Author: Erica

It’s Just What I Do Now…

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Well folks,  I wanted to share that I have actually been consistently working out since about April of this year. (Yay me!)

Back before I began working out, I read a blog post by my cousin Will – who is an avid workout-er… I guess you could call him an athlete – and he talked about how so much of our actions revolve around instant gratification, and how it’s hard to buckle down and do something when you know you won’t see results for a while. His blog motivated me to stop thinking and wishing that I was working out, and just do it. So I started telling myself that exercising was just “something I do now.” Like brushing my teeth or taking a shower. It’s not something I have to wonder if I’m going to do, I just do it.

Honestly, this mindset has been a great strategy for me. Other times when I began trying to work out consistently (my longest stretch in the past was 6 months before I gave up cold turkey), I was always in it for some goal. I wanted to get to a certain weight or look a certain way or be able to run a certain speed or distance. But this time, there’s not a distinct goal – it’s just what I do now.

If I’m honest though, I did have two motivations for starting working out: one was my physical appearance, and the other was my mental health. If you’ve read my blog before, you know physical appearance is something that I can get consumed with. I sometimes struggle to accept how I look. Well, I knew working out would not make me look worse, and I hoped it might improve how I felt about my body as well. I actually have read that working out can make you feel better about how you look, even though you might not look any different at all. I don’t remember the science behind it all, but that intrigued me.

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Going Home

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Today is July 26. It’s my 2-year anniversary. It has been two years since I was admitted to the psych hospital for postpartum depression. I have had this segment of my story written for many months, but had not felt ready to make it public. I feel ready today. 

This post focuses on the day that I was released from the hospital after being inside for a week. If you missed earlier parts of my story and want to read them, you can click on the following links below:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

Tuesday, August 2nd, 2016

It had been a week – an entire week inside a psychiatric hospital. I was pretty sure today was the day I was going to get to go home, although I felt nervous. What if the doctor didn’t deem me “well” enough to leave? What if I was stuck in here forever?

It felt like a game – you had to win over the right people to get out. One being the doctor, the other being your case manager. I remember when Amy came to me that morning and told me I was going to go home. I was so excited – I was going to get out of there!

*Anthony told me I had never looked happier or smiled more than at that moment – it was probably true – I had been quite the recluse, like when I didn’t leave my bed for a few days.

I remember gathering all my things from my provided laundry basket. It wasn’t a lot – I had a few changes of clothes, a few books that I hadn’t read, my toiletries, a few pictures of Calvin that Dean had brought to me … actually it was more than most people had with them. The day I was dropped off, I had nothing except the clothes I was wearing. I was lucky – I had people to bring me more things. But not everyone in here was as lucky.

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A Photograph Doesn’t Lie

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At 7am bright and early this morning, my family had our pictures taken by a local photography company here in Abilene. The last time we had professional pictures taken was for Calvin’s newborn session (he just turned 2 a few weeks ago) so it has been a while!

While I am super excited to get some new family pictures,  I am also a bit anxious about them. Three of my recent posts have been about body image and the struggle I have had with feeling beautiful enough. Well, pictures are not the funnest thing for a person who doesn’t like their appearance much of the time!

I was trying to explain to my husband what it’s like to get my picture taken. I explained it as follows:

“It’s kind of a mixture of fear and dread. I have no idea what I’m going to see when I look at the screen (referring to having my photo taken on a phone). Sometimes I might see this cute person that I recognize from looking at myself in the mirror, but sometimes I see this completely different person, a horribly disfigured version of myself that I didn’t know existed. So there’s always a fear of looking at a photo of myself, because I never know which person I’m going to see.” 

Does anyone else sympathize with that? I know it’s not just me. Even in the past few days I have heard from others the negative experience that comes from having their picture taken:

“I think the problem is that the picture always ends up looking like me.” (said jokingly…)

“I hate getting that done, but I guess we’ll have to.” (referring to getting pictures taken for an ‘About Me’ page on a professional blog)

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