All in a Name

Well, it’s official. Never to be changed again (never say never). Put back the way it was meant to be from the first breath. 

Something funny about a name. There are people who study names; the meantings, origins, predictions and personalities based on names. “Jennifer” means, “Fair Lady,” or so it said on the little bookmark that I taped to my childhood bedroom door. I don’t know if this means I am fair as in balanced and seeking truth or if there is some other interpretation of fair, but, my name means “fair.” Today, my spiritual soul siblings know me as the truth seeker. Perhaps those ideas are connected. I remember looking up the name “Jackson” in search of a meaning. The definition was “son of Jack.” Who the hell is Jack?  Well, my grandpa for one, but how could they know that?!  My particular Jackson roots stemmed from both sides of my family. The maternal side can be traced to President Andrew Jackson’s plantation. The guy on the $20 bill? Yup, that’s right!  One of the house maids… well, I have the whole story in the family Bible. We can talk about who begat whom some other time. Just know the begettin started by a slave and a master on Andrew Jackson’s plantation. So, there is THAT story that few spoke/speak of. 

In 2012, I got married and added the name “Nkansah” to my alliteratively lovely Jennifer Joy Jackson. “Nkansah” is from Ghana and it means “hold your peace; wait to say it.” I always joked that although Nkansah means wait before you say it, Jackson means say the damned thing! 

It took me five years after I was married to change my name. By the time I got  married, in my late 30s, I was well-established as a professor and entrepreneur. I had to make sure that folks knew how to find me under my new name. It never felt quite right, honestly; the name, not the marriage. It’s interesting to me that this tradition still stands. Why?  Why does one person who has identified with their (usually the woman) name their whole life, have to denounce their name and take on the name of another (usually the man). Can we talk about identity management here? I had just perfected the JJJackson signature that I envied every time I saw my dad sign his name and loop the three Js together without lifting his pen!  Without lifting his PEN!!! I tried for years and could not get it to look half as legible as he did.  By the way, I perfected it a couple months ago, seriously! 

So, I changed my name to Jennifer Joy Jackson Nkasnah (not at all easy to spell over the phone; N as in Nancy, K as in kite, a, N as in Nancy…) And the person would be so shooketh that there were two consonants next to each other that we simply could not go on without me spelling it again. Changing one’s name is not an easy task, it is quite arduous. First, a trip to the Social Security Office. Next, a trip to the Secretary of State to change it there. Each of these trips, as you know, could take hours of waiting before being complete.  Then, I had to change my passport (also a multi-step pain in the ass that includes mailing your current passport out which terrifies me every time)! I then needed to change everything at my job and my school. I had to change my professional licenses and any groups or organizations to which I belonged. 

Every time someone wrote a check to Jennifer Jackson, I cringed and hoped the bank would allow me to deposit it even though that was no longer my name.

Here is the thing. I never stopped being Jennifer Joy Jackson. I did not get rid of or hyphenate my last names.  When people asked me if there was a hyphen, I said, “nah, both names just hang out there together, like a second middle name.” I never fully incorporated “Nkansah” into my identity. After having been Jennifer Joy Jackson for 36 years, I believe it would take far more than 11 for me to fully feel like an Nkansah and a bit longer than that for me to “hold my peace and wait to say it.” 

Romeo wanted to change his name to Juliette’s so that they could easily be and love together. He quoth to Juliette “What's in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.” I’ll tell you what’s in a name, My whole friggin identity.  I am Jennifer Joy Jackson. I own my name, I love my name, I will become famous with my name and, as of one hour ago, it is officially my name once again. I do not plan to ever change my name again. Call me what you want( within reason). I will answer to Jenn, Jennifer Joy, or even Genevieve Rising. These names belong to me, they fit me, they are me. Jennifer Joy Jackson Nkansah is not.

