anger

2019, A Year in Review

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adventure, anger, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Community, Fitness, Motivation Monday, Remembering, Santa Ynez Valley, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates, Yoga / 2020, Change is Hard, Honest reflections, Leaving Los Angeles, Motivation Monday, New Year, New Years Resolution, Reflecting on 2019, Reflections, To Live and Die in LA, Year in Review, Yoga / 3 comments

January 6, 2020

If you told me at the start of 2019 what the year held in store for me, I would not have believed you. At this point, I think it’s safe to say that things have reached a point where I can only laugh, because if I do not laugh, then I will cry and that certainly won’t change what has happened in the last 12 months.

Over the course of 2019, I was forced to address tremendous obstacles including the death of friends and family, moving away from Los Angeles to move to Santa Ynez to begin teaching at Lompoc High School, and struggled to acclimate to life in a small town while being ‘The New Teacher’ in a rural agricultural community. Without a support network and stronghold in a fitness community, I grappled with accepting the choices that I made to commit to this move, and found myself overrun by regret.

I felt that by leaving Los Angeles, I ‘walked away’ from a life I built. As my plans and dreams unraveled before my eyes, this itch my husband and I just haaaaaaaad to scratch seemed to blister and fester into a gaping wound.

As I attempted to navigate all sorts of emotions surging through my mind, the most persistent one, was anger. I was angry at myself, angry at my husband, angry at the people who moved my husband and I here. And above all, I was enraged with The Universe for conspiring to get us here.

As my frustrations mounted with respects to the direction of my life, doubt crept into my soul and passions such as my yoga practice fell by the wayside. At one point, my yoga practice waned to nearly non-existent which had a devastating impact on my psyche, overall mental health, and spirituality. Then, next to go was my fitness. With no cohesive fitness community in the Santa Ynez Valley, I felt a massive void in my life. The gym, taking classes, teaching classes, chatting with members, meeting new people, socializing with fellow instructors, having access to such high-end, state of the art facilities, and just being immersed in that scene left me without the motivation to bring myself to push myself to the limits needed to challenge myself physically. Finally, I just stopped doing things that brought me joy all together. And not because I was too busy or discovered new interests, but none other than the simple fact that I was crippled by regretting a decision I had made [ahem, moving to the country] and my depression set in.

I started neglecting the things that I previously garnered happiness from like my social media, drawing, writing, and recording podcast episodes. Any semblance of self-care disappeared [aside from keeping up with my roots that is] until I stepped up to coach the Girls Wrestling team at Lompoc High School…it was not until this point that I presumed all was lost, I can now see what I gained. I gained experiences that shaped me, that showed me what I need and want in this world. Spending my afternoons and weekends coaching the most badass group of gals I’ve ever met has transformed me. There are no words to convey how darn special my wrestling girls are to me. Coaching my small team of misfits gave me renewed purpose and if I am being candid was one of the major factors WHY I considered not going back to LA. Yes, I love my girls that much. Furthermore, I discovered kindness in new friends and colleagues. My department welcomed me warmly, with my department chairperson always offering earnest assistance and guidance. And my favorite, being in Lompoc gave me the the joy of educating children that hugged me when they walked into my classroom, and told me they missed me when I was out.

So, as I pack up my life [yet again] gear up to resume my ‘normal’—whisking off to a gym after work to teach fitness classes; I unroll my yoga mat with humility knowing that no matter how far I have ever moved away from my practice, it always lives within me.

As of late, I’ve made my way back to the mat. And the greatest lesson 2019 has taught me is that in spite of how lost I’ve felt and wondered who I was, that all along I was me—always standing in my power, owning my awesome, and facing life and what it hurled at me head on.

2019, it has been a WILD ride.

2020, I AM SO READY FOR YOU.

PART I: Feelings, Truth, and More Truths about Life

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, Accountability, Adversity, anger, Celebration, Central Coast, Central Coast California, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Commitment, Community, Current Events, Gratitude, Lifestyle, Married Life, mindfulness, News, Remembering, Santa Ynez Valley, Scleroderma, Uncategorized, Updates / Being Honest with Yourself, Birthday Party, Canceling Plans, Community, Friendship, LA Flake, Leaving Los Angeles, Life in LA, Lifestyle, Live Your Truth, Los Angeles, Los Angeles Life, Moving, Reflection, Santa Ynez Valley, Self-Reflection, Starting a New Life, Starting Over, Supporting others, Truth Speaker / 0 comments

May 23, 2019

I am moving in four weeks. Since alerting friends of my move from Los Angeles to the Central Coast (specifically Santa Ynez), I have been inundated with inquiries about having a going away party and/or trying to see me. And I am pleasant and as accommodating as I can be. But I cannot help but feel a bit hurt that people have the gall to ask those things, especially now of all times.

You know…In October, I threw a surprise party for my husband’s 40^th. Nearly 30+ people said they were coming and less than 10 of our friends showed up. I reserved space at a hip bar in Hollywood, had ordered appetizers, and was excited to show my husband how much those in our lives love him. However, in the days leading up to the party people started posting in the Facebook group AKA the invite that they could no longer make it. Ok, fine.

Then came the personal messages to my inboxes on Facebook and Instagram of people canceling. Finally, then came the texts. For the two days leading up to the party, the day of, night of, the hour before, and even DURING the party, people alerted me that “Sorry, I won’t make it”.

I cannot even begin to describe the deep hurt and overwhelming sense of sadness I carried around for the days surrounding the party. Even before heading out that night, I had to step outside my apartment and cry hysterically to my sister about how this party turned out to be a disaster. All I wanted was for my husband to feel special and this party had the complete opposite result. My husband saw the wetness in my eyes, heard the heaviness in my voice, and noticed my body language as I started to shut down.

For those of you whom do not know my husband Greg intimately, he is one of the most beautiful humans on this planet; and I am not just saying that because he is my husband. I am saying that because it is an irrefutable fact. Greg is loyal, hardworking, funny, and above anything and everything, he is kind. His gentleness is a defining attribute, one that balances my fiercely intense nature. Greg is patient, airing more on the introverted side, but also an incredible force as a fitness professional and as an athlete. He is selfless, dedicating himself to his graduate studies in Public Health, while working tirelessly to raise awareness for Scleroderma through fundraising efforts by running the LA Marathon. Is Greg a saint? Absolutely not. Is he a pretty fucking fantastic human? YES.

