of self hatred and you'll end up with an eating disorder the same way I did, You take this journey to focus on how STRONG you can become, how FAST you can run, how unapologetically BAD ASS you can feel and to be the best version of an ALREADY PERFECT YOU that you can be.

I let myself slip, and I gained weight back. To be exact, I weighed in at 194.2 pounds this morning. I am 5'6" so to put that into perspective, that's a size 12/14 in jeans for me. I am not proud of that number, but I want to point out a few things. I have NOT fallen back into bulimia, even with my weight gain. I have continued to live in my current body and celebrate it at its thicker size, positively (most of the time.) I knew I wasn't ready to get back up and take control again, but I chose to see the positive in that and focus on other things so that it didn't eat me alive the way it would have years ago. That's growth guys... that's pure and absolute positive growth from years of learning how my emotions work, and how easily I can fall into a dark place.

Anyhow, I got home last night and my "wall" was waiting for me I guess, because I hit that wall again and from previous experience, that's usually the start of something awesome. If you don't know what I mean by my wall, let me explain. We can all yo-yo diet for years. We start, give up, start, give up, and get no where for a long time. That's normal and it sucks, but its part of the process. One day you will wake up so uncomfortable in your own body, that the thought of doing the scary things to change it, seem easier than staying the same. That's your wall. That's your point of no return.

I have lost 100 pounds before and I can do it again. This time, I have about 55 pounds to lose. I know that posting about it keeps me accountable, so you can count on seeing it in my facebook group, my status, my instagram and wherever else I can manage to keep myself accountable. Those of you who have weight to lose, let's do this together, because it takes a village to grow as a person too, and we all need support. Day 1, 194.2 pounds...

Sarie Anne
Certified Elite Trainer (even if I gained some weight back)

Unapoligetically Bad-Ass.

Dear Baby Number 3

Good afternoon readers,

Many of you who have been friends with me for years may have seen posts of infertility struggles back in 2012/2013. On my wedding night, April 22nd, 2012, my husband and I decided we were going to try for baby #3. Our son Spencer was 7 months old, and our daughter Lacey was 2 and a half, and we wanted another little one to complete our family. Months went by with no success, and I posted sad updates on Facebook not able to understand why I was not getting pregnant. I already had 2 children, so what was wrong?

We reached the 2 year point with still no success in getting pregnant. 24 months, of tears, that failure feeling, and hundreds of dollars wasted on pregnancy tests. My heart could almost not handle more of those emotions. So many things had changed in our lives, as my husband left for the Navy, and we continued trying after he completed basic training. My posts on Facebook were no longer about our journey to have a 3rd baby, because so often it was a broken record, so I stopped telling people or posting about it. It was easier at this point to say we didn't want more kids, or that we were done trying. I tried to convince myself of that many times, but I was never really done trying, even when I said I was. We never stopped trying. 

Another year of failed attempts passed despite doing EVERYTHING as perfect as possible (i'm talking charting basal body temperature, tracking ovulation, taking vitamins, tracking MY CERVIX! eww...) It was time we saw a fertility specialist, which was long overdue. 

Our fertility specialist put us through more tests and procedures than I ever thought I would endure, but I was willing because at this point, there was a hole in my heart that needed that final baby. My kids were getting older... They were both in school all day and I was feeling like I had no purpose and that my worth as a woman was decreasing as my fertility was failing me. 

I did an HSG. This is a test where they push dye directly into your uterus through a tube with a balloon at the end to check if your fallopian tubes are blocked. I had so much anxiety over this test that I cried for weeks leading up to it, because I knew it was going to hurt. I was terrified, but I was honestly hoping my tubes would show up blocked because at that point, at least we would have answers and a new path to a solution. My tubes were clear, and we left that procedure just as clueless as before. I had so much blood drawn for so many tests and I didn't even flinch at the poke of the needle anymore. I had to give myself shots in my stomach, and I had more doctors with bright lights between my legs than I ever care to have again.

My husband was told he had a low sperm count, which was unfortunate, and that IUI (intrauterine insemination, where they concentrate his sperm through a cycle at a facility and then put it into my uterus directly via a tube put through my cervix) was our only hope for success. We tried IUI after IUI... No success.