Transformed and Transforming

 

Transformers, more than meets the eye. Listen, it is no mistake that I own a business called Metamorphosis Inc. I have been transforming this life and in this lifetime again and again and again! It has been humbling to have strangers reach out on social media and say things like this: “I have been watching you and reading your posts. You have transformed so much over the years and I want you to know that I see you and that you inspire me.” or “Girl, what have you been doing?!  Tell me your secret.  Is it a pill?  What is your work-out routine? What have you done to get the results I am seeing?!”

My dear reader, here is the simple truth. It is no one thing that I have done.  It is many.  I will share my secret with you because it’s just the two of us. I followed what is now known as my Metamorphosis Academy Curriculum.  Well, I guess I didn’t follow it as much as create it by figuring things out for myself along the way. I’ll give a few highlights of the framework and then I’ll share a some juicy nuggets with you. 

Here are the steps: Recognize what is no longer serving you. Identify what is at the root of those things (trauma, obsolete information, old narratives), Communicate needs and set boundaries (teach people how to treat you). 

Here are the juicy bits! I decided way before having weigh-loss surgery that somethings in my life needed to change. I was burning out trying to do all the things for all the people. That first glimmer of a lightbulb was the beginning of the light that shines from within me now. I started making changes to what I ate and how I moved my body. I incorporated pleasure by way of hot, candle-lit baths. I remained curious about how I showed up in the world and what I was missing. As a result of the surgery and adjustments to my lifestyle, I began shedding weight which gave me more freedom to move. I walked, jogged, crunched, planked and danced because it felt easier to do so. 

Eventually I changed my environment. I changed the people I hung around. I changed how I talked to and about myself. I embarked on a spiritual journey where I tapped into who I have always been since I was a little girl. I changed my whole life and it spilled over into changing my look, my walk, my essence and my energy. 

It is damn near impossible to explain how much and in how many ways I have changed in the last three years. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a pill.  And it is not done.  I will always be changing into who I am becoming. It’s not difficult, it’s my choice to move higher and higher into my highest good. 

When people stop talking to me or following me on social media and give the reason that “I’ve changed,” I simply say “Thank you!” I hope you are changing too.

The "F" Word

 

I keep finding myself repeating this phrase to myself and to others: “What if there is no such thing as failure?” What if it was all as it was meant to be and just because something did not go according to plan does not mean one failed.  We use this idea of failure for everything from education to relationships. I’m not suggesting that we revamp the whole education system (although…) but I am asking that you take a look at what it means to fail. Some say that failure only comes in not trying. Others say that failure is when you do  not get the outcome you hoped for. I think that, as long as something is gained, there is no failure. 

I have been holding steady at 170 pounds for about a year now. Sometimes I think I should still 

be losing. Does that mean I have failed in my weight loss goals? Other times I think I’ve lost too much. Have I failed? Then other times, I feel some kind of way because I didn’t start lifting weights and working out earlier on this journey in order to prevent or lessen sagging skin or weakened muscles. Did I fail?  Absolutely not. I learned from each of these things. The biggest lesson is this: Be who and where I am. Embrace me, love me, celebrate me and keep reaching for the feelings I want to experience in life.

Failure is another “F” word, in my book. Right up there with the “C” word - Can’t. Let’s remove the shame and guilt from life and trust that where you are is where you are meant to be. Now, we all have choices along the way and each choice brings with it a consequence or reaction. I only encourage us to reduce fear of failure that keeps us from moving forward and enjoying life by knowing that you are living and learning and growing every step and every decision along the way. 

What if you cannot fail?  Because, You can’t (ok, that’s the only time I’ll approve the “C” word!)

Guess Who is Back!

Well well well!  It has been a moment but you have not been far from my thoughts. What a journey this life and living continues to be. So much has happened since last November. This year has proven to be the most transformative year of my life. I have learned more about what my body can do, who she is and what she wants. Let me tell you a bit.