Sure, like everyone, there is always room for self-improvement and growth. In Greg’s case, he struggles to actively cultivate meaningful, personal friendships. Really, that is it. See, Greg has usually maintained two careers, working long hours in the hospitality industry into the wee morning hours, and then waking up early to travel to all corners of the city to teach morning and lunch time fitness classes for Equinox. This intense and exhausting pace with which he led his life left him with little time to see friends outside of his work life. Now, I cannot speak for Greg, and I am not sure at the time he even knew that his grueling schedule did not permit the fostering of friendships, but his constant go, go, go lifestyle left him exhausted and depleted. As we have discussed at length, Greg now knows, sees, and feels regret for not slowing down, for not taking more time for himself and others, for not recognizing the signs when his body was screaming for rest…But what is done, is done. The only thing that can be done is to look to the past for the lessons to inform how to live in the present while constructing the future. Hence, this move to the country.

Reeling from the emotions we experienced after Greg’s party, we both assumed some ownership over people not coming to Greg’s party because it is only fair. In years past, either Greg or the both of us did not always prioritize the relationships in our lives. All that considered and taken into account, we both walked away from his party raw and sad, but prepared and eager to apply what we learned in our lives.

This year we wanted to have a New Year’s Eve party because Greg cooks, we have a great place for entertaining, and we LOVE having people over. We sent out ‘feelers’ to friends and were met with “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’ll let you know”. Sure, a few people said they had plans, some did not even respond. However, most people responded with what we both felt was along the lines of people waiting and/or looking for something better to come along. I get that, I really do. I get people want to weigh their options. However, when someone is trying to organize an event, especially someone who thought enough of you to invite you into their home; simply decline the offer. Wishy-washy responses like that are rude and inconsiderate; and I am fairly certain that your momma raised you better than that.

So, no.

We are not having a party because experience has shown me that people only show up when it serves them, not to celebrate others. I do not want to leave a city I love, filled with people I love on a sour note.

Call me angry or whatever you want. I am just calling it like it is. And perhaps I am angry, but I am going to honor that while committing to simultaneously relinquishing it as I stand in my power.

Honest. Raw. Authentic. Which is more than most people can say about themselves, so I will own it.

The madness and upheaval in leaving Los Angeles has stirred up many feelings, forcing me to truly go inward. From packing and saying good-bye to my chosen family, a common theme has emerged. We do not know what we have until it is gone. All too often, we look back on our lives perplexed, wondering where the time went…

Dismayed by missed connections and lapsed opportunities, often we are filled with regret when the shoulda, coulda, and woulda’s start to set in.

Why does it have to take someone you value and care about moving away before you want to spend time with that person, or tell that person what they meant to you?

Why does it take death and loss to realize that we did not make the time we thought we had, when we had it?

Why?

This is an important conversation to have with yourself. It is important to take a hard, honest, and REAL look at the person staring back at you in the mirror.

Recognize that if you are not the person you think you are and want to be—then the time to make those changes is NOW.

Not tomorrow or when it is convenient.

Now, because there is never enough time to spend with the people that you love and cherish, so stop waiting and putting it off.

I can say with confidence that I am proud of the life I choose to live, and the manner in which I lead it…

Stay tuned–To be continued in PART II: Feelings, Truth, and More Truths about Life…

America, The Time for Reform is NOW

Arielle Miller / Accountability, Adversity, anger, Awareness, Challenges, Community, Hard Work, School, Teacher Life, Top Stories, World / Addiction, Columbine, Education, Government, Gun Control, Internet and social media addiction, Las Vegas, Mass Shootings, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Public Education, Reform, Restorative Justice, School Shootings, Social Media, System, Teacher Life, Teachers, Video Game Addiction / 2 comments

October 3, 2017

In the wake of the mass shooting that occurred in Las Vegas late Sunday night on October 1, 2017, we are a nation in mourning. Overwhelmed by sadness, why’s, knee-jerk responses, passionate social media posts, cries for gun reform, and blame; we are desperately searching for answers. Where does one even really being to process such a senseless act of violence and tragic loss of life? How do we explain the world in which we reside to our children? Who is responsible? Why did this happen? And how on earth did this happen?! Our questions are endless and sadly, many of them will remain unanswered. However, I would like to offer my insight to mass shootings in this country.

Growing up, I lived Columbine and other school shootings. Not lived through or experienced in the literal sense but the fear I felt, worrying if my idle Long Island town would be rocked by such violence was very, very real.

It was a terrifying time to be a teen. The media had dubbed the time period surrounding Columbine ‘Shooting Season’. Daily, my peers and I came to school and walked the halls with trepidation…

Wondering…

Watching…

Alert.

Anonymous notes flooded in to our counselors reporting any signs of odd behavior, depression, Goth kids, and anyone we considered to possibly perpetrate violence on a grand scale. It was a scary time coming to age during this era, all while the world was also on the brink of a cyber revolution.

According to MarketWatch, the break down for reasons the 10 Most Deadly Mass Shootings in U.S. History are as is follows: Both Mental Health Issues and Terrorism/Crimes of hate each account for 8/10 crimes committed. The remaining 2 acts of violence cite work place revenge and most recently; the massacre in Las Vegas is still a mystery as the motive is currently unknown.

What I am about to unearth are my theories regarding mass shootings in America. Some of my theories are deduced from my own experience, some research, and anecdotal evidence garnered as a public educator for 13 years. Much of the lens I am examining this problem is though the current youth, our education system, and other problems that I have identified in American society. You may very well not agree with me, but all I ask is that you keep an open mind and are receptive to my points. I aim merely to offer perspective and insight in a time when lucidity gets muddied as our emotions get the better of us.

1. Inability to Appropriately Address and Treat Mental Health Issues Properly

The mental health crisis in this country is one of great concern. It is truly an abomination how we recognize, treat, and care for our mentally ill. Depression, anxiety, and personality disorders are stigmatized, not talked about, and presented as if some dirty secret.

Additionally, health care is not readily available nor affordable to much of the population; therefore, compounding the issue for people trying to seek help.

Social workers and other mental health providers are over worked and underpaid. Schools often have only one social worker, who is shared between multiple school sites. Students are shuffled in and out of the system quickly because it’s overloaded and as if that weren’t enough, our society criminalizes the mentally ill!

As a public school teacher, I have read countless journals from my students about depression, self-harming behavior, and bullying. I have also observed/been privy to information regarding many disturbing behaviors in children from sexually assaulting other children with foreign objects, to children killing their pets and gloating about it. I have seen these problems get swept under the rug, dismissed, or not adequately addressed because we simply do not have the man power or resources to treat these children.

Every adult that has carried out mass shootings, was once a child—a student in someone’s classroom. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were teens who wrote disturbing pieces in their English classes, maintained online websites, and personal journals all leading up to the horrific Columbine Shooting in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999.

