“Beauty comes from within. Your body’s just a shell” I guess that’s what they say;

but do they understand ups and downs, the real struggle every day?

Standing in the mirror starts off pretty well, I touch my edges and curves;

but even those moments can be fleeting and quick, and often get on my nerves.

Stray comments and whispers I don’t understand, have come from those who don’t know me;

they’ve crept in my head it’s sad to say, and it seems like they see right through me.

I’ve spent countless hours changing my thoughts, learning to be gentle and kind;

most days it’s a breeze, no problem at all, some days it sneaks up from behind.

It comes in waves, day by day, this whole body image thing;

most days I feel beautiful inside and out, and I don’t even feel a sting.

A journey frequently traveled, filled with twists and turns, an all too familiar road;

 it will forever be a part of my story, my memoir at best, at least that’s what I’m told.

I’ve started to find love for this body of mine, or at least I’m giving it a try;

I gaze with appreciation at my strength and my grit, and do my best not to cry.

I don’t shudder when other hands touch my skin, and arms wrap around my hips;

I don’t close my eyes when the lights are on or nervously bite my lips.

My limits are boundless when my feet hit the ground and I conquer every last mile;

 my face reflects the woman I am from my eyes, to my cheekbones, to my smile.

I don’t hide from the world in baggy clothes and always try to look my best;

from brushing my hair, to clasping my earrings and slipping into a beautiful dress.

My belly laughs and sweet open heart are contagious, at least that’s the word on the street;

it’s my goal every day, my mission, my purpose to find beauty in everyone that I meet.

It does get easier if you find a way to try, this I can promise is true;

to harness the spirit, fight, and love that lies deep inside of you.

It was only a few months ago that someone told me that my passion for everything I do was a fault of mine. I'd be lying if I said that for a moment I didn't question myself and my actions, but that moment was fleeting as I realized that my passion for life, love, food, and the people around me is my favorite quality.

Let me tell you a little bit about where I got it from.

My grandmother, Mafalda, was a short, large busted, not quite rotund, yet round woman with high cheekbones and a heart bigger than the nights sky, who possessed a talent in the kitchen like no other.  She spent her years as the matriarchal care taker of not only my grandfather, but three sons, and eventually my mother, and me.

In addition to her honorary duties of cleaning like company was always expected and making sure everyone was fed as though every meal was their last, my grandmother spent hours soaking her hands in warm water, yeast and flour making fresh bread, perching herself on the front steps saying hello to everyone walking by, and accompanying my grandfather on his morning trips to the Italian imports store to buy the Italian newspaper, Oggi, and wherever else he wanted to go.

Every Monday, my grandparents made the long trek, about forty miles, to the livestock auction, or as they affectionately called it, "the fair." English never quite came naturally to them as they didn't move to America until my father was sixteen years old, but they tried.

I loved Mondays, or at least the idea of Mondays.  I would beg, plead like my life depended on it, for them to take me along on their adventure. My grandfather would hem and haw (rightfully so because let's just face it, after about fifteen minutes the "I'm bored," complaint would start flowing from my gums), but my grandmother would never leave me behind.

My grandparents had a brand new, navy blue, top model Volvo sedan that my father helped them buy with the star of the show being the air conditioning, but (I'm sure you know how this goes if you're a first gen kid), they never used it. Just like the dishwasher, having this luxury was moot. I refer to it as a long trek because, although forty miles is not all that far, taking every off the beaten path back road made it a leisurely ride for them, but ultimate torture for me. Remember, I begged- pleeeeaaaddded to go.

My grandmother never learned how to drive so as most elderly couples, my grandfather drove allowing my grandmother to be the house DJ all the way there.

She was not a glamorous woman by any means, wearing mostly casual stretchy pants, house shoes, and top three sizes too big, my grandmother had her own sort of flare. From her left shoulder cascading to her heart she would adorn her daily outfits with her pin collection, mostly those she either received from me as gifts, or from the woman at the church resembling angels, the Madonna (Mother Mary), Padre Pio, the Pope, or the late, great Jesus Christ himself.

In her bra, my grandmother kept her most prized possessions. Money, of course, what seemed like and endless amount of funeral prayer cards, pictures I drew in kindergarten, and pictures of her sons, all wrapped up in about two dozen multi colored elastic bands.

There I was, I would say about six years old when I truly started making this journey with them, in the back seat, car sick from all of the winding roads, hot, and any child would be, bored out of my ever loving mind, and we were only a mile from home.

My grandmother would rummage through the front console of the car, pulling out the same Luciano Pavarotti cassette like she had never heard it before and the feeling of dread would instantly come over me like I would never actually survive this trip.

Per usual, my grandmother dug deep into her brazier and pulled out the wad of cash and memories and unwrapped them, gazing at them with all of the love in the world. I would sit as quietly as I could  because I was generally on thin ice at this point as incessantly fanning myself with a half empty tissue box was clearly getting on my grandfathers nerves.

And then there it was. Nessun Dorma. The last song from the opera Turnadot came on. I was in for it now. My grandmother would shift her gaze to the window and begin to sing. Mind you, I had no actual clue what Turnadot was, the meaning behind the words, or the words in general. They were in ITALIAN... I did't speak Italian.