Clomid was the medication they put me on to start. Clomid is made to help women ovulate, but my body already appeared to ovulate just fine on its own, so at this point I was just being experimented on. Clomid makes your estrogen go through the roof so as a result, I got moody, tired, and a ton of acne which put my self esteem in the dumps. Each month they increased my dosage on Clomid until last month, when I ended up having SIX mature eggs because of it. This is a LOT, and we were told we had extremely high risk for multiples. This was the month, I had mild OHSS (ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, where your ovaries basically get overwhelmed, and swell up painfully) and was in pain most of the month. This month was rough. I didn't sleep well, I was in constant pain in areas that I had never felt before (because you don't typically FEEL your ovaries) and I was feeling defeated. Its been FIVE AND A HALF YEARS at this point of trying for baby #3. 

I bet you're expecting a pregnancy announcement huh? I wish I could do that, believe me. as we approach the end of this month, I have officially hit my brick wall. I physically can NOT handle much more, and the medication is making me miserable. At this point, the only way we could have another baby would be IVF (in vitro fertilization, which is about $13,500-$20,000) and I just cant put that in our future. So here we are, giving it all to God, and officially being DONE trying. Done with the medications. Done with the procedures. This doesn't mean "not trying, but not preventing, wink wink," it means we are putting it out of our minds entirely because it was consuming me in a way that was so depressing. There is no room for grey space, there is only trying, or not trying with me because I will ALWAYS know when I'm ovulating, and I will ALWAYS pay attention to symptoms "just in case." We are 100% done. So here is my letter to you, dearest baby #3...

Dear Ricky Rowan Bronish, or Nyla Grace Bronish, 

I hope you know how much you were wanted. I hope you know how far we went looking for answers to bring you into existence. I refinished your dresser months ago, and filled it with baby clothes and a new diaper bag, and new bottles, and a brand new ergo baby carrier. I bought you a stroller, and a baby swing and we rebuilt you a beautiful crib. I spent countless hours sewing baby blankets that I could use for you, and I couldn't wait to wrap you up in my beautiful creations. I even had a pregnancy announcement photo ready to use for you. 

 We tried honey, we tried SO HARD. You were a very real person in our future, we saw it everyday. We just knew we would meet you one day, and we had so much faith that if we just kept trying, you would surprise us. Last month was hard on me though, and I spent a lot of time unable to even care for Lacey or Spencer when I was in pain because of the medication, so we have to stop trying... I want you to know that you were a very real person to me, and would have been so happy here had we gotten the chance. I don't know what we are going to do with all of this baby stuff, but I'm so painfully attached to all of it and I need time to heal. My stomach is sick just thinking about this being the end, and I am in tears typing this. We loved you far before existence, and maybe that's crazy. I don't regret trying though, and I'll see you in my dreams kiddo....
-Mom

To all of you, here's what I want you to know: If you are pregnant now, I do NOT resent you, or have hard feelings towards you for having what I wanted so badly. I am absolutely happy for you and will never be sour towards your accomplishments. I am not ok, but I will be. It does hurt tremendously making the final call to be done, and its hard to talk about. I do absolutely love my children, and they were always just as important to me. But mostly, I will be ok. 

Total Transparency, October 2017

October 2017

This might be the scariest and most vulnerable post from me so far, so be gentle and bear with me. The courage it has taken to share this with you all is tremendous, and I hope that from this, I can shed a light on how pressure and mental illness of many types can affect people during a fitness journey.

Somewhere in early 2013 I made a promise to myself to lose weight. I had promised myself this so many years in a row, and I honestly wasn't sure if my promises to myself even meant anything anymore, but nevertheless, I made the promise. I was in a dark place, dealing with anxiety and depression, and relying on my social life for happiness. I really had put my happiness in the hands of how others looked at me, and thus began a journey...

I began my journey as expected. I didn't know anything about what I was doing, but I was eager to learn and to find the "answers." I quickly adapted to counting calories and tracking my foods, and the weight came off as expected. I exercised, I ate healthy food, and I lost weight. I did everything right, and I went through all of the right motions. Of course, it wasn't always easy and I slipped up and fell off the wagon time and time again, but I always got back up and made progress. It was successful, despite the times when it was tough, but that's not what this particular post is dedicated to...