Where were the teachers? Why weren’t services offered to these boys? But really what I am talking about here, or wondering rather, is why haven’t we learned? Why can’t we have a real conversation about real issues and real things that matter? Who really gives a shit about Keeping Up with The Kardashians?! We have people who need our help and we are too busy distracting ourselves and cannot see the real issues deserving of our attention.

2. Cyber Revolution: Social Media and Instant Gratification

In 2000, as the millennium rapidly approached, accessibility to the internet, email, and a super highway of information was unleashed on the world. It is a known fact that Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris used the internet as a means to conduct research to acquire weapons, build homemade bombs, and publically post their dark stories of death and murder. What we saw at Columbine, sadly would not be the end of the internet’s role in influencing mass shooter’s mindsets. Whether from exposure to Islamic radicalism, to self-imposed isolation/reclusiveness, or compounding depression and other mental deficiencies; the internet and access to information anywhere, anytime is certainly a factor in such violence.

According to the American Psychological Association, people toggling between 3 or more social media platforms are at greater risk for depression, anxiety, poorer concentration, and changes in mood. Other risk factors associated with extended use of various social media are the effects of cyber bullying, and the pressures of keeping up with the culture of various sites, etc. Ultimately, studies found that these kind of factors lead users to ruminate over their time on social media even when not using it, eventually leading users to negative thoughts about self and low self-esteem.

Our current world is one of instantaneous gratification. Our youth are accustomed to getting answers and communicating in real time. They send texts, direct messages, emails, and Snaps as a means of what they believe to acceptable forms of communication. All too often my students will send me direct messages on Instagram inquiring about class or homework as opposed to emailing me. Read receipts allow people to see when messages were viewed and if a response isn’t rendered immediately, hostility and anger brew within the sender. We are in dangerous water, living in this digital landscape. People expect, no, they demand a double tap on their Instagram photo, a follow for follow, unfollowing on Instagram is a personal affront, texts need to be answered instantaneously, and emails responded to in mere minutes.

Our thought processes are rash and impulsive. Keyboard warriors are hitting send and eagerly anticipating a response as they wage war on others and engage in discussions online in their efforts to communicate. So, as far as I am concerned, people’s ability to wait for things—anything, no longer exists. Science has continued to prove that the internet, social media, [and excessive gaming] have countless negative effects on the brain, social development, and mood.

Why are people so violent? So angry? So quick to act? Simple. Because in the world that exists between their thumbs, life plays out every time you slide your screen down to refresh your feed.

3. No Failure Mechanism in the Face of Moral & Societal Decay

Every generation looks back at their childhood and wonders what in the actual fuck happened to society in their adulthood. At present, I am in my mid-thirties and I find myself looking back at my youth thinking “Ahhhhh, it was a better time” AND the music was a helluva lot better. But perhaps it’s not that things were even better back in my childhood, so much as adulting seriously sucks when you realize the shit storm in which you reside.

We live in an era where words no longer have the meaning they used to. Everyone is overly sensitive, offended, triggered, or incapable of functioning ‘because their feelings were hurt’. Our society has completely and utterly degraded to the point where feelings take precedence over job and academic performance. People are rewarded not for winning or demonstrating mastery, but merely because they tried. Children are given participation awards—no more do we have winners, but everyone who showed up is a winner! Hooray! I do hope you are sensing my sarcasm here. We’ve bred a society of children, young adults, and millennials with zero coping skills and no ability to take feedback to improve because their feelings may get hurt. So when things don’t workout, or go their way; these young people are unable to unpack, cope, and process situations which ultimately culminate with poor behavior, violence, or depression.

Our culture of Nice has produced a bevy of people unwilling to honestly reflect, strive for excellence, and maintain a sense of integrity. In my 13 years in the classroom, I have personally witnessed accountability fall by the wayside as parents, students, and even administrators point fingers to assign blame rather than teach ownership. No one assumes any sort of responsibility; hence, failing to teach people consequences. Cause and effect are shadows of a bygone period. Schools no longer suspend and rarely, if ever expel students. Instead, Restorative Justice is offered as an alternative to Deans of Discipline. Students and teachers sit in a circle and share their feelings with the goal of ‘repairing harm’.

In our society, we are failing miserably at instilling character in our youth. We are not guiding or leading people and showing them how grit and determination will get you far in life. And conversely, we are not showing our youth what happens when you make poor decisions.

Friends. Family. Students. Fellow Americans. We must stand together and make positive change to see this nation soar again and prevent any more violence on such a large scale. Sure, compassion and love are part of the answer. But so is structure, taking care of people’s health, unplugging from social media, and putting an end to unjustly rewarding people/students.

Isn’t it clear that what we are doing isn’t working?

Isn’t it clear that we are failing one another tremendously?

Isn’t it clear that we can do better by those that are suffering?

Isn’t it clear that we need less time on our devices and more time making eye contact?

Isn’t it clear that our country needs radical change that isn’t just legislation?

The time for reform is now before more tragedy unfolds in our country.

The Advocate I Should Have Always Been

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adversity, anger, Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Blog, Build connections, Celebrate, Celebration, Challenges, Chronic Illness, Community, Confidence In Movement, Fitness, Gratitude, mindfulness, Motivation Monday, Scleroderma / Autoimmune Disease, Awareness, Charity, Chronic Illness, Family, Gratitude, Love, Lupus, Mother, Mother Daughter, Scleroderma / 0 comments

July 31, 2017

Over the years I have encountered my fair share of friends raising money for AIDS, Breast Cancer, and so on. Often times their reasons for involvement were obvious; but I always still wondered, why people got involved, how they got involved, and what kept them involved. So when I could, I happily donated.

Just this past year, I was bestowed the incredible honor of being able to ride (as a support cycling instructor) on stage at Equinox’s annual Cycle for Survival event which raises millions of dollars a year to fund rare cancer research at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. I cried while listening to the harrowing tales of sadness, but I was struck by the strength of our community. Cancer or no cancer in my life, my heart felt deeply for every family that lost a mother, father, friend, daughter, son, niece, nephew and so on. Cancer affects us all. Sadly, cancer and cancer-related deaths are on the rise; thus its visibility and diagnoses at this point are not a matter of if cancer will strike a family, but when.

The big ‘C’ or ‘FUCK CANCER’, like so many say, rightfully so garners a serious reaction from people. You mention cancer and people instantly give you their attention and sympathies. Cancer is something we talk about, know about, and are much more public about. It is something we are more comfortable discussing because tragically cancer has become so commonplace in our world as a result of environmental factors, diet, industrialization, and more.