My grandmother didn't sing; she wailed. She poured her heart, her soul, and the souls of all who've ever taken a chance on love, into this song. I mean, now that I know the meaning behind it, I kind of get it. Prince falls in love with princess, there's a riddle, he solves it to marry her, she says "not today Satan," he says," if you guess my name before sunrise I'll kill myself," (okay Rumpelstiltskin) but if not you marry me woman! The princess declares that no one in the kingdom is to sleep until they confess his name and whoever does not will die, a horrible, gruesome, untimely death- okay, unsure of how they will die but come on, middle ages - it can't be a good time.

The song is sang by the prince hoping that the princess never sleeps. He wants her to stay awake and ponder his name until the sun rises. In the end he belts out the words, " vincero! vincero! vincero!"

"I will win! I will win! I will win!" Clearly this prince is persistent.

That being what it was, my grandmother felt this song deep into her body. She would clutch her chest, poured her every last ounce of energy and grit into those words as the tears would rush down her face.

Oh dear Lord. Now put yourself in my shoes. Six-ish years old, sweaty, nauseous, dumbfounded and all of a sudden remembering that my ride home would be sandwiched between crates of live chickens, and rabbits, and God knows what else, and I would spend that trip picking flying feathers from my sweaty skin and blowing rogue fur off my clothes.

It wasn't until I was an adult, experienced the joys and pitfalls of love, that I would understand why my grandmother would not only sing this song with endless emotion, but also apologetically let her seep from her pours, eyes, and strained vocal chords.

There was an undying passion in her. She loved and loved hard. She loved like any second that love could be lost and she kept that a very realistic fear.

I've learned more from her than I could have ever dreamed and I'm so thankful. I bake bread like she did, spark up conversations with strangers, and I've learned the difference between house and home. Most importantly though, she taught me how to love and that my love knows no bounds.

More often than not, when I'm in the car by myself, or ya know, with my kids (life lessons on my childhood), I play Nessun Dorma. I play it multiple times and rotate through has many sources of talent I can find. I get lost in the moment. I sing, no, I wail. I clutch my chest, feel a lump form in the bottom of my throat, and let those tears fall.

Loving hard comes with its consequences, but also its rewards. I can confidently say that a big part of learning about my passion, my beliefs, and my heart has been from my grandmother. I'll never give up hope, I will always do it scared, and I will always give it one hundred percent because that's what loving is.

I miss those car rides with my grandmother. Oh how I would do anything to see her one more time. I would love nothing more than to drive her around, sing that song, hold her hand, and learn as much as I could about love.

January 23rd was the last time I put my thoughts on life into words.

Why? Because after I pushed that infamous "publish" button on my blog post, I gently closed my laptop and resorted back to assuming my usual and comforting position hovering over the toilet.

My life, as I knew it, was a mess. I felt completely out of control, as if I were swallowed up by a tornado and spit back into the land of the unknown. Okay, okay, it worked out pretty well for Dorothy and she got a great new pair of shoes out of the deal, but that just wasn't the case for me.

I fell in love with helping, coaching, and guiding other women through the pursuit of body happiness, and where was I? I felt like a failure because once again, when shit got tough, I got even tougher on myself and the only thing I knew to do was find solace in the fact that I could control my body.

It all hurt, every last bit of it. In the midst of dealing with heartbreak, the world was changing in front of my eyes, my business was on the line which would ultimately trickle down to my parents, my children and my home. 

For those of you who know me, I am a die hard problem solver. I love obstacles because the comeback is always bigger than the setback right?

These were all problems I could not solve. Not one was anything even withing my grasp.

I dove into survival mode. I worked upwards of eighteen hours a day, barely leaving my business to come home and sleep (on the couch of course because the bed was just not inviting) and I would anxiously snap at anyone who walked through that door because all I wanted was to feel and with others around I felt like I had no permission to do so. Nothing made me happier than to lock my restaurant doors, shut the lights off, sit alone and hurt.

With that being the case, I stopped caring for myself. I wasn't eating but was surviving on sugar free Redbulls and bad habits, and of course wine- a bottle at least, per night, all to myself. 

I wish I could tell you the moment when I began to heal, but I cant quite put my finger on when exactly it happened. It was a slow scarring, with me periodically picking at the scabs.

I baby stepped my way back into reality. It didn't matter how many times I heard people tell me how worthy I was for all of the riches in life or how much of an amazing job I did keeping my family business not only afloat, but thriving in a pandemic, I needed to realize that for myself.

I made a decision to be happy again.

I stopped looking at my body as the enemy and starting valuing its strength. I stopped hurting myself through food restriction and purging and started focusing on what I have spent years learning- nourishment. But nourishment for not just my physical self, but for my soul.

I started surrounding myself with mostly women, and some men, who brought the light back into my world through inspiration. I started doing things again that I hadn't done in so long, and when I tell you that the good vibes were pouring from the heavens, that's an understatement. 

I let myself feel- the good, the bad, and the real. My workouts became less for self competition and more for pure enjoyment. I stopped on my runs to take pictures of beautiful things in the world or to strike up what seemed like endless conversations with strangers. 

My intuitive eating habits started to return all on their own. I've been studying my own genetic makeup for what works well for my body for years and just like riding a bike (which I feel is bullshit by the way because my bike riding skills are sub par to say the least), I remembered how to do it.

I took comments about my body being unworthy and undesirable and started to mute them from my memory.

Although I still have worries and concerns for what my future holds, the one thing I have found again is hope.