Along my journey toward becoming more and more fabulous, I realized that my celebration parties were parties of one. Although I was in a marriage where I showed up full of life, joy, ideas and plans for the future, I never felt celebrated or appreciated. As my friend put it after I published my fifth book, “He acts like you just picked up the laundry.” The point here is not to bash the father of my children. It is, however, taking a moment to point out one light bulb that flickered and let me know that something was no longer serving my highest good.

The rest of that story can soon be found between two covers at a bookstore near you.

For here and now, let’s FUCKING CELEBRATE! 

I filed for divorce January 2, 2024 and was on a beach in Maui for my mom’s birthday January 25. Traveling was interesting because, even though it has been over two years since my surgery, there are still things I have to be intentional about eating or avoiding. I wanted to make sure I stayed hydrated, had healthy snacks nearby, did not drink sugary alcoholic drinks. I decided to let my body be my guide and we purchased delicious choices from the grocery store. 

I felt so free on that trip. I spent most of the time in my swim suit by the pool, by the beach, on the lanai, by the pool, by the hot tub, back to the lanai… It was a delicious introduction to 2024. 

This year has been full of adjustments to my new body. I am holding steady at 170 pounds and still wonder if I look okay. When I pass a mirror, I am still surprised at who is looking back at me. I look different. Sometimes it’s hard to celebrate what  I look like without feeling like I am shitting on the previous versions of myself. When I post a before/after picture, someone will undoubtedly say “I love you in both pictures.”  Yeah, me too, but if I was still carrying around another 170 pound person, I would be feeling the weight of that for sure. I never wanted to lose weight because I thought I looked bad or wondered if I was beautiful. I knew for myself and had key people in my life who spoke to my beauty (inside and out). And I believed them.

 It was not about looks, it was not about eating too much, it was not about wanting to look like someone else. I started this journey, number one, to be a candidate for kidney donation to my then husband. Number two, I was denied life insurance because my BMI, which we all know is stupid and based on bullshit, but continue to follow it and use it as a means to discriminate, was 55. According to the stupid fucked-up BMI info, that means that over half of my body was fat. I needed to get that down if I was ever going to be granted life insurance to leave my children with SOMETHING when I die. Read over that again. According to the life insurance companies, I was too fat to leave my children with a financial gift upon my death. There was nothing medically wrong with me; blood pressure - perfect, blood sugar - perfect, activity and mental health - wonderful, joints and bones and skin, oh my! - perfect. Stupid patriarchy bullshit that makes its way into policies and such! 

As I was saying, I have worked hard to get used to seeing myself. My hair color has changed a few times from brown to rainbow to blond/brown. My cheeks are no longer fat, my tatas hang well below the pectoral muscle height and I have plenty of loose skin that makes sounds when air gets trapped and sounds like I am either clapping for myself or making armpit farts like a seventh grade boy. All of this is me, and it is all fucking phenominal.  

I have had people ask me questions about my spirituality, my physical changes, my increase in swearing on social  media.  I have changed and change is good. I no longer live for anyone else. I no longer concern myself with the male gaze when deciding what I want to wear or how I move my body. I am growing in strength and I am a force - you hear me?!  I am a force because my assignment on this earth is to seek truth, to walk in it myself and to highlight it in others.

181.8

It's been about a year since my last post and what a year it has been!  I am going to recapture events from the past in future posts, but for now, I'll talk about today.

It has been 21 months since my surgery and I am 140 pounds lighter than I was before surgery.

Today, I stood on the scale and the numbers read 181.8.  I jumped off and jumped back on again.   WTF? yep, same numbers 181.8. I remember being 180 pounds in high school.  I was always aware of the number on the scale that had a permanent place in our small full bathroom.  I remember when the scale tipped past the 200 mark and I needed to adjust one lever in order to bump up to the 200s. I didn't do it for the longest time.  I just couldn't. 

Now, here I am at 181.8. 