But this post isn’t about cancer.

And this post certainly isn’t about devaluing anyone’s battle or struggles either. My problems are not bigger than yours, and we are not in competition with one another with respects to whom has been dealt a shittier hand of cards. This post is merely about my life and experience with respects to growing up with my mother, someone afflicted with an autoimmune disease.

For me, this is about drawing awareness to chronic illness. It has been my experience that when I encounter people afflicted with autoimmune conditions, they down play them or very quickly mention it as an afterthought. Usually, the thought is then followed up with, ‘Well, you probably haven’t heard of it…’ before changing the subject. And maybe, no—I haven’t. All of us haven’t because when it comes to chronic illness, there is no cure or potential cure, and in the interest of being completely candid—we just do not know what to say or how to react to something we do not know, nor understand. We all fight our own battles and choose to wage war differently. For me, the way I wage a war is to strike straight to the heart and make you feel something in order to stimulate action. I openly discuss the happenings of my life with the hopes that somehow, somewhere, my story is touching a life…

My amazing mother and I. This pic is from September 2016 when she flew out to LA to support me in my first body building show!

My mother has lived with an autoimmune disease virtually her entire life. At 19 years old her youthful body was fatigued and rundown. She was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis (JRA). However, as my mother aged, her symptoms worsened and did not subside. It wouldn’t be until almost 20 years later when my mother would be diagnosed with Lupus. I was in middle school at the time (though my mom seems to think elementary school) and this was well before the internet, so all we had to work with was from what the doctors told us. Still, the gravity of my mother’s Lupus never truly made sense nor hit home. I think this happened because as a pre-teen one’s only thoughts and focus are on and of oneself.

As I moved into my teenage years, I was a nightmare to deal with. I was not only unruly, but a raging mess of hormones. I was violent, aggressive, and my moods erratic. I spent much of my high school years grounded and bitching to my boyfriend Josh how much I hated ‘them’. During our family blowouts, my father would scream at me, “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR MOTHER!”

That was the only time my mother’s illness ever came into play or conversation—when I upset her or the status quo at home, which trust me, was a daily occurrence.

We never changed our diets; my parents remained relatively sedentary outside of commuting to and from their jobs in New York City, and life rolled on. However, yearly we attended the Lupus Walk to raise money for research. The impression though that I got from my parents was it was a half-assed effort. Something they did because they felt obligated to; as opposed compelled to participate in because of a deep seeded want to help their cause. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing either—to each his or her own. Just because someone is afflicted with something doesn’t call for instant and complete mobilization of charity events, fundraisers, and involvement. The difference between my parents and their approach to my mother’s illness when compared to my husband and his disease is vast. People like myself and my husband Greg rally our community around our passions and causes. Albeit, the world we reside in is immensely different than the world of yesteryear with things like crowdfunding and social media; but we are public and visible with our successes and our struggles.

My beloved family at our wedding in LA

My mother never complained, asked ‘why me?’, or even demanded special treatment. As a matter of fact, my mother retired from her work at Con Edison after 41 years of service never even informing her employers of her condition or filing for FMLA (Family and Medical Leave Act). To say my mother, whom is this sweet and kind soul is tough, is an understatement. She’s a quiet kind of fierce. The kind you never saw coming—a woman that in her retirement took up yoga and water aerobics after YEARS of inactivity. My mother, as she ages is getting super weird as ‘old people do’—doesn’t miss a thing. Observant and thoughtful, she thinks of others first. Two days after I got my braces on, a package arrived at my house from Costco. My mother sent me a waterpik to ease my efforts in trying to keep my [new] braces clean. She is and always has been that behind-the-scenes kind of woman who deserved more from this life. Hell, from me. More on that in a bit.

My mother, now 61 years old lives with her Lupus and thankfully it doesn’t appear to be an issue. Granted, as with any disease these things manifest enormously different from person to person and can take a turn for the worse at anytime. My mom does take medication for various things and has throughout the years, but aside from minor hiccups here and there; she’s earned a relatively clean bill of health. I am convinced part of my mother’s longevity and relatively healthy life is a direct result of her mindset when it came to her illness. Granted, both she and my father could certainly eat better and be more active (yes, I am totally throwing you both under the bus here); but her mental state is precisely what’s correlated to her overall well-being. My mother chose to define life on her terms as opposed to letting her illness define her. Similarly, my husband Greg recently wrote about this topic on his blog. You can read his post by clicking HERE. I cannot emphasize enough the power of a positive mindset. We cannot control the things that happen to us in this life [like I mentioned in my last post, click HERE to read it], but we can consciously decide how we proceed forward.

Now as a woman now of 35, I feel deep sadness that I didn’t invest in my mother’s health and illness sooner. As my mother and my father age, I worry incessantly about their health and well-being. But more than that, I feel selfish that only now with my husband’s own chronic illness (Scleroderma) I am using my voice. I am embarrassed to say that my uncle has diabetes, my cousin breast cancer, and many of my friends are living with debilitating illnesses and NOW—now I am using my voice?! At times I grapple with feeling like I am not good enough to lobby for a cause, this cause in particular for I have willing sat idly for so long…And then I step back and realize that I need to be kinder to myself. Beating myself up to rally around and for every cause is not only not possible, but the timing wasn’t right for me.

The time is now.

I am grateful to have such inspirational people in my life to model how to gracefully approach adversity. Moreover, I am inspired by their strength to use my voice as a rallying cry to direct more funding towards autoimmune disease research, treatment, and spread awareness. I cannot look back at what I didn’t do but I can look ahead to the future and know what I can and will do.

When Life Hands You Lemons…

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Adversity, anger, Build connections, Challenges, Community, Fitness, Fitness for Men, Married Life, mindfulness, School, Teacher Life, Teaching, Updates, Yoga / Autoimmune, Autoimmune Disease, Blessed, Chronic Illness, Community, Disease, Donation Yoga, Fitness, Giving Back, Helping Others, Never give up, Positive Mindset, Positivity, Scleroderma, Southern California / 12 comments

July 17, 2017

One of my beloved honor’s students from 2016-17. She bought us matching dolphin necklaces after our unit on marine mammals, their rights, captivity, and activism.

My relationship with my job as a public school teacher is touchy. Many days I love it and I am emboldened by the work I do. Many days I am angry and bitter about the work that I do. And many days I am too depleted to even process emotions other than count down the seconds from waking to sleeping. But as my life evolves and the more I think about the legacy I want to leave behind; working with children to improve themselves to be better humans socially, emotionally, and academically seems to routinely hit the nail on the head as far as fulfilling me.

