Accepting that I've failed myself

In high school, I was obese. Not just overweight, but obese.

Growing up, I was never good at sports. I tried out for teams in junior high but never had the skills to compete with the future all-stars around me. I grew to hate sports, gym class, and anything related to physical activity. All because I wasn't good enough.

This kick-started my couch potato life. I became a homebody. If I did go anywhere, I begged my parents for a ride so I could avoid the embarrassment of walking, biking, or rollerblading. I thought even trying or making an effort made me look stupid. Food became my best friend, my main comfort in sadness and stress.

These trends snowballed and for the next five years I lived an unhealthy sedentary life.

I became fat.

Gym class was unbelievably difficult, I no longer found joy in nature walks, and I hated going outside. I disliked vegetables unless they were layered in butter or cheese; chicken fingers, fries, pizza, and burgers were part of my daily intake; and soda ensured there was no room for water in my life.

In my first-year of university I didn't have to worry about the "freshman 15" since there was no possible way I could balloon any bigger. That being said, I had no idea how much I weighed.

That December, I had a doctor's appointment for the first time in years. The first thing I had to do was step on the scale. I saw the reading. The nurse sat me down in an empty office where I waited for 20 minutes. All I could see as I closed my eyes was that number. I had weighed in at 250 pounds.

I was in shock. I never thought I would be that out of control. In that moment, I decided to change my life.

I immediately began eating healthy (lean meats, veggies, fruit, the "good" grains, etc.) and began going to the gym and attending Zumba classes. By that next year I had lost 75 pounds.

Before and after losing the weight
(December 2010, and December 2012)

I was happy. I was healthy. I was proud of myself.

I kept the weight off for about a year, but three break-ups over the next two would send me into a downward spiral and back on the path of seeking emotional stability through food.

I tried getting back on track many times, but It was useless. The damage was done. The damage is done.

Even now, I'm happy in my personal life but the stress of school and work is the wall that I keep bouncing off of and back into a lifestyle that has made me hate who I am.

I've gained a large chunk of the weight back that I had lost. I can't fit into my favourite jeans anymore, I cry when I look down at my deformed figure, and my prominent collarbone is slowly disappearing under a layer of fat I've injected myself with. I hate seeing pictures or videos of myself, I'm constantly wishing I looked like the other beautiful women around me, and I hide inside baggy sweaters and t-shirts because I'm ashamed.

I'm ashamed that I've failed myself. Embarrassed, even. My self-loathing has reached a new peak.

But for now, all I can do is try. Try being better, try liking myself, and try being proud of myself. I need to be honest and vulnerable with myself and the ones I love. This is my public confession that I want to be healthier, and that I want to love myself again. This is me surrendering to my friends and peers, and begging them to hold me accountable. At this point, I don't know what that looks like but I hope to find out soon.

The pressure's on: how I picked my major

Today was the deadline for me to drop a standard sheet of paper in a box. A piece of paper that determines which direction my career goes.

Today is major declaration day.

When I first applied to the Creative Communications (CreComm) program in 2010, I was absolutely sure I would be majoring in media production. I was going to be the next super-cool semi-celebrity radio jock and it was going to be AWESOME.

And then things changed.

I made an out-of-nowhere switch from the on-air department to the newsroom at the radio station I had worked at since 2008. I was thrown into the role as reporter and news anchor before I hit age 20. Then, before 21, I took on that same role at arguably the biggest radio station in the province. The bouncing around forced me to grow up pretty quickly.

Sidenote - this is a long story put into three sentences, so if you'd like more context we can chat another time

I love the fast-paced environment. I love never being bored. I love telling stories. I love hearing stories. I love meeting people. I love finding the truth.

When I started CreComm this past September, I didn't know what I was going to major in. Some coworkers and CreComm grads told me that majoring in journalism would be pointless because I knew everything I would be taught (they suggested I major in public relations). I hate to put them down, but they were so wrong.

I had always been told my writing was phenomenal. I received As on all my essays in university. I took pride in my wide vocabulary.

And then I got my first D — on a journalism assignment.

I lost it. I was angry. I thought it was a mistake. It must have been; after all, I was a seasoned professional.

But then as I continued to receive what I thought were crappy marks (they weren't - for CreComm at least), I realized I was dumb. I was naive. I had no freakin' clue. I still have no idea what I'm doing.

Which brings me to this:

I will be majoring in journalism. I'd love to say it was a difficult decision, but it was a no-brainer (how many clichés can I put in one blog post?). I can't wait to learn. Journalism aligns with all the things I love to do and hope to be one day. While it was an easy choice to make, it is scary. Of course there's the competitive job market, my naivety and lack of skill, and the apparent not-so-good salaries. In the end, those things don't matter. I want to pick the path that will make me a better person and will give me drive and motivation to reach my highest possible potential.

iComplain - off to a bad start

While I'm sad to be back in the classroom, I'm glad I get to
visit the Exchange District everyday - how pretty is this view?