Funny thing is that some people are asking what my goal is and cautioning against losing too much weight. I want to ask them where they were when I weighed close to 350 pounds. In 2014, I was at my highest weight of 337. There was one family member whom I love who lovingly, kindly pointed out the risks of continuing to grow at the rate I was growing. I can assume that others are also commenting out of love and concern, but it feels like "great, another thing for me to worry and feel shame about." I don't want to look sick. I don't want to look like a bobble head.  I also don't want to criticize my neck bones, arm flap and loose skin. 

When I had surgery, I told people that my goal was to be under 200 pounds and that I wanted to be able to keep up with my young son. Well, here I am, doing both. 

When I look in the mirror, I often do not recognize myself. I love the woman looking at me, but who is she? She is gorgeous, always has been, and she is fierce. Still, there are voices in the back of my head asking Are my cheeks sagging? Are my eyes too far sunken? Are my ribs showing between my sagging breasts? Damn, can we ever just be? Just be in the moment, in our skin, just be? 

Yes.  We can.  It takes effort and it takes boundaries. To the people who ask "how much more are you going to lose?" I say, "I have no idea. I will continue to eat and take my vitamins and allow my body to do what it do." Some people say, well, you don't want to lose too much more.... or what?  What will happen if my body says it is most healthy at 150 pounds? 

I guess, I say all of this to tell you, reader, to be aware of what you say to people about health and wellness.  If you don't  know what to say, say nothing. If you want to show support, but the phrases in your head sound dumb, ask the person a question and let them tell their story. It is never okay to ask a person how many more children they will have, or to insist that they have more. It is not okay to ask how much weight they will lose, because who can know the answer to that question. It is not okay to offer more insecurities to someone who is already working incredibly hard to overcome the ones that have been with them for life. 

Notice, cheer, celebrate, ask, but keep stupid shit to yourself. (if you are unsure if it qualifies as stupid shit, keep it inside, just in case.)

The Fluffy Stuff

 Here I am, 117 pounds lighter than my heaviest weight.  I never thought I would see 200 anything on the scale.  Yo, real talk.  I am feeling some sort of way about my body.  The skin on my legs is loose and shaky and makes these weird folds where fat used to fill them to the brim and beyond.  My triceps have fallen down.  I convinced my son that it allows me to wave at him twice (two for the price of one!). 

Yesterday, I looked down at my breasts that were pooled in my bra that is now too big.  I moaned audibly as I saw that the fluff is gone, but the skin is there.  My boobs look like deflated balloons when they used to look like ripe eggplants or melons.  I am trying to say it doesn’t matter, but it does to me.  I immediately thought, “I will be getting that lift breast before I’m 50!”  I used to wear a size 42 H.  I am now a 34 DDD.  In a bra, my girls still look good, but when it’s just me and them, they look like they’ve lost their fluffy stuff.  They are flat and drawn (thanks to years of nursing) and I am not happy when I look at them.  

Now, I know that the fluff was fat.  I get that.  I don’t want the fat back, even in my backside.  But, I miss my girls.  More importantly, I dislike the feeling I have when I look at them.  We can’t have it all, at least not naturally.  I did not know that I would lose first in my lady lumps and my humps, but alas, that’s where I started shrinking first, followed by my fingers (WTF).

I want to be satisfied with whatever number I see on the scale and with whatever shape is before me in the mirror.  Will I always find something that needs improvement?  Will I ever arrive at my destination of true contentment with my body? 

I Did the Damn Thang!

 I have lost 100 pounds in 8 months and 24 days!  I celebrated by attempting yoga.  I did not realize I could reach my feet or grab my calf or hold a stretch like I did. I love learning about what I thought were my limits.  I love blasting my limits out of the water and creating new goals for myself.  

My next goal is to keep moving my body, even in the cold.  To add weight lifting for strength.  To continue doing the small and big things that have gotten me to this point and to not sabotage my success because I’ve never experienced it before.  

I am in tears.  That is all.