Despite that fullness though, for years I have complained and begged my husband to let me quit my job to work exclusively in fitness. And for years, he begrudgingly agreed I could leave my teaching position, so long as I could make enough money teaching group classes, training clients, and even with my writing. It finally seemed like 2017 was going to be my year. My group fitness schedule swelled, my classes were packed, I was getting good feedback, and I was so swamped that I had to start turning down personal training clients! I was so close. Sooooooo close to finally getting what I wanted when the universe had different plans.

[More on my teaching job later]

Four months ago, my beloved husband was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease called Scleroderma. To say the diagnosis rocked our worlds is an understatement and immediately thoughts of fear and terror took over.

How much time do we have left?

Would my husband die?

Would I have to morph into a caretaker?

What’s going to happen to Greg’s body…?

The day of Greg’s diagnosis, we left the doctor’s office in shock. I found myself unable to really process much and Greg kept pushing me to ‘talk about my feelings’. I came straight home and crawled into bed—jeans and all, immediately falling asleep. For me, sleeping is my escape and avoidance behavior. It’s my way of running from things I choose to not address or cannot face. Perhaps Greg needed me in that moment to hold him as he cried, but what I needed was stillness to allow things to fully sink in.

The days that unfolded consisted of lots of crying. Much of that time I held my husband as he divulged how scared he was of dying and leaving me. As a newlywed of only 2 years, the thought of losing my husband is completely unfathomable. But during this time, through the tears and initial distress, something magical happened.

Greg sprang into action instantly and started reaching out to members of the Scleroderma community. He spent hours online conducting research, learning about his disease, finding support groups, learning about treatments, etc. Through his search, we connected with the Scleroderma Foundation of Southern California where we met Tina, a patient advocate not afflicted with the disease. Tina spent hours talking to Greg and sent us both many emails during those early days of his diagnosis with support groups and other resources. In one of her emails, she invited us to attend a patient information day at Cedars-Sinai so we could meet others battling Scleroderma, learn more about how to live, manage, and treat the disease. Both nervous and excited at the same time to attend the patient day, we signed up immediately.

While attending the patient day at Cedars, Greg and I looked around the room and both had the same thoughts: How could we help these people?

Scleroderma affects mobility in its patients. It targets connective tissue and the skin thickens, making it hard for many people to move their faces, hands, and bodies. Some patients suffer internal organ complications, gastrointestinal distress, and some may struggle to breath as a result of pulmonary fibrosis. Sure, Scleroderma could be devastating and ravage someone’s body, but the spirit of the people I kept meeting touched my heart. Their indomitable will inspired me to my core.

I kept asking myself over and over and over again, how can I help?

The answer I kept coming up with was yoga.

Chair yoga.

Yin yoga.

Restorative yoga.

Yoga with props and balls for myofascial release.

Yoga.

Yoga!

And so, things come full circle (remember all that stuff about me being a teacher and all…).

My heart right here. Sam and Nadia, two beautiful young souls that without fail always made me smile and happy to inspire them!

Whether it’s in my full time job as an English teacher to underserved minority youth in Los Angeles, as a personal trainer, group fitness instructor, or coach; everything about my life has been and shall be dedicated to lifting others up (literally and figuratively).

I have spent so darn long trying to suppress my gifts, hell even run from my gifts while trying with every fiber of my being to NOT BE A TEACHER, but as life would have it; I AM A TEACHER. Being a teacher simply IS my path. And truly in recent months it has become more obvious than ever that my place in this world is a bold call to action to serve others: To teach children how to analyze text, think critically, be socially responsible. To empower others to take control of their lives and bodies, to move with joy, to sweat, and above all—to love themselves unconditionally.

So I am not working exclusively in fitness. This duality and polarization of my life has been tough for me to wrangle over the years, but the more and more I moved forward with my life I have realized that being a teacher has made me a better fitness professional and working in fitness has in turn made me a better English teacher. Being a school teacher has allowed me to do so much more than I could have imagined with my life. At times, I feel burdened to elevate my community and those kids in my efforts to get them to college so they can change their lives, circumstances, and this world. Other times—well, much of the time, I feel bestowed insurmountable power to positively touch peoples lives. But I need to be totally honest here, that is all I know how to do: Push people to strive for excellence at all times—regardless of the modality.

Photo credit Craig Stubing

And while I chose my career in education, and I chose my incredible husband, Scleroderma chose us. We could very easily succumb to the diagnosis or we can rise up and channel our efforts positively because friends, never forget—positivity is a choice. Ultimately, we’ve decided to use our presence in our community and talents as fitness professionals to help others afflicted with this rare and little-known, and little-talked about disease.

Both Greg and I truly feel a higher calling and pull to help others feel better in their bodies while raising money for research and patient support. Talk about turning something seemingly negative into a positive!

In a few short weeks, I will be leading a donation yoga class for those fighting Scleroderma with my husband and our new friends. I couldn’t think of a better way to use what I know, while sharing what I love to do while doing some serious good in this world.

I am going to say it again because it never gets old, but I feel honored and blessed right now. I am grateful that my job as a teacher affords us phenomenal health care and treatment. I am grateful that my work in the classroom transforms kids lives. And finally, I am also grateful that my work in fitness enables people to feel better in their bodies, to get healthy, and stay healthy.

How we choose to look at our lives and circumstances are a choice. Things do not happen to us; they happen for us. Being sad and angry about something is ok—but we must not allow those emotions to overrun our lives and existence. And trust me, there are times we cry and crying is allowed but wallowing is not. I promise even amidst the darkest days there will always be light, and sometimes rather than constantly seeking the light can choose to be the light.

Lean on others. Ask for help. Find your people. Let your community support you. And remember, when life hands you lemons; make lemonade.

What Really Matters

Arielle Miller / Abundance, Acceptance, Accountability, Adventure, Adversity, Alive, anger, balance, Build connections, Celebrate, Celebration, Challenges, Community, Fitness, Goal Setting, Hard Work, Lifestyle, mindfulness, Motivation Monday, Remembering / Challenges, Death, Family, Grateful, Gratitude, Life, Loss, Love, Mourning, Overcoming Obstacles, Reflection, What Really Matters / 4 comments

April 10, 2017

I have been working on this piece for a while, initially crafted on March 23^rd, it was really hard for me to write. Also, as life would have it, the events in the piece to follow seemed to parallel some trying times in my personal life; ultimately delaying the timeliness of getting this completed. Despite the delay in publication, I still wanted to share it because I felt it was and still is an important story to tell.

I need to start this off with an apology to my readers. I am sorry for the things I have written about myself and my life where I allow myself to feel bad for myself or even allude to anything other than the reality that is my life.