Yesterday I held someone's face in my hands. A twelve year old girl who didn't want to come out of the house because she felt far from beautiful, and in the middle of the street, vowed to be her lifeline. 

A promise to her would never be valid if I didn't make a promise to myself as well.

I promised myself in that moment that I would always find the beauty in me. May it come from my stretch marked mom belly, my tears of vulnerable honesty, my uncontrollable laughter which is sometimes accompanied by a snort, my endless hugs and deep kisses, my ability to stay and fight as well as selflessly walk away, my arms that embrace my children or the desire to never stop believing- my beauty is always here. 

Do I regret falling back into the eating disorder life style that has been a part of my life for thirty-ish years? No, not one bit.

Today, as I stand in front of the mirror, changing from my workout (which was filled with laughter, waves, and countless "good mornings"), I am grateful that I continue to rebound, rediscover, and stand tall as a better version of me than I was before.

Remember to enjoy the little bites of life as well as the big ones and always, always, eat the chocolate cake. 

Diary of a Former “Fat” Girl

Looking back on years of self-body shaming and having a very unhealthy relationship with food, I realize that having a “fat” life had nothing to do with weight, but rather everything to do with my outlook on the world and myself. I had a “fat” mentality.

I must preface the rest of this post by just getting it out there. The word “fat,” to me, is as derogatory as the word “slut.” I understand as I work more with women on positive body image, that the word “fat” is only used as a descriptive word with no negative meaning, but, the word “fat” has been such a hurtful word in my life, it’s taking me time to get used to hearing and using it.

I remember that dreaded day in gym class, where once a year, I had to get on the scale, the gym teacher would weigh me and write me down on a list with the rest of the girls. I hated that day. I hated feeling like the “fat” girl. I hated knowing that my teacher did nothing to shield those results from any of the other girls and boys in my class. Looking back now I realize how “fat” I wasn’t, but comparatively speaking, I was.

Weeks ahead of time I would start to do things to drop my number as fast as possible. I would try to get by on as little food as possible, chew food and spit it out, overdose on laxatives and avoid that class at all cost. My anxiety would be through the roof. I would cry for days and skip as many social situations as I could.

From then on, I felt like the eyes of the world were always on my body and not in a good way.

Similar situations followed me into my adult life. My confidence was in the gutter. It didn’t matter if I did my hair and my makeup, dressed nice, and forced myself to “feel my best,” because I truly didn’t. I didn’t have it inside me. I couldn’t walk around faking a feeling that wasn’t there. Then the rut happened. I had son number two, gained sixty-five pounds, sat miserable in a marriage that consisted of fast food in the car and slumping on the couch every night.

I avoided outings like weddings and parties. I would spend hours trying on clothes from my closet and end up on the floor in tears. I had no desire to go into a fitting room and try clothes on, nor could I really afford it. I struggled like this for years, continuing to hurt everyone around me with my bad attitude that was trickling down for my low self-esteem. I would show up to my office job with coworkers that I adored feeling subpar because I was still wearing my old, dingy maternity clothes because I hated myself already, so who cares what I wore, right?

Along the way I had a coworker who was always very friendly to me. I slowly vented to him one day about my absolutely diluted self-worth because of my body insecurities. I remember him telling me that he thought I was beautiful (stop right there with your assumptions, just friendly conversation) and that he found “fat” women beautiful, so beautiful that he actually had a fetish for big women getting stuck places and having to squeeze by things while they walked.

Now, to each their own, but this sent me into a full tailspin of absolute hate. Disgusted rage for myself. I started associating the word “fat” with the notion that it meant lazy, sloppy, dirty, disgusting, uneducated, unattractive and useless.

I swore I would never be a “fat” girl ever again.

I lost seventy pounds that year (fifty I would gain back and start the vicious cycle of yo-yoing twenty, thirty for years to come).

I started all my bad behaviors again. Why? Because once again, I felt like all eyes were on me.

I shied away from friends, social events, wore baggy unflattering clothes, had a bad attitude, and put zero effort into finding what made me feel beautiful at my size. I used food restriction, binging and purging, irrational behavior to justify the fact that being “fat” just made me angry. I hated having attention put on me so if I did go anywhere, I sat quietly, and hid behind the shadows of my friends and family.

Intimacy was hard for me. Although I had intimate relationships along the way, I would never let myself be naked. I would never let the lights be on. I would be covered up, under blankets to hide my body. My gross body. My body reminded me of an old road map made up of stretch marks and sag. I couldn’t face the fear of rejection if anyone got turned off by me.

A girl I knew from high school, but never even talked to once, because in my eyes, she was perfect, and I was not, put out an add about wanting volunteers to spend time with her so she could get her feet wet becoming a health and nutrition coach.

At this point, my marriage had already broken down, I was now a business owner, heartbroken, uncomfortable in my own skin and unable to figure out how to pick up my own pieces.

In the past five years, she has been instrumental in helping me build the woman I am today. And yes, FIVE YEARS and STILL LEARNING.

I learned how to be healthy, and although we all think, “oh fruits and vegetables make us healthy,” that truly has nothing to do with it.

First I learned how to have a healthy relationship with food. I learned how to make peace, let go of the fear of food being the enemy. I had to embrace my love of cooking and eating and find the foods that made my body and my heart feel good. I had to get right with the relationships in my life, the friendships, my family, my children. Yes, believe it or not, I was so bitter for so long that I drove a protective wedge between me and everyone else. I worked hard to open my heart and let people back in again.