Daily Decisions

 Every day is a new challenge to do the right thing.  Isn’t that how life is in general though?!  Choose the right foods, set my alarms for my vitamins, move my body, take time to rest, all the things.  I have been at a fast sprint up and slow crawl down the  numbers on the scale for a few weeks now.  After I decided that, even sugar-free, pumpkin bars are  not a substitute for protein, but instead a reminder to my body of what it longs to hold on to, I got back on track.  At least for one part of one day and then one part of another day.  I tell myself that I don’t want to deprive myself of eating things I enjoy because I don’t want to bounce back at the first introduction of that food in the future.  The truth is, I am not willing to give up bread, chips and ice cream. But, here’s the thing.  My body does not like these things. So, when I eat them, I take a little nibble and then leave it alone.  I accidentally took a bite of the full sugar banana/zucchini bread that Jazmin made instead of the loaf she made with stevia.  The crunch of the sugar topping between  my teeth made my mouth water and I moaned “uh oh, I think I have the wrong loaf.”   I tasted my son’s mint chocolate chip/oreo ice cream the other day.  OMG yummmmm.  All I needed was a taste because I knew the consequences would be me getting very uncomfortable or feeling sick with dumping syndrome (if you don’t know what this is, look it up - yikes!).  I wanted some toast with butter.  I can have bread, if I can control myself.  I had a piece and was fine.

This damn thing calls for so much thought.  This thing called life and living and eating well requires us to be mindful about each decision.  Um, Yeah, Jenn.  That has been the case even before your surgery.  And, as they say, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”  

I am listening to my body.  It tells me that I don’t like dairy that much and that I do not enjoy the type of protein shakes I have been consuming for nine months.  It tells me that I need to find time to meditate for a few minutes a day and to intentionally move my body for some minutes too.  It tells me that I am not getting enough water.

Today, the scales reported that I am three pounds away from my next goal.  This motivated me to run/jog this morning and it felt good!  This lifestyle change has impacted my whole life.  I want to do better in my business, with organization, with my finances and my relationships.  I want to leave behind what/who is no longer serving a positive role in my life and strive toward being my authentic self.  The book Finding Your Authentic Self by Lainie Morrison-Freyer is a great place to start if you are on this road to finding your purpose and you want to be authentic in the search. 

 

Things in my life are changing and my daily decisions are impacting more than just me. Can’t wait to see what amazing decisions I make today.

High Top

 It was a lovely, warm fall day when my daughter and I were out for lunch.  We were in a new town and I allowed her to choose our destination.  Mexican food for the win!  We waited a few minutes for our table to be wiped down and then the server  proceeded to guide us to the outdoor dining area. To my horror, there was only one clean table and it was a high top table with long-legged stools.  Shit shit shit!  I cannot get up on those stools!  I don’t even feel like pretending that I can sit comfortably at that table.  My ass don’t move like that and will not fit on that little square they call a seat! 

My daughter chose her seat and I stood next to mine for a few minutes.  I’m sure she was wondering what was so important on my phone that I needed to stand in order to finish looking at it.  It felt like a scene from an old western movie.  You hear the background music?  “Alright lady!  You gonna wrestle yourself onto that stool or you gonna just stand there?”  I checked the stability of the stool - metal, with four straight long legs, two feet on concrete and two on gravel - hmmm, might be a problem.  I checked the table.  It came up to my chest.  I looked around to see if any low tables had cleared out - nope.

In one smooth movement like a gazelle swooping, wait, gazelles don’t swoop.  In one smooth movement like a lion pouncing on a gazelle, I hoisted myself onto the stool.  I FIT!  Holy shit, I fit!  I secured my feet onto the bars under my chair and on the empty stool next to me.  I was not struggling to find comfort.  I fit.

I am learning to try things that I was previously unable to do.  I sat on the couch, brought my knees up and wrapped my arms around them.  I swang on the swings really high and laughed with my friend doing tricks next to me.  I skipped!  Yes, I skipped!  I am only limited by my own imagination.  What will be next?