My life is effing fantastic. No matter how I think I want to see things, or when things don’t go my way, or whatever challenge physically, emotionally, and professionally I think I am enduring—it is NOTHING compared to the reality of people with real obstacles and problems.

I am not only sorry for my lack of clarity, but I am also incredibly ashamed of myself. As of late, I have been carrying around this overwhelming sense of shame and it is truly heavy in my heart and soul. How dare I?!

Recently, my world has been seriously rocked. And while my heart is swollen with pain and sorrow; these events and people in my life have taught me invaluable lessons in what I am going to call perspective.

A dear friend of mine gave birth to beautiful baby boy in late February. Upon his arrival he struggled to breath on his own and suffered from seizures. A full term baby and deemed healthy prior to his birth, doctors couldn’t quite figure out what afflicted the child. It was agonizing to watch this horror unfold on social media as we learned that the fate of the child was grim. A GoFundMe was set up to help pay for medical expenses as this innocent child spent the entire duration of his life hooked up to machinery. Daily I not only wept, but sobbed uncontrollably while asking God to take from me and my life and give to my friend. I was angry that it appeared God didn’t hear my cries. Yet, despite the baby’s worsening condition, my friends, community, and myself kept hope alive. We had to believe the baby would survive and miracles do happen—why couldn’t we be fortunate enough to witness one?

Sadly, the baby did not make it. After 3 weeks of a short but very loved life, he passed. While I am not a mother, the hole in my heart for a child I never knew is bottomless.

The death of my friend’s child has taught me more about myself than his teeny soul could ever fathom.

What is truly important? What matters?

Love. Family. Time with the people I care about. That’s it.

In the same time that my friend’s baby was born, my college best friend and former housemate was diagnosed with a rare neurological autoimmune disease. I have watched the unfolding and unraveling of her health via Facebook for years, but never comprehended to the extent her health has degraded. Once a talented and star athlete, this woman who was our leading scorer in college, now cannot walk without assistance. As her body deteriorates at the young age of 35, she will be wheelchair bound in the very near future. What’s more is she has 2 young children and they have to move since she needs a handicapped accessible home.

In spite of her prognosis, my friend seems to be in such good spirits. Her positivity and strength are refreshing, but a stark reminder that whatever I think I am fighting, whatever I think I am grappling, whatever shit I think life is hurling at me—truly, it ain’t that bad.

Now, to be clear, I am not downplaying the things in my life, I don’t think that’s necessarily a healthy outlook either. And in due time I will unveil some other layers, but really, my life’s problems are small in comparison.

I mean, my biggest issue in my life is that I think I’m fat?!

Are you kidding me?

I’ve spent this time in reflection. Honestly searching within myself to make sense of this loss of life, but also how could I memorialize my friend’s baby? How can I keep his spirit alive? How could I be present everyday for myself physically, emotionally, and grateful? And the answer almost seemed easy. It was apparent to me that by loving myself wholly and fully, that was the first step to taking the teachings of this lesson in perspective and showing my learning.

I’ve stopped the nonsense.

I have showered myself with love. I have hugged my husband every chance I get. I call my mom everyday despite the fact she always has to jet to yoga or water aerobics and can’t talk to me (I still love ya mom, and I AM SO HAPPY that you have found bliss in your retirement!). I have stepped back to look at my life and realize that I am bountiful in more ways than can be measured. And by more ways than you can imagine, I am talking about the new-found gratitude for my physical capabilities.

Everyday now when I walk through the doors of the gym, I look around in utter amazement that this is the life I am privileged to live. I get to sweat in one of the world’s most beautiful facilities and above all—I can move my body any which way I darn please. THAT is a gift. These recent weeks have shed a light on my life that only go to show you that through darkness there really is light. And maybe you can say that this light is my friends baby, and maybe you can say it’s my friend’s undying spirit and zest for life, and maybe you can say it’s just me.

I don’t really care how you choose to see it or look at it. We ultimately see what we choose to see anyway. But what I do ask you to do is take a hard look at yourself and life today. Look through photos, strip down to your underwear and gaze upon your body in the mirror. Admire your strength, your power, and who you are in this very moment. Lovingly look at those in your life who bring you joy and seek them out. Make a plan, [one you will keep, you LA flakes] and get coffee, hit a workout, or just sit in a park on a bench and talk sans posting it on your Snap or InstaStory.

See? I bet you didn’t realize how damn blessed you are. Don’t wait for life to slap you in the face hard and sting before you wake up. Live life now.

Hug now.

Kiss now.

Run now.

Jump now.

Fix now.

Repair now.

Dance now.

Wander now.

GO NOW.

BE NOW.

DO NOW.

Right Now, It’s Like This

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, anger, Challenges, Commitment, Fitness, Goal Setting, Hard Work, Lifestyle / Emotions, Honoring your emotions, Injury, Sadness, Struggle / 15 comments

January 20, 2017

I’m trying really hard to make sense of things. I’m stuck feeling really bad for myself and angry, so so so very angry. As I sat in my orthopedic surgeon’s office yet again yesterday, I listened numbly to the reality that is my body.

I watched and listened as he pointed to and discussed the irreparable damage in my right knee in utter disbelief. Not that it was that I didn’t comprehend him, I simply couldn’t. All I could think was “Why me?”

“Why is this happening to me?”

“I’m a good person.”

“After everything I have done?! All of the good work I have put into my teaching kids, in helping others, to build up my community and still I haven’t accumulated any Karma points?!?!”

The road down self-pity is a steep and rapid decline. It’s amazing at how fast you can gain speed and then spiral out of control.

As the doctor continued to speak “Don’t do this…”

My husband interrupted with questions, “Can she swim? Cycle…”

And this goes on for a few minutes.

The doctor reiterates that squatting with weight could be the worst possible thing for me…

He proposes ‘body weight exercises’ and I roll my eyes then laugh.

Finally, he hands me a pamphlet about platelet therapy that I could look into should the pain continue. I reached my hand out limply taking it, feigning interest while I flipped through it.

We shake hands and the doctor bounds off.

Left with a heaviness I cannot even describe, I fought back tears and pushed Greg away when he tried to hug me.

“Why me?”

WHY THE FUCK ME?!

I held it together until I got into my car and sobbed as I drove to the yoga studio crying to my best friend wondering again, why me?