I was dreading going back to school. I felt I didn't have a super fantabulous holiday like most of my classmates would have. I crashed my car and it was written-off (thank ice), I missed work because of a subsequent concussion so I didn't make as much money as I had planned to, and I didn't get to spend as much time with my family as I had hoped. I mean, a lot of good stuff happened too but being the pessimist that I am I didn't see it as a "successful" holiday break (although now looking back I guess it was better than alright).

Monday was awful. I was still riding the "Christmas break sucked" train. The early wake-up call did not put me in a good mood, as I now had to transition back to going to school during the day after mainly working night shifts in the newsroom. As I was getting ready, I stepped in something sticky. It was also a weird grainy texture. As I looked down I saw it - my cat had coughed up a hairball during the night and smeared it on the floor. After gagging and holding down stomach acid, I cleaned up my foot and the floor and continued to get ready.

The innocent, apologetic look Eugene gave me after
I stepped in his hairball (it's hard to stay mad at him)

When I got to school, it was immediately time to begin a four-month long group project. I don't do group projects well. I often live by the negative mantra that I can't trust anyone but myself. I think this project will help me get over that self-righteous lifestyle. Luckily, I was placed with three other very intelligent and talented individuals and the road ahead seems less bumpy.

Students in the Creative Communications program are divided in to three sections. In the first semester I was in section three. We spent hours everyday together and created close bonds. With the new semester came new sections. We were split up. Forced into new groups and torn away from our best friends. Lunches and our seminar became a section three reunion. We couldn't and can't let go. It seems like many of us are dealing with the separation anxiety. It's like the "thing" still holding us together.

Also in this first week we were told we had two weeks to choose our majors and next year's electives. So that was another stressor.

This past September I met my now-boyfriend, James, on a bus (that's a long story for another time). Turns out we are both Red River College students going to the same campus. This term he began his paid work co-op, which means he is now working in the industry for the next term and no longer goes to school. It's a strange transition; having gone to school together and now being separated as he works full-time and I go to school. I feel it puts us on different levels professionally and mentally and it's a strange divide that we are now working to overcome together.

In addition to some of these larger challenges, I was faced with meaningless irritations:

• I temporarily lost my student card, meaning I couldn't buy a bus pass (which I really need considering I totalled my car...) - thankfully I found the card and bought the pass (small victory)
• I don't have time to take care of my home - my room is a disaster, my kitchen and bathroom need cleaning, my storage closet needs organizing
• My busses are ALWAYS late, which means I stand outside for periods of time in temperatures that feel like minus 40 thanks to the windchill
• Today I was pouring coffee and my toaster popped, scaring the crap out of me and causing me to spill my coffee all over the counter and the floor
• As I was buttering the toast mentioned above, I dropped it butter-side down on the floor which needed sweeping (#dirtykitchenproblems - also mentioned above)
• I still get daily headaches, which I assume are still stemming from my concussion

Since this blog is an attempt at looking at the glass half full, I meekly am relieved to say tomorrow is Friday. As long as I make it to the end of tomorrow I'm happy. 

New Year, New-ish blog

Happy New Year!

I can't wait to be writing "2014" on things until December when I'm finally used to it being 2015.

In all seriousness, I used to think it was dumb to have resolutions. To make changes just because the last few numbers of the date had changed. But this time around, I'm thankful for the excuse to make changes.

When I started this blog, I was excited to have a platform where I could share and indulge in the wonderful world of thrifting. I love finding treasures, re-fashioning clothes, and incorporating second-hand items into my wardrobe. It's something I'm passionate about.

As school got busier and work picked up, I realized I didn't have enough time or money to generate content for my blog. My posts began to lack and I put less heart into what I wrote.

The New Year gives me a chance to change things up.

Starting immediately, I am leaving The Penny-Pincher in the past. I am going to keep all my past posts up, and of course will blog about thrifting in the future. Over the last four months, I found the theme of this blog and the school requirement to post every week has drained me of my creativity on the topic.

It was recently brought to my attention that I am a bit of a pessimist. I always kind of knew it, but I didn't realize the effect it had on the people around me. As I reflected on the fact that I often see the glass half empty, I realized this trait has also taken quite a toll on me.

I know it's not something that can change overnight, and there will always be things that happen in life that suck. But from now on I hope to see things in a more positive light.

My blog will now be focused on finding the little things that make life exciting. The people that make crappy situations better. The days that give me hope.

I hope you'll join me as I seek to find Joy in the Journey.