Fast forward to 2015. I was really at the top of my game in 2015, I was featured in a Buzzfeed video, featured in Yahoo Health, featured on the Quest Nutrition blog, Fitfluential, Myfitnesspal, and so many more sites. I had quickly accumulated close to 2,000 followers on my personal Facebook page who were hungry for my next post. These people were following me because they wanted inspiration, and somehow, I had provided them with that. I had lost 95 pounds and I wanted to help everyone! I was receiving hundreds of emails a week from people I didn't know, and I undoubtedly overwhelmed with the small-scale fame I felt. I was 5 pounds from the numeric goal I had set at the beginning of my journey.

That is honestly where I think I went wrong... I was working out and eating healthy and looking uh-mazing, no doubt, but I couldn't get those stupid last 5 pounds off that would give me that glorious "100 pounds lost" title. I would work SO hard in the gym, setting new records for myself, and still inspiring others, and then go home and hate myself in the mirror, over 5 pounds. That number consumed me. There was so much pressure to continue to inspire people, and I was afraid that if I didn't reach that goal soon, that people would realize that I was somehow not worth what they initially thought I was worth. My worth was now in their hands somehow.

When I was obese, eating was how I soothed my depression and anxiety, even when I didn't realize that's what I was doing. Up until 2015, I hadn't had many issues with binge eating because I was feeling on top of the world and I wasn't feeling the pressure. The pressure was suddenly real though, and I found myself MORE miserable than I was when I was fat. I couldn't be proud of the 95 pounds I had lost, because I was too focused on the 5 pounds that I couldn't seem to lose. I felt like I was letting everyone down and I ate my feelings away. I don't honestly know how I ended up binge eating a whole package of chocolate chip cookies in one sitting, crying on my bedroom floor because I felt like a failure, or how I managed to eat a half gallon of ice cream all at once while sitting in my swimsuit in front of a mirror. I had never loathed my self so much in my life. I found myself feeling guilty about binge eating knowing it would set me backwards, and then it started...

I couldn't shake the thoughts, no matter how I tried. "You're a failure Sarie, what sort of motivational person eats cookies?" My anxiety was through the roof, and I just HAD to try and "control" the situation. I had never had my finger down my throat before and I cried the whole time. I cried because it hurt to throw up, and I cried because I hated myself so much. I found myself knowing that this was wrong, but not really understanding how I ended up in this dark place. I couldn't shake the thought that I had "done wrong" by throwing up my food, and therefore needed to be punished for it. I didn't know exactly what I meant by "punished" but the thought still lingered and it scared me to not feel in control of my thoughts. I went to the emergency room that night and had never felt more ashamed and alone in my life. It was humiliating to tell them what I had done. It was humiliating to be in an empty room with a nurse on "watch." I couldn't even say the word "throw up," because there was so much shame over it.

I began seeing a therapist for a few weeks and I really felt so much better. It seemed that I had quickly escaped the clutches of what could've been a terrible life to bulimia. How could I be better after only 3 weeks? Amazing! I stopped seeing the therapist and continued my life motivating people to lose weight the healthy way. The way I had.

I kept my secret hidden, even though I was better, because I was afraid people would think I was less credible because of it. I was worried that somehow, people would think that I lost weight by having an eating disorder and that I was a fraud. I am 100% not a fraud, and I lost weight by eating healthy and exercising and I can't stress that enough. Bulimia struck me when I was at my most fit, most active, and smallest weight. I had already lost the weight the healthy way BEFORE bulimia was a part of my life. You see, I only binge-purged, I didn't throw up my healthy food, not that it was any less dangerous.

I was great for several months after I stopped seeing the therapist, and 100% purge-free, and then my husband deployed. Deployment is hard on anyone, and its hard on a marriage and to say that we struggled is an understatement. I threw myself into hobbies, and friendships, and tried to keep busy and somewhere along the line, I had gained 30 pounds back. It was partly because I had stopped going to the gym, and of course because I stopped going to the gym, I was gaining more and more. I really tried to ignore the weight gain, and I stopped posting about fitness for a while.