Wondering why the universe had to take away the one and only thing it had bestowed upon me. See the thing is, I wasn’t gifted beauty, height, genetics to have wash board abs. Hell, I wasn’t even given a good smile! I have some messed up jaw issue that prevents me from closing my mouth entirely so my mouth is literally always open. My teeth only touch in the very back on my wisdom teeth [yes, I still have those] and when I chew I have to chew allllllll the way in the back of my mouth. And I can’t bite into food BECAUSE MY TEETH DON’T TOUCH. Not to mention I also have a lisp as a result of this freak formation of my face. I form words strangely with my mouth, and I am acutely aware of this when I speak and fixate, “Ohmygodohmygod, they are looking at my mouth, I’m a freak.”

I wasn’t given any academic gifts or aptitudes either; I am just a friggen normal person with a normal brain. Nothing is stand out about me—nothing. Nothing, but my love of movement and my incredible ability to commit to goals and myself. My only stand out quality was and I suppose shall continue to be, is my resolve. You see, I will never grace a fitness magazine, be featured on any of social media outlets for all those companies that I represent because I do not have what they are looking for—I have something you can’t put into a photo, or dress up, or put make up on and say “do this.” I have short meaty thighs that squat over 200lbs. (well, when they could), and probably bigger traps than your man (which I am totally ok with), and yet the world thinks I am ugly, short, fat, or whatever word you want to use to describe someone that ‘the industry’ doesn’t favor as an ideal body. Whatever. There’s nothing I can do about certain things. I am 5’0 and I stopped growing in the 7^th grade. Tough shit world, this is me in all of my short stack glory.

But for all that I do not possess, I have desire, wherewithal, and an unwavering sense of determination. When I want to pursue something; nothing stands in my way. So, to lose my gift of movement, to prematurely steal it away from me seems awfully unfair and I am feeling sorry for myself.

I am stewing in my anger and punishing myself by eating junk and telling myself I deserve this because I feel so defeated, so why not not gain a billion pounds and keep riding this road to Pityville? Why not just keep letting myself tumble into this abyss and focus on how this and that has been taken from me and how I cannot go on. Why the heck not?

I really wish I could offer something different than the truth, I do. And I refuse to offer some contrived uplifting nugget because that’s what you want to hear so you can feel better. You and I would both know it would be disingenuous anyway, so I find there is great power in standing in this very moment and being as real as possible. Isn’t that all one can ever really do—honor oneself?

Well, this is me right now. I am not soft, fluffy, and sunny. I am a real goddamn person who goes through things and sometimes those things are hard.

Right now I am in the midst of a dark storm. I am scared about competing at my power lifting meet on Sunday and devastated I won’t be able to be my best. I hate being anything less than who I know I am. Right now, I am angry and that’s something I need to acknowledge and not guilt myself away from feeling. So right now I feel angry. I am committing to honoring my emotions and giving myself today to truly feel my feelings. Then tomorrow, I pick myself up and begin again because that’s what I do. I do not succumb, will not, and cannot.

And so, I rise.

The Face of Courage

Arielle Miller / Acceptance, anger, Celebrate, Challenges, Community, Teacher Life, Teaching / Coming Out, Community, Courage, Homosexuality, Love, Middle School, Safe Space, Teacher, Teacher Life / 12 comments

January 12, 2017

As many of you know, my recent years in education have been very difficult. I’ve endured verbal abuse from students and parents, been viciously sexually harassed, accused of and investigated for egregious and baseless claims regarding my teaching practice and craft, worked for inept and simply uninvolved administration—and the list goes on.

In an effort to find my light, love, and a home school to rediscover my love for my work in public service, I landed back at Virgil Middle School—my very first home in Los Angeles 12 years ago. My fall semester was agonizing and I will leave it at that. Every single class on my roster except my honors class had failing averages. I made countless parent phone calls, met with virtually every single parent (some more than once), and honestly, my spirit was broken. So when I assigned my most recent oral project to my students; as you can imagine, my expectations were admittedly quite low. What happened next are a series of events that will forever be etched upon my soul that have truly transformed me.

The assignment was simple: Depict yourself in the duality of how the world sees you juxtaposed to how you see yourself. Students could choose to convey themselves in human or animal form.

One after the other, my students stood in front of their classmates and authentically shared their darkest deepest hurt, insecurities, battles, and above all their revelations.

One girl in her power stood in front of us and said (and I paraphrase), “I am tired of hiding, pretending, and feeling different. I am tired of fighting who I am and I need to tell you, tell the world that I am gay. And I know that many people in the world will have a problem with that, but I am just so confused and I am so tired of not feeling like I can be myself. But here I am—I not hiding any more. I am gay.”

Every single student in my class had started crying. Tears flowed from my face and onto my sweater. I was so engrossed in what was unfolding before my eyes, I hadn’t bothered to wipe my face. I stood up and applauded loudly. I hugged the young girl and looked her in the face and told her how brave she was, and that her courage inspired me.

Then, a young boy raised his hand, “Can I go next?”

In his soft and delicate voice, he told us that he much prefers to hang out with the girls. That he’s afraid that he won’t have friends or that people will judge him if he tells them who he really is, how he really feels, and of his struggles with his sexuality. He tells us that he’s fearful the people on his sports teams will not accept him, bully him, and treat him differently if he tells them who he really is.

Then, he looked at the young girl who previously shared, she is sobbing and the entire class is too. He thanked her for giving him the courage to stand tall in front of his classmates and share with us that he was bisexual.

Students raised their hands, asking if they could talk to these young people. And right there in room 325, lives were changed, perspectives forever altered, compassion facilitated, and bridges were built. Student after student, with tears staining their faces exclaimed that they have these students backs forever, that they love them, support them, and that love is love—who the hell cares what someone looks like as we are all human and deserve to feel worthy in this world.

My students lined up to hug these pioneers. Audible sobs emerged from the masses of huddled bodies congregating in various parts of the room and I couldn’t help but someone think that every single bit of what I have been through led me to this very moment in time. Every time I sat in an office and was reprimanded for my rigor and high standards, every parent complaint that I gave too much homework, every kid who cursed me out, and even the parent who verbally attacked me in room full of parents was supposed to happen. It was preparing me to be able to hold space for these young people and gave me opportunity to create a safe zone for my students. And the thing is, I would do it all over again. What happened today was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be a vessel for these young people to find safety, stability, love, a voice, and above all—I helped them find themselves.

You know, they say that the greatest lessons to be learned about life, love, purpose, meaning, and priority are to be learned from children. Today, I saw the many faces of courage and that love always, always, always, wins.