Then the hardest part came along. Learning to love myself. Learning to look in the mirror and admire the woman staring back at me. Regardless of weight, hair color, clothing, I had to learn to love me. I had to find what made me strong, what made me proud, what made me fearless.

I love my body. I see it in a different light now. I appreciate it. I find it to be strong, beautiful and sexy. I love putting my headphones on after my kids go to bed and getting lost in the moment. I play music that hits my soul, and I dance. Sometimes I watch myself, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes it’s playful and fun, sometimes its sultry and slow. I truly enjoy my curves. I find gratitude for my stretch marks. 

I wear clothes that make me feel comfortable in any environment. When I walk into a room now, I command my own presence. I engage in all types of conversation and laughter with all different types of people.

I learned to loosen my grip on the “fat” mentality. I found pride for the body that I have, the person that I have grown to become. I am confident in the woman that I am and know what I bring to the table in every situation, even those that are new.

I look at women from the outside now and I hope that if they are struggling to find love for themselves, they reach out and grab ahold of an extended hand. I am a work in progress and will always be and that is exciting because the thought of becoming a better version of who I am now is absolutely invigorating.

Although there are still moments when I feel uncomfortable, they are fleeting. They come and they pass, sometimes with barely any recognition. I hope that one day soon that “fat” mentality will be completely gone, however I am thankful for the process as I don’t think I would have grown into the woman I am today, without it.

As women, we spend countless amounts of time in our lives focusing on the things about ourselves that we aren’t happy with. We stand in the mirror and get lost in the trans of our gaze. We see stretch marks and round bellies where we once carried our children, wrinkles and lines on our face that we developed from years of smiling and laughing, and a tint of shimmery gray around our hairline indicative of the wisdom that we have gained when simple moments turned into not so easy learning experiences.

Over the last few weeks I have been reaching out to women in my life who I see as beautiful in every way and asked them a very simple question knowing well enough that the answer would take thought, heart, possibly tears, and definitely soul searching. I thought that I would escape having to deep think myself, but someone turned the question around on me, so my answer is in there as well, at the end.

What quality about who you are makes you feel beautiful? I put no timeline on how long they were given to respond, and some took longer than others. My gut tells me that if I asked for a list of qualities they didn’t like, the response would be nothing short of immediate, but that was not the case. I wanted them to dig deep and the responses were astonishing.

I hope you enjoy reading what these incredible women had to say as much as I did…

What quality about who you are makes you feel beautiful?

Susan V.- My willingness to give to people. I am a giver not a taker and people who are giving are the most beautiful.

Andonia D. – I have always felt that my nature to be loving and caring has carried me through the times when my weight was scary high. I dip into the ways which I have helped people and affected their lives when I feel rejected or judged.

Jodi P.- My ability to connect with anyone. Quality is different from features, so I pick that.

Amanda H.- Empathy for people when I’m working with people. I see how much it can help that people feel listened to.

Marie B.- I’m pretty laid back and I try to create an environment that is nurturing for others. I love Jesus yet I don’t push Him on anyone. It is the Jesus in me, however, that others are drawn to. That is true beauty and love. I am grateful God gave me self confidence and an unconditional love for self and others. I am blessed.

Lisa N.- Having been through a lot myself, I am very sensitive and realize everyone is fighting their own battle. I have compassion and a desire to help and do good for others. I cry when I see people’s dreams come true and like to see people happy and feeling good; it’s infectious and makes me filled with hope and hope makes me feel beautiful.

Sandy S.- My heart, my loyalty, my empathy. I always appreciate my Irish eyes which have been passed down through generations. I love with every ounce I have left in me. I am loyal and 100% real and true but it is never reciprocated. I am empathetic not by choice, but it is who I am and it overcomes me. I love more and it makes me more loyal; huts me a ton because I take on emotions around me.

Alison- My nurturing instincts and my heart, how I always care about people who are close to me and love doing things for them.

Amy R.- I feel like being genuine makes me feel beautiful. No time for nonsense.

Courtney R.- I think we tend to lean towards outward appearance when we think of being beautiful, but if I had to say another attribute of how I feel beauty in my mind it would be how I think I make others feel and what I do to give back or help others… I’d rather have a beautiful and giving soul over physical beauty any day of the week.

Maggie- Being a mother, being a woman, a nurse. Being pansexual; polyamorous. Being Puerto Rican and bilingual. I can sing; I am relatively funny.

Kristen V- My slamming personality. I’m just not afraid to live unapologetically. 100% myself after years of quieting my personality and dimming my light to make others more comfortable. I’m loud… I’m super fun… I’m hilarious… and I’m not sorry.

Olivia- My bubbly personality. Pretty much how I love to be happy and make people laugh.

Grace T.- My sense of humor.

Julia- What makes me feel beautiful is being with people I love, laughing and allowing myself to just be in the present moment. Whenever I’m stressing about the past or future it robs me from the ability to appreciate what is right in front of me. When I can recognize life is beautiful, I feel beautiful.  

Allison N.- My willingness to always come to someone’s aid and help with something (some people think I’m crazy).

Lisa B.- I don’t sugar coat my brutal honesty and sarcasm.

Brittany C. - My silly, goofy, funny personality.

