Oh My Gosh Natz! I don’t know how you do it!

Why, yes you have. Feel free to do it again.

I sit there and soak in all the praise, because really…I’m doing some amazing things right now.
I’m teaching full time on a super full roster of girls who are doing major exams this year (2 groups facing CSEC, three groups facing CAPE- and those aren’t the only groups I teach btw!). And excuse me for bragging, but I am KILLING it! My lessons plans are on point, I’m trying something new and engaging every week and my girls are ACTUALLY parlez-ing the français  (You know. When they’re not failing abysmally.)

I’m a mom, and I adore my babies. And somehow in the middle of this, I managed to bake cakes and cupcakes for my son’s 4th birthday- one for his class party, that I went and hosted and photographed, and one for home. I drive toy cars, chase toddlers, answer 4001 questions, read books and sing songs.

Repping that full-body support underwear

I’m a wife, and I message my husband multiple times a day, just to say hi, to tell him I love him, to make sure he eats, to find out what’s happening. Somehow, there really are moments at home when the kids are asleep that we spend chatting, watching favourite shows or just being chill. He knows he’s my MAN.

I just destroyed my last exam, got a pretty high A on a tricky topic and I just finished my first research paper that kinda felt like an A in my outbox. Killing it. Killing it for reals.

In some other post, we will analyze my utterly unhealthy obsession with perfection. I see it. I hear it. I’m working on it. This post is dedicated to the fact that though these are all lovely things to be ‘killing it’ in, there’s another area that I’m definitely not killing. And it could, in turn, well… kill me.

Seeing that in black and white just made it even realer, but I’m talking about moving my butt in some regimented but world-endorsed form of torture. Some refer to this brutality as ‘exercise’.

Legit, no?

Exercise. What a cute and unassuming term for that which will surely feel like deliberate assault against my every part when I get going again. And get going again I must. Because the truth is, on top of being good for weight control (I literally heard my mystery-condition guffaw at that) it is good for everything, including boosting immunity and energizing me for the long haul that the next two years promise in this work-life-study situation .

Plus weight loss. Plus just basic health.
Plus weight loss.


So. That’s my new, brutally honest challenge to myself. If I’m so pathologically determined to achieve this imaginary Golden Report Card, then I might as well add some kind of line item that will add more years to my life to do my other stuff. Like love, love, love my family.
So okay maybe I won’t bake 2 cakes for every event anymore. Maybe those few moments I squeeze out to spend with my loves can be squeezed down a bit more occasionally. Maybe I don’t “unwind” with a book, but instead take on… a walk (*whimper whimper*). Maybe The Husband goes with me for a romantic wheeze-and-pass-out up the hill. Could be fun.


Whatever else it may be, it simply MUST…be.

Because I don’t know what’s happening in my body. I don’t know why the 9 pounds I lost (that I was waiting to see if it was real before writing about) returned. I cried real tears about that one. Hey, at least they didn’t bring company! I don’t know why I still occasionally escape fainting by mere seconds and why I always have to have a glucose tab on my person for emergency reviving. I don’t know why I have to explain to my babies why Mommy needs to ‘stick herself’ or ‘give herself a cut’ to medicate or test myself. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why no one has been able to fix me yet.

It scares me senseless sometimes.

Maybe exercise won’t cure me. But it can’t hurt either right? I mean of course it will hurt. It will hurt like crazy at first. The only part of me that’s in shape are my constantly-typing fingers. They’re even smaller now than the day I got married…They’re almost too small for my wedding rings, even! But that’s fine. Pain is the least. I can do pain. What I can’t do is ‘nothing’. Not anymore.

So let’s put my obsession with excellence to good use, eh? I hereby challenge me to a…well, a challenge: I will add fitness to the ways I’m trying my best to stay here, and stay WELL, for my family.

I realize this opens me up to well-meaning humiliations, like bellows of, “YOU HAVEN’T STARTED LOSING ANYTHING YET THOUGH!” or “YOU STILL LOOKING FAT BUT KEEP TRYING!” or worse…much, much worse, the encouraging murmurs of, “It….It looks like…you know…it’s working. In the ankles? GREAT ankles.”

This face. NEVER do this face.

I’d ask you to support me silently, or to even pretend that it’s all whatever, no biggie. But that won’t work. WILL IT? Probably not. This is not about support, people. It’s about me issuing an irretrievable challenge to the perfectionist in me. It can’t be about weight, because I don’t know what’s broken in my body. But it can be about energy, about discipline and about giving staying alive and well EVERYTHING I have. Everything. Including my dignity.

Operation ADD ONE MORE THING TO THE TO-DO LIST AND THAT THING IS ‘FITNESS’ is officially a go. (Although maybe the name could use some work.)

Here we go, world!
And just for today, maybe I’ll try a carrot for that courage instead.

Kidding! Heck no. Pictures of cookies are still fat free, after all.



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