My friend bulimia was not gone as I had thought. In fact, I found myself noticing that I had gained weight again and it became worse than ever. My depression was back with a vengeance and so was my anxiety. This time, it was a REAL problem, because I couldn't focus on food at all without seeing the calorie counts in my head, and if I couldn't mentally feel confident in how many calories were in the food, I had to throw it up because I was so afraid to gain more weight. This meant I could eat food like plain chicken, because I knew how many calories were in chicken per ounce, and I was good at estimating how many ounces it was from years of weighing my food. This meant however, that I could NOT eat food like chili, or something that had multiple ingredients in it because I couldn't seem to mentally calculate what I was taking into my body and I stressed over if there were added oils which meant added calories. The problem with this, is that I already knew how to lose weight properly, but my mental state was clouding my judgement and I was looking for happiness through food. At my lowest point, I was hunched over the toilet, covered in my own throw up, crying, hoping I would just have a brain aneurysm or a heart attack already because I didn't want to feel the pain anymore. I was tired of bullying myself. I felt like I was a disappointment to anyone who had ever followed me.

Here's what I need to stress: I made one mistake in my weight loss journey, and that was having a goal to lose weight as a way to "fix" myself. I chose to lose weight because I wanted to look better, feel better, and somehow be better by being skinnier. I should never have set out to lose weight as a way to fix myself, I should have set out to lose weight as a way to get stronger, healthier, and more badass. My reasons were very negative and that is what I want all of you to be very careful with. I "dieted myself" into an eating disorder because I had the wrong mindset from the very beginning. I don't want you to set numeric weight loss goals, I want you to set positive goals. You should set a goal like "I want to be able to run faster" or "I want to not be pre-diabetic." I want you to focus on health like it is a sport, something you do because you LOVE it.

If you eat off plan, you 150% do NOT need to punish yourself for that, or even feel bad. So you ate McDonald's tonight instead of your meal plan? No big deal because your goal is to have the RIGHT mindset, and you will never have a positive outcome from feeling bad about what you ate. If you eat something off plan, oh well, move forward with your day and focus on how you will happily eat on plan for the next meal. The past is not something you can change, or control, but you can control what is in front of you.

 "It happened, it's behind you." This is something I had said to myself one day and it stuck with me like nothing ever has. Fitness is something I do to challenge my muscles, so why associate it with negativity? If I was a volleyball player, I wouldn't beat myself up over eating a cookie, so why should I beat myself up over it just because I workout? Now I am not saying you should binge eat, because believe me- that is not at all something I would ever recommend. I'm saying that I know you are all human, and so am I, and that occasionally, we will eat things that might not fit into our fitness macros. Progress is not linear, and no one has ever succeeded by expecting to be 100% perfect all of the time. Your progress will probably look like this:

You will still get to your goal! So set yourself up for success from the start, and have the right reasons for losing weight or beginning your journey to health. As for myself, I still struggle with those thoughts that tell me I am not good enough, or that I should purge my food, but I am learning to silence them and correct them because that is a part of me that might always be there. Mental illness is real, and as long as I tackle it and stay on top of it the right way, I can stay out of the dark places that I don't want to be in. Remember, I did not lose weight by being bulimic, I binge ate and actually gained weight by being bulimic. My success in weight loss was real, and healthy, and the advice I give is real, and healthy, and it starts with your mindset. Healthy mind, healthy life.

in 2018, I will focus on what I love about myself, and how I can grow as a person and improve the things I love about myself through fitness. I will focus on loving myself and the amazing things I have learned that I can do. I will lift weights and run and be fantastic motivation, but not because I  believe anything about me needs "fixed." I will push you all to focus on what you love about yourself as well, and I hope that like always, my journey can help someone. I am real, and I will always be a recovering bulimic no matter how far behind me it is. I will always have anxiety but I will not always struggle because of it. I am being mindful in everything I do now, and hoping that the choices I make, and the thoughts I have, are always constructive and that when I feel bad, I can find ways to reroute those thoughts by reminding myself why I am absolutely, positively, exactly the way God made me.