You Can't Handle the Truth/ Keeping it 100

 Part of the process of healing is being able to eat more, have more variety in my diet and get used to a new normal.  For the first few months post-surgery, I was only able to eat ⅓ cup of food per meal.  The goal is to eat one cup per meal.  Let me tell ya, a plate full of loaded nachos (even a small plate) is more than a cup of food.  I am not so gifted at eye-balling measurements of food, or distance, or weight or anything mathematical.  I need to weigh and measure, but I feel like I am beyond all that.  

This is why, two pounds before meeting my goal of losing 100 pounds in 8 months, the scale started creeping and then jumping up.  I recall having this discussion earlier in one of my posts, but I dare not look for the reference right now.  

So here’s the story:

It is autumn.  It is the time for pumpkin spiced everything, pumpkin bars, pumpkin carving, warm mugs of yumminess and cozy coziness.  I wanted some pumpkin bars but found a recipe for pumpkin cake.  No problem because I planned to swap out the regular sugar for Swerve.  If you haven’t heard of Swerve, it is the best tasting sugar replacement made with something that is not sugar.  The powdered variety tastes like powdered sugar and can be licked off of fingers or sprinkled on desserts.  So, I made the pumpkin cake sugar free.  But I did not swap out the flour for almond flour.  I just wanted the taste of something familiar.  You know what is familiar?  Getting fucking fluffy after eating multiple pieces of pumpkin cake, with sugar free cream cheese frosting, and other comfort foods over a couple of week’s time.  

I hopped on the scale expecting to see that I had met my goal. Alas, I did not!  I was up four pounds!  After reminding myself that I made a choice to celebrate whatever number is on the scale, I considered the sources of my added pounds.  

The next week, a friend visited for the weekend and we had nachos (see example in the first paragraph).  I made small plates, but they were loaded with beef, beans, cheese, sour cream and tomatoes…and chips.  I had beef stroganoff (trying to make one meal for the family fails when it is pasta).  Even though I had less than a cup, I think, the pasta is not kind to me.  The scale showed that I was now six pounds and then eight pounds away from my goal.  When will I learn that I do not have to approach food with a scarcity mindset?  I can have a little of what I want, when I want it (sometimes), but I can’t have a lot of what I want a lot of the time.

This scarcity mindset shows up with food as well as with finances for me.  Oooooh, ya'll ready for some real truth?

Just like with eating and not measuring or weighing before consuming, I recently learned that I was spending without planning or reflecting or much consideration at all.  If there was money in the account, it was going toward something I/we wanted or needed.  I had no idea of the amount of money I spent over three months until I received a report stating how much I had made those months.  I spent nearly $2,000 on groceries one month…and $500 on eating out.  What the fuck?!  If we have $2000 worth of groceries, why the hell would we ever eat out?  We have a family of four, not twenty-four.  Here is why:  I had not planned.  If someone in the family had a taste for something, that’s what we had.  I was throwing away food that had gone uneaten and it ate me up.  No.  This can’t happen month after month.  

So, I am learning to recognize my shit, look at the truth of it, find the root and make necessary changes.  I’ve been working with a person who makes connections between finances and the psyche.  I’d rather not know, but ignorance is painful and knowledge is “half the battle.”

After returning to my routine of a protein shake for breakfast, yogurt for snack, high protein (smoked salmon, turkey sub bowl or another shake) for lunch and a low carb/high protein dinner (oxtails with beans and veggies or chili with scoops) I am inching my way down the scale again.  I will not meet my first goal and so, I will adjust it.  What I have learned in this process is way bigger than meeting a goal by a deadline.  I have learned that I need and want to eat and spend more mindfully.  My morning meditation (I just started yesterday) reminded me that “My decisions today determine my tomorrow” or something like that.  In my own words, “If you eat shit today, you wear shit tomorrow.”  That is the truth.  Can you handle it?

Proud Donna

 I started this post three weeks ago.  It has taken me this long to get past the first half sentence.  Here we go…

Someone asked me the other day what I thought my parents would say about my weight loss so far.  Others have said, “Your parents would be so proud of you!”  Here’s the thing.  I do not think I would have had surgery if my parents were still living.  