And lastly, thinking really hard about myself, I would have to say, what makes me feel most beautiful is my tenacious spirit; I give of myself unconditionally. If I am invested in something or someone it is with my whole heart. I look only for the good and work hard to make sure that I am putting in all I have, to give and that it is genuine and true. I love to see others smile and hear them laugh. I love to provide a space and time for people to be their authentic selves. Holding doors, paying for a stranger’s coffee, bringing people together, and leaving my footprint on the world truly feels like my purpose. When I stand back in the corner, silently, and watch everything unfold, that is when I truly feel the most beautiful.

I wish everyone the happiest of Thanksgivings. Don’t forget to be thankful for yourself and to eat that fourth piece of pie!

I still see that fat girl.

Last week I had a conversation with one of my closest girlfriends. She told me that she could not wait to share her accomplishments with me. She has lost inches and pounds and has put her heart and soul into setting goals and crushing them.

I was overjoyed for HER joy, but then she said something that we all have thought when going through a body change. “I just don’t see it. I still see the fat girl.”

I couldn’t reprimand her. I couldn’t get annoyed. I’ve been there. So many of us have.

Looking in the mirror and adjusting what we see is the most difficult part of change. We have a certain image imprinted in our brains of what we think we see rather than what’s right in front of us. We have spent years formulating an opinion of our physical self.

Although we may never be able to completely reverse our mental reflection, we definitely can alter it.

We can adjust our harsh opinions of ourselves.

Instead of getting in front of the mirror and picking at the parts of our bodies that we hate the most, why not make it our mission to fall in love with the things about us that make us the incredible humans that we are.

Make a list of all the things we find happiness in. Smile ourselves, pick out a great outfit, a swanky piece of jewelry, anything that will make our vibe shine.

We are all allowed moments of critique, that will always be a thing, but how about we make it our mission to turn it around faster than before?

Find love, find peace, and spread body positivity not only to each other, but to ourselves as well.

Does it make you feel like a hypocrite when you struggle to practice what you preach?

I’ve learned throughout my journey (I don’t call it recovery because I don’t personally feel like we ever truly recover from self-abusive tendencies, I believe that we learn the tools to channel our triggers in a different direction) that setbacks will happen.

It’s comfortable and easy to go back to our old habits, our old ways. Who wants that new pair of stiff shoes that squeeze your toes and give you heel blisters when you can slip your feet into that nice cozy pair of old shoes when you just need comfort?

It’s sad to say but when we take that drug, throw back that drink or purge into the toilet, it’s almost like saying, “hello old friend, I’ve missed you.” It is the easiest way to take whatever it may be, frustration, lack of control, sadness, anger, and soothe that pain.

When it comes to me, I’ve always turned to food restriction. Its not scary. It doesn’t hurt. I feel no hunger pains, it’s calming. It’s this feeling of yes, I can control this. I can figure this one out.  

I’m writing this blog almost two days in. I just don’t want to do it. I don’t want to eat. I don’t have the desire to force my body to have to work to digest anything. It has nothing to do with how my jeans fit or what my body looks like with no clothes on. It has nothing to do with a number on the scale (I don’t do that shit anyway) or the size of my thighs. It’s emotional.

I woke up this morning feeling like that hypocrite. I was supposed to write a blog on a topic that I find so extremely important (I promise, that’s next on the list), I talked my friend through a binge/purge last night and expressed the importance on why she didn’t need to take that road, but here I am. As defiant as ever, spiteful towards only myself.

I did exactly what I tell everyone else to do and I reached out. I sent an SOS to my lifeline and within minutes I was on the phone letting it all flow. I told her how I couldn’t believe that I would even go down this route again especially since I make it my life’s efforts to throw everyone I know the rope to help pull themselves back to safety. She reminded me that it’s okay to have a setback. Its okay to use my struggle to help other people and it’s okay to take the rest of my life to work on it.

It’s easier for me now to recognize that my actions are only hurting and not helping. I have a faster turn around than I used to. What was then weeks before I would let go of the death grip I had on food restriction, is now days. I know what I need to do to bounce back, but I can honestly say it can’t be forced. It will be on my terms, when I am ready. The fork to the mouth is not the hardest part though. The hardest part is the work that absolutely must be done before I can move onwards and upwards. It is a little bit of talking it out, a little bit of working out a plan, and a whole lot of soul searching.  

People ask me all the time why I do what I do. The easiest answer is “because food is love,” but there is so much more to it than that. Food tells us a story rich in history and for me, it is reminiscent of time when life was simple. Food can be a way we travel back to memories of our childhood, special events and sometimes all it takes is one bite to loosen up something within us that enchants our soul.

Growing up a “first gen” kid comes with stories you couldn’t make up if you tried. Funny moments of conversations getting lost in translation, watching the gentle juggle of families trying to balance “old world” traditions with “new world” style. Harnessing the culture that was left behind and building a life in the land of opportunity.

I never grew up dunking Oreos in my milk. I don’t even think I knew what an Oreo was until I saw the infamous “twist, lick, and dunk,” commercial on TV. My grandparents would take an out of the way ride to the Italian imports store to buy things like Nutella, Aranciata, and Stella Doro cookies, which at the time could not be found in a regular grocery store.

 The “S” cookies were always my favorite. I loved going on a scavenger hunt through the cabinets to find these simple, yet delicious confections and dunk them, knuckles deep into a glass of cold milk, and once I got older, into a hot espresso after Sunday dinner.

