My Shoulders and What They Carry

I come from a family of slouchers. Ok, maybe that's taking the negative view of it. I come from a family of round-shouldered people. My shoulders constantly roll forward no matter how much I try to pull them back. Even when I do pull them back they still seemed rounded. My shoulders were my nemesis in my years of dancing. They would bunch up by my ears. I was always told to drop my shoulders, lift my chest, don't cave in. I could never break the habit. My dad's shoulders round forward so that the hem of his t-shirts have always ridden slightly higher in the back. My sister shares this trait with us. I see myself in photographs and think, "Look at my terrible posture!"

I noticed a tall, slim young woman, toned and tan, in the grocery store the other day. These are the body types that catch my eye because it is what I aspire to look like. But what I noticed most was how gracefully her shoulders fell, her shoulder blades dropping down her back (there's my years of yoga talking), her torso pulled up in an almost regal stance. My body doesn't do that, at least not involuntarily. Why do I bring this up? Because as much as I hate to admit it, I still use negative talk when it comes to my body. I criticize and nitpick and obsess. Even with all the effort I've put in and all that I've accomplished in the past 2 1/2 years, I can't quiet it.

I'm currently reading a book called On Being Human by Jennifer Pastiloff and she talks a lot about our Inner Asshole. Our Inner Asshole criticizes everything, puts bullshit stories in our heads, makes us feel less than. My Inner Asshole tends to have a big mouth. Last night I was craving something sweet so I broke out the peanut butter and chocolate chips and ate a few spoonfuls. I immediately reprimanded myself for having such a snack late in the evening (or, more specifically, my Inner Asshole did). I then proceeded to have a back and forth with my Inner Asshole about being allowed to have a snack that I'm craving, guilt free. I promised my Inner Asshole that I would work out this morning. My Inner Asshole seemed satisfied with that trade off and quieted down. However, this morning I awoke feeling sluggish and sore from yesterday's workout and decided to sit in the quiet with my coffee and my book. My Inner Asshole reared her ugly head and immediately made me feel guilty for skipping my workout. She tried to convince me that skipping one workout would undo all my progress. Which is a bullshit story (and, let's be real, I'm not skipping anything, I'm choosing not to workout today unlike every other day of the week).

But I have to fight myself to keep from believing these stories, that a few spoons of peanut butter and chocolate chips will somehow cause instant weight gain, that  not working out one day will put me back at square one, that the chocolate chip cookie I had after lunch today has ruined all my good intentions for the day, that I am somehow less than because my shoulders naturally slump forward.

I have to constantly reassure myself that this journey of healthfulness (that definition being, for me, to eat a clean, whole foods diet, move my body regularly, and take time for myself with some sort of self care) is just that, an ongoing journey with no endgame. I will not get to a point where I've reached my desired goal and then stop all work and expect things to remain static. This journey will have ebbs and flows, the definition may change, the actions will vary as life itself does. I need to keep working on not being hard on myself, on shutting down that inner voice as much as possible. Part of this journey is being real with myself. I don't have it all together. I have an Inner Asshole that pipes up way more than I would like her to. I spend more time and energy than necessary arguing with myself, bargaining with myself, and reassuring myself than I should. But I've been doing it for more than 30 years so breaking that habit is not a simple process. It may not even be possible. But I'll keep working at it. It's all I can do.

I'm Rockin' my Mom Genes

This is a blog reborn. Once upon a time I was a childless thirty-something living in NYC with my husband spending my (copious amounts of) free time drinking beer at neighborhood bars, going to brunch on Sunday mornings, scrolling through social media while drinking a hot cup of coffee, and blogging.

Let's fast forward a few years...

I am now a forty-something mama of two girls, ages 5 and 2, living in a small beach town on the eastern end of Long Island. I spend my (limited) free time doing laundry, taking care of household business, picking up endless amounts of toys, and scrolling through social media on the downlow (lest my children see me and demand to watch Baby Shark for the five billionth time), and drinking lukewarm cups of coffee while trying to pack lunches and get children dressed.

But I still enjoy the idea of blogging. So I resurrected this old girl. Once a blog called Felisfemina where I mused about life in the city, music, and my cats it is now where I will rock my mom genes. I'll talk about mom life and all the joys that go with it (should I start with the tale of my toddler puking all over herself on the Grand Central Parkway on our way to the airport at 7am? Maybe not). I'll talk about health and wellness and self-care, an area that so many moms neglect but one that is critical for us if we want to be able to function on a daily basis and maybe even live a happy, fulfilling life. I'll talk about style and fashion because I love that shit and I don't get to have enough of it in my life (she says as she sits here typing in her Old Navy jeggings and worn out pullover). 

And I will, without a doubt, sometimes complain, often curse, and still talk about my cats.