I mentioned earlier that I had a close relationship with my mom; perhaps, at times, codependent.  Mom had bypass surgery about 30 years ago, when it was fairly new.  It was a disaster for her, including the surgeon leaving a sop cloth in her cavity before closing up after surgery.  The cloth was found years later after she repeatedly complained about feeling like “something was catching” whenever she ate.  As I was saying, mom had surgery and lost about 50 pounds.  For this to be the last resort after Weight Watchers, Medical Weight Loss, water aerobics, slimfast, cabbage soup diet, lemon water diet, hcg, phentermine and so many others, she was not happy with those results.  My sisters started losing after trying hcg and exercise.  I used myself as a measure to let mom know that she was still beautiful by comparing her number to mine.  “Mom, you are 240 pounds? I am 320!”

Somewhere along the way, I realized that each time I started losing weight, I would sabotage my efforts.  Year after year of losing the same handful of pounds, I’d turn around and put it back on, with interest.  I did not want to weigh less than my mom.  I did not want her to feel bad for being the heaviest in our family.  So, I kept adding on the weight.  To this day, mom had no idea that this was my pattern.  How fucked up is that?  Where, in my mind, did I think it would make my mom feel any way but excited and proud for me to weigh less than she did?  

Where did that come from?  This is why it took a long time for me to consider bariatric surgery.  Not only did I remember the trauma that mom endured from surgery and the lack of results, but I also was afraid it would not work and afraid that I would weigh less than she did.  

Maybe it’s like what I hear about people who live longer than one parent did.  Once they reach that number, they are aware that they are surpassing the master.  Mom was no less than 200 pounds.  How will I feel when I hit 199?  Will I be inclined to sabotage?  Will I feel some sort of way?  We shall see.  Right now, I am 232.  It has been nearly 20 years since I was this weight.  I was in an unhappy relationship that contributed to my weight shooting up to 260, 280 and beyond.  Now that I am happy in my marriage, my career, and my skin, what will be the result? Whatever the result, I will rest knowing that I am proud of my progress, hard work and life-adjustment.  I will know in my heart that my parents are ever so proud as they were when I was almost 340 pounds, as they were when I was 7 pounds, as they always have and always will be. 

Lady Lumps

 What is it about getting what you want that makes you want a thing you had never considered before you got what you had wanted?  Stay with me here.  Have you ever decided to pain a room in your house.  Just the one room would brighten up the whole space.  So you go and look at all of the tiny color squares, steal a bunch of the books that you know you will never use for anything……. Purchase one tiny sample of the color you want and go home tgo slap it on the wall.  You then go back and order a full can of that color, along with more blue tape because you have no idea where the other rolls that you bought in bulk are stored.  You pain that one room and sit back to marvel at your accomplishment.  Just then, your eye catches something to the right of the wall that has just started drying.  Crap!  The new coat of paint in this room makes the next room look dark and dingy.  You had no plans to pain the whole house, but alas, that’s what’s about to happen.

I never thought I would ever ever consider a “boob job.”  My lady lumps have been a part of my life since high school and I had no intention of messing with them as long as they didn’t mess with me.   Here I am, catching something out of the corner of my eye and wondering if I might embark on a journey i had not previously considered.  AFter nursing two children for a total of three years and now, after losing 80 pounds in six months, my breasts look worn for the wear.  I never had perky breasts that stood up and said HI!  I had full heavy breasts that swayed with each step and said heeeyyyyyyy.  

It’s not even that I dislike the look of them.  They are just deflated and don’t fill my cups like I'm used to.  So, what to do?  Plan another surgery that would lift and tuck and boost my confidence more while offering me breasts with the appropriate level of perkiness for a 47 year old?  Do I find them as the new thing to question, dislike and groan about?  I had no intention of getting a boob job.  And now, I have every intention of doing just that before my 50th birthday.