Opening the oven today and smelling those beautiful cookies reminded me of my grandmother. Her “perfume” consisted of scents of lemon zest, vanilla, almond, and anise. These cookies are my memories. They are my laughter, my tears, my skinned knees, and my elementary school plays. They are my warm hugs, by back seat road trips, and my favorite childhood songs. They are my home.

So why do I do what I do? Because how magical is it that a little sugar, some flour, eggs, and a swirl of a wooden spoon could be such a reminder of so much love.

"S" Cookie Recipe

For two dozen...

4 Eggs plus 1 for wash

1 1/2 Cups Sugar

Zest of 1-2 Lemons (to taste)

1 Teaspoon Vanilla

3/4 Cups Olive Oil

4 Cups Flour

2 Teaspoons Baking Powder

Preheat oven to 375.

Mix flour and baking powder and leave to the side.

In a separate bowl whisk together eggs, sugar, lemon zest, vanilla, and oil until well combined. Slowly fold in flour and baking powder, I do this in three stages. Your dough will be smooth and have a stiff texture but may still stick to your hands. (My personal tip, add a little oil to your hands for rolling and shaping).

Line your cookie sheet with foil. Start with a small handful of dough and roll into snake shape and form and "S" before placing onto the foil. Leave about an inch between each cookie as they will expand as they bake. 

Bake 18-20 minutes or until golden brown. 

If you want to ice them, use that lemon that you zested and squeeze about 2 tablespoons of juice and combine with 1/2 Cup of confectioners sugar and whisk until smooth. Dunk cookies or brush on the icing. Don't be afraid to make them pretty with sprinkles or colored sugar. 

I’ve been asked recently to write a blog post about the cost of buying healthy, whole foods versus processed or fast foods and I was shocked by the research that I found that it’s actually not that expensive on a day to day basis, but like anything else it will add up.

On a daily basis, a 2,000 calorie diet, broken down to price per calorie actually only averages $1.50 a day but for a family of four, that results in an increase of about $2,000 per year. That seems like a lot, I know, but look at the things we spend $1.50 on every day without hesitation- most drive-thru cups of coffee are at least $2.00 per cup.

I personally find that the biggest bang to my wallet is when I have to “double cook.”

Are my children going to eat my roasted vegetable quinoa salad, or stuffed eggplant? Probably not. Actually, that’s definitely a hard no. In a dream world maybe, and yes there are probably meals that will meet in the middle and we can all enjoy, but those are few and far between.

What seems to help out a lot is figuring out the best places to shop. The big-name grocery stores could carry hefty price tags but they also run more sales than stores like Super Walmart or Target. Smaller stores that require a little elbow grease like Aldi keep shopping prices low with their own store brand named items. They keep their employee costs down by having their shoppers bag their own groceries and ensure the customer return of their carts since you used a quarter to use one in the first place.

Also, my biggest tip would be to buy in season. You’re not going to buy a watermelon, in Connecticut, in October… well you can, I did, and it cost me $9.00 versus in July when they were $5.99. Also, my July watermelon was red and sweet, and my October watermelon was barely pink and resembled the taste of a cucumber. Why? Because it wasn’t in season.  Follow what’s fresh, look for corn, zucchini, plums and berries during the warmer months- apples, root vegetables, and winter squashes going into the colder months. Again, this is subjective to where you live.

Food prepping and meal sharing is always a good idea as well and can be a ton of fun.  Gather a small group of your friends, everyone pick a dish to cook for the week. Pack up enough for each of them to get one serving per family member and swap them! It’s like those chain letters from back in the 90s but with meals. Four friends means you and your family get five meals for the week since you’re included with your own meal.

I personally spend more money on groceries than I do on anything else and sometimes I just get annoyed, but there are ways to make it easier. It is going to take work, time, and a little creativity, but where there’s a will there’s way!

When your body gets to your mind, self-love is tough to find.

We all have days that are harder than others. We stare in the mirror picking apart our bodies, change our clothes multiple times before leaving the house, think the most dreadful thoughts about ourselves that we wouldn’t dare speak out loud to our worst enemy. Remember how we’ve discussed that we are more than a number on a scale, we are also more than the “physical imperfections” we see in the mirror, although when we take in all of the things that make us amazing, those “physical imperfections” aren’t really imperfect at all.

Have you ever avoided things like social events, family outings, or even intimacy with your partner? I have. It all comes at a time when I can’t seem to find the love and appreciation for myself that I deserve, and that other people see in me. When I really take a big step back and evaluate my “why” the answer is always the same.

I get lost and I just don’t feel important. I’m willing to bet that when most of us push ourselves to the side, it’s for the same reason.

I get lost in the shuffle of a new school year or too many work projects or even just the mundane routine of everyday life. I am a natural born care giver and that comes with its own set of self-care rules. I tend to live by “well, if everyone else is taken care of and everyone else is happy, I am too,” but in all reality, that is just not always enough.

I’ve learned along the way that it is okay to ask for help and that help comes in many different forms.

Maybe the housework is overwhelming. It’s okay to ask your kids to fold some towels or help with dinner. Maybe you’re foregoing a little bit of fresh air or some quiet time because you’re always rushing home to meet your child off the bus or to sit behind a thousand and one cars in the pick-up line. Ask another mom friend to take a day when she gets the kids and another day when you get them. Help each other out, it takes a village, remember? Maybe what you need is a special night out with your partner or friends. A night to dress in any way that makes you feel like a beautiful human and not a yoga pant wearing coffee hound and enjoy a nice meal and some conversation that doesn’t sound like the background noise of the Disney channel.