I Matter

Arielle Miller / anger / 0 comments

June 2, 2015

While I said I wasn’t going to give anymore power to people whom are careless with my feelings and hurt me—sometimes it’s so hard not to well, feel all sorts of feels. The last 10 months of my life have been so amazing, filled with incredible adventures with my fiancé from trips to upstate New York, Long Island, NYC, and even Buenos Aires, Argentina! We have discovered and [mostly] committed to the Paleo lifestyle, rediscovered ourselves in our personal fitness pursuits, and grown a lot through our respected lines of work beyond fitness. All this awesomeness while our lives continued to blend and take shape as one, we also spent the last 10 months planning our wedding. The planning was fun and exciting—tasting food, picking out our ketuba, meeting with our Rabbi, and even reigniting our interests in our Jewish faith after getting our hands on some rad Judaica stuff! But all that joy seemed to quickly be usurped once we sent out those invitations.

As I have mentioned before, you really learn about the people in your lives when you get married. That said, as June 20^th becomes more and more of a reality, it seems like the universe is constantly testing the two of us. While I have tried to remain graceful in the face of having my heart shattered by long-time friends simply not seeing me or my wedding as a priority, I finally lost it on one of my oldest friends. And while I would like to say that I feel bad about it, I don’t. I would like to say that I am surprised by her poor behavior, but I am not. Finally, I would like to say that I don’t have to waste anymore time thinking about her or the others that have cast a tainted cloud on my nuptials—but I can’t. I just can’t let it go. Shit, where is Elsa when you need her?!

While brooding in my frustration, I thought [again] to myself that my reaction to the issues I am having with people in my life is simply unacceptable. It sure as hell is not changing the situation, so how am I doing myself any good by stewing in my rage? I am however self-aware enough to know that part of being a strong and successful person means being able to cope with my emotions. Unfortunately for me, right now, my anxiety and restlessness were eating away at me. I knew that it was futile to fester and that the key to success in anything is the ability to find the light amidst the darkest of nights. And then I remembered something. I remembered a picture I took of a journal that one of my 9^th graders wrote this week.

I reread the 1-page journal entry to myself. The grammar and spelling errors melted away into the land of ‘that’s ok, I know what you mean’ and I thought to myself,

“I do matter”.

I friggen DO matter.

I MATTER.

My existence on this planet is one that will leave a legacy behind because I build people up, I show up for people, and I make being the best God damn person I can be a priority.

Though I am still wrestling with how to accept what I feel to be incredibly personal affronts to Greg and I, after reading the journal entry, Maya Angelou’s famous words rang true:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Subsequently, June 20^th is almost here. Some people who swore they were coming, couldn’t wait to share in our merriment, and said they’d bare witness to my wedding will not be in attendance. But I am done mourning these people and I mean it this time (Scout’s honor!). For it was through the eyes of a young girl, my student, I was able to reclaim myself and remember that, I matter. A well, since we have a bunch of people not coming to the wedding, maybe we’ll even invite her…

Hello Darkness, my Old Friend.

Arielle Miller / anger / 0 comments

March 3, 2015

I am having a day.

This morning I woke up in my underwear, fitted tank that I wore to work yesterday, and went to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror grabbing my stomach oozing over the top of my too-old, ill-fitting cotton briefs and so my day started.

I make my breakfast shake, pack my lunch, and so the dance to get dressed reasonably presentable for my ‘real job’ begins…I sift through the pile of mish-mosh adjacent to my bed—a haphazard regurgitation of clothes that I am too lazy to put away, wore for part of a day at some point, or tried on then discarded…Ahhh, my Levi’s [Sure, why not? I wear them like 3x a week anyway].

My socks—these will come in handy later when I teach cycling so I don’t need to pack a pair.

Boots. One of 3 pairs of shoes I wear to work. Either moccasins, Coach booties, or these sweet little cowboy-esque boots from DSW. Another day as a fashionista with my stale wardrobe.

Now, what to wear for a shirt…? The challenge to find a baggy and shapeless shirt is beginning to prove more and more difficult as time presses on. I have virtually no clothes since I loathe shopping and everything else I own I have worn so much it’s just plain predictable. Sometimes I wish I could just wear a uniform to work to avoid having to figure out what to wear on a daily basis.

Today is Tuesday. We wear red on Tuesdays in solidarity for The United Teachers of Los Angeles. I hate red. What do I own that’s red? My own union tee is teeny and too fitted for my taste now…hmmm. I rifle through my bins since in my way-too-small apartment with my fiancé Greg we live like poor college students and I don’t have a dresser.

I find a Spartan Race volunteer tee. I cut it since it’s like a dress on my 5’0 frame and toss it on over a camisole, which is my pathetic effort to try to suck some of this bulging body in.

I look in the mirror in disgust at this mess of a human I have become when it comes to presenting myself. Not caring (or rather, avoiding to care too much because it’ll just depress me), I throw my hair into a high ponytail atop my head like a ninja; roll my eyes and head out the door.

The worst part of my day is over, or maybe it’s just beginning. I need to get through the entire day in this disgraceful and pathetic display of an outfit. I swear people, there was a time I wore nice things, looked good in them, and knew a thing or two about fashion. I mean shit, I must know nothing nowadays—I swore that damn dress was white and gold.

I constantly tug on my top I cut. Though it’s baggy enough, it makes me feel exposed. I hate how my body feels in clothing. I hate how my body feels without clothing. I am filled with so much hate right now it is clouding my ability to function.

Over the weekend I let myself eat pretty unrestricted: Mexican food Friday night, a beer and a sandwich on Saturday, Sunday brunch, and even a doughnut. Definitely not Paleo and nowhere near healthy despite two workouts over the weekend in addition to my classes. I cannot seem to let go of the guilt for indulging. I am harboring anger for being so uncontrolled and callous with my choices. And to make things worse, my wedding is getting closer and closer with each passing day.

My wedding dress arrived in November. Upon its arrival, I opened the garment bag to ensure it was indeed the right dress but now 4 months later, I still have yet to even try it on, let alone even go for my first fitting. I am paralyzed with fear that the dress will not fit. The thought of even putting on this amazing dress that I have picked out to wear on the most important day of my life doesn’t symbolize what it’s supposed to. Right now it’s just making me uncomfortable. What’s more is I got caught up watching “Say Yes to the Dress” which I will note, I really don’t even enjoy but I figured—I’m getting married, so why not? Swirling in my head were the brides with their trim figures, flat stomachs, and the ones who lost 20 pounds and didn’t have 20 pounds to lose in the first place. Ugh, I would do anything to lose 20 pounds. Jealousy and rage filled me and I pouted by skipping my workout last night and literally did nothing. Instead of taking action, I wallowed in my self-pity and sulked on my couch.

And so here I am today. Polluted by the toxicity of my own mind, unable to move past my self-hatred to the point where I am struggling to function.

I am listless.

anger

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

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