This is my “why” and it may not be yours but most importantly, figure out what that is and then start to plan to fix it.

First make a list of things about yourself that you love. I know, I know, it sounds crazy but trust me, you’ll shock yourself. Someone asked me to do this about six months ago when I was in a pretty low spot and I’m pretty sure that not only did I have a few choice words for them on the phone, I flat out refused. I remember I went and laid on my bed, grumbled about how there would only be like, two things I could think of, and fell asleep. When I woke up, I decided to give it a shot. A real shot. I was so skeptical that I would think of anything of value that I wouldn’t even give this list its own piece of paper- I used the back of my electric bill envelope.

Well about forty-five minutes later, I was flipping that envelope in every direction trying to find more room. I thought of about sixty things I loved about me from finding joy in things like Christmas lights to holding tight to traditions that have been passed to me from my grandparents. Most importantly it helped me to remember that taking care of myself is important because I am important.

So, if you feel lost, it’s okay to take a day to aimlessly wander around, but after that, dig deep and figure out what it is that you need. Reach out to a friend, make that list, find your importance and make a plan to bring self-love back to your life.

Nothing feels more like Fall than walking around the apple orchard, picking baskets of all different varieties of apples and coming home to make a hot and steaming apple dessert.

Although I would never refuse any slice of apple pie to come my way, I make a horrible apple pie. It looks beautiful, like the cover of Martha Stewart’s Living magazine, but cut it open and I have hard crunchy apple soup. It’s just never been my thing.

Apple crisp though, now that’s a different story. Everyone around my table doesn’t even wait for it to cool. They scoop spoonfulls of piping hot apple crisp into their mouths, but I like to cool mine off with a scoop of really creamy vanilla ice cream.

I start out by measuring my servings by using one apple per person so in this case, five people, five apples, which should leave you a little for breakfast the next day unless you’re me and then you’ll have it for a late night snack.

                                    Walnut Oat Apple Crisp

                                    For the Apples:

                                5 Gala Apples, skinned and cut into cubes

                                4 Tablespoons of butter

                                5 Heaping Tablespoons of brown sugar, light or dark

                                1 Tablespoon of Cinnamon

                                Mix all together and put into a casserole dish

                                For the Walnut Oat Crumb:

                                2 Cups of old fashioned oats

                                1 Cup of brown sugar, light or dark

                                1 Cup of chopped walnuts

                                1 Tablespoon of cinnamon

                                1 Tablespoon of flour

                                1 Stick of cold butter, cubed

Use a pastry cutter to cut the butter into the mixture, or a fork if you don’t have one, but the easiest way is to pulse in a food processor.

Spread evenly over the apples and bake for 30 minutes on 350 degrees. Top with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, or just eat it right from the casserole dish with the serving spoon… no judgment here!

Enjoy!

If it does not serve you let it go, even if it’s hard.

How many of us have turned to self-abusive tendencies to deal with stress? Maybe we turn to things like over/under eating or exercising, loss of sleep, or another bad habit to keep our mind off the things that are hurting us, or to soothe the pain of the things we choose to repress.

Our emotional self begins to suffer which affects our physical self. We start to suffer from exhaustion, our skin breaks out, we gain/lose weight, we get jittery or irritable. We feel like we are losing control which makes us try to micromanage other aspects of our life.

Although it’s hard, the best thing we can do is build our best self by evaluating what separates the healthy from the unhealthy in our lives, and how we choose to respond.

Personally speaking, whenever I have dealt with situations that I felt were out of my control I turned to abusing my body with food restriction, purging, or over exercising.

I would spend days at a time, which turned to weeks, not eating. Punishing myself for a situation I didn’t want to deal with. It was easier to deal with the pain of an empty stomach or to kneel in front of the toilet and vomit up everything I ate than to deal with what was really hurting me. When I had a stressful situation my body shut down, I lost my feeling of hunger and I could stay awake for days at a time because that’s what I trained my body to do.

When we are in toxic friendships/relationships/situations, we will never be able to give ourselves what we need the most which is respect, admiration, and love.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I started to learn healthy coping skills and how to take back my life. Unfortunately, some of the damage I’ve done has had lingering effects. I have hurt up my metabolism and suffer from Body Dysmorphic Disorder, however, I work on both of those to the best of my ability.

The best thing I could have done was to link up to a support system. I met other people like me and we leaned on one another to get us through the hard times. Using my past situation to help others healed me the most. I have never been in a better place than I am now.

I have recently been asked to form a support group of women in my town who face the same sorts of struggles every day. I feel honored every time someone reaches out and asks for help because taking that first step is scary.

I’ve worked a lot on body acceptance and positive body image. Of course, we all have our moody moments, but that’s life and we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t.

What I’ve learned is that surrounding myself with the most genuine of people and doing the things that bring me the most joy has been the key. I cannot contain the happiness and then the rest of the self-care chips fall into place.

So, get out there today, take a look at life, take the things that aren’t serving you and “chuck it in the fuck-it bucket,” because in the end you goal is to build a happier and healthier you.

You have to transform today… it’s Tuesday, duh!

If you want to see someone, tell them. If you miss them, tell them. If they make you smile, tell them.

I always thought that the only way I could feel accomplished in anything I do is if I go at it alone. If I succeed with no one’s help or support, it would make me stronger.

Well, I was way wrong. You know what it made me? Lonely.

The importance of surrounding yourself with a strong Vibe Tribe is so important. We learn that none of our life issues are actually as scary as they seem when we have someone to hold our hand through the storm, and when we emerge, the feeling of strength is unparalleled. 

Call or text someone you care about today. Share a funny story, an old memory, or make a plan for coffee. 

Send a smile out to the world today, we need more of those.

Happy Monday!

There is so much more to life than being on a diet.

Have you ever gone to a picnic during the summer while on a “diet” and spent more time calculating numbers, scoping out the food options, and building complete anxiety over the fact that everything has mayonnaise and you can’t eat fucking mayonnaise because it’s too high in calories???

I have. I have done this at many events. I have foregone the cake or the cookie and not in a way that made me feel triumphant in my defeat of “bad choices,” but in a way that I felt like I was denying myself something I would really enjoy.

I have left events, been moody or antisocial, because my food anxiety (or if I gave in to the chocolate trifle layered with chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, whipped cream and crushed candy bars)  my food guilt has been too much to handle.

Before I learned that my whole body works best by being mindful and balanced, I tortured myself with food guilt.

I have spent so many nights either unable to sleep or waking up in the middle of the night over food guilt. Instead of watching a movie or reading a book I would lay in bed and try to take account of every single bite of food I put in my mouth. I would bite lip, cry, pray, and promise myself that I would do better the next day. Those nights were the ones that weren’t so bad. The worst ones where the nights when I would forget to count something in. A donut, a cupcake, a grilled cheese, something would wake me up from a deep sleep and shock me into reality that maybe my “good day” wasn’t really that good at all.

It took me a long time to learn balance and some days I still truly have none. I did this through connecting with others who have the same thoughts and feelings that I do about weight, body, and food and talking this out. We formed a ring of support; we have come up with plans and ideas. We have conference called one another in moments of food despair. Most importantly, we have softened each other’s hearts towards the feelings we have for ourselves.

Learning that there was life beyond the diet was incredible for me. Learning to listen to my body was a very slow process, but as I kept going it was easier than I thought. On days I’m tired, I go for a walk, on days I feel strong I go do a full body sweaty workout, when I’m hungry I eat, when I’m not then I don’t. Sometimes I’m satisfied with a half of a cookie, sometimes it takes three.

Go to the picnic, the party, or most importantly that first date you know you’re afraid to go on because you’re afraid to order dinner in front of him/her (yep, done that too… wonder what ever happened to those guys haha) because this is life, not a prison sentence we feel we need to serve to our bodies.

Laugh, smile, enjoy the moment and the company around you and eat the fucking cupcake.

Happy Motivational Monday!

Skinny and unhealthy

Sexy and strong

I always thought that I were just skinny, everything else in my life would be perfect.

I would make more money, have an A-list relationship, everyone would like me, I would look a magazine cover and be the happiest girl in the world.

Well let me tell you how that worked out.

The picture you see on the top was the skinniest I’d ever been. I couldn’t believe that I could walk around finally and feel like a normal person in the world (stupid, right?). I was rocking a size small, doing marathon sized workouts every day and eating at most six hundred calories a day. I was starving. I was on the verge of tears (but it’s okay because it was just because I was tired), I couldn’t sleep because I was so insanely hungry, I lived and died by the scale number – sometimes weighing in multiple times a day, only eating if I felt like the daily loss was big enough.

Wow, if that doesn’t look like happiness to you, I don’t know what does?

I hated my life. I liked my body, but I hated my life, and needless to say, that was evident in my change of personality.

I can also say that same personality change was noticeable when I packed the weight back on and found myself unhealthy on the other side of things.

How did I find balance?

Well, first things first, my beautiful friend and life coach Carey tried for years to get me to ditch the scale. My response was always, “well how will I know what I am?”

My value was in my number. My number! My number was the only thing I used to define me!

Your number and my number mean nothing. It is your relationship to gravity.

It took me about four years to finally do it, but I ditched the scale and hold my value to a remarkable standard of character, kindness, and happiness.

I also started listening to my body. I started to incorporate foods I actually wanted and enjoyed them. I eat cake, pizza, and tacos, as much as I eat quinoa, spinach and fish. I don’t schedule it out, I listen to what my body tells me in the moment. I know that if I binge there will be an emotional result in my future so I eat until I’ve satisfied my cravings and move on.

It’s okay to talk about our food, relationships, or just general life issues openly because once we do that, the right support system will gravitate your way. You will realize that you’re not alone in any of these issues because most of us struggle in silence.

As some of you know, I attend a program that makes me account for my number ever week.

I ask not to know it. I don’t look at my statistical information. I use my peers as my support when I feel like I’d rather not eat that day or purge a binge that never actually happened.

I now use my knowledge of what it feels like to have lived a life of food disorders to help others. I love it. I now realize that all those life lessons were thrown my way with a purpose.

My focused has shifted from skinny to sexy and sexy is not a number for me.

Sexy is healthy, strong, confident, kind, grateful and so much more.

Don’t forget, if you don’t like kale, don’t eat it, and if you want the slice of chocolate cake eat it somewhere where you can savor every last bite (not over the kitchen sink).

Happy Transformation Tuesday!