I used to eat when I was happy, when I was sad, when I was watching TV, when I had a craving, when someone else had food, when I had nothing better to do and whenever I wanted, just because I could.
When I decided at the beginning of the year that 2012 was going to bring a new Shelby into the picture, I had to make a lot of changes. I had to teach this old dog new tricks.
It sounds simple. Output needs to be greater than intake. I need to be active. I need to move around. I need to break a sweat. I need to kick my butt into shape. No one else can do that for me. I need to realize that I need to be healthy. I do not want to have the health problems that my family experiences due to weight issues.
I need to stop using food as a crutch. Food is not my friend. It should not give me the warm fuzzies. Food is fuel. Nothing more. Nothing less. Food is there to help me survive.
I can run. I can jog. I can walk. That's the easy part. Giving up one of my greatest loves is difficult. Food has always been there for me. It's hard to say goodbye.
I don't eat past 7:30pm. That's when the cravings used to hit. But I needed to be strong. At the 4 week mark, I don't rush home for Starbursts or cookies. I don't need to reward myself at the end of the night with four scoops of ice cream covered in chocolate syrup.
My reward is weight loss. My reward is my health. My reward is my future.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Falling Out of Love
Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way?
I used to think yes and that I did. But now I'm not so sure if that was the case. What are the requirements for falling in love? Should the other person feel the same way about you before you can actually give all of yourself to them?
I thought I was in love. I thought I was in love with someone who obviously didn't feel the same way. Someone who said he had been so jaded by relationships in the past. Someone who only said he cared about me when I asked him specifically if he did. I thought if I showed him that I loved him enough, that he would realize it would be safe for him to feel the same for me. That it would be safe for him to fall. That I would be there to catch him.
That never happened. I moved to be closer to him, yet he accused me of pushing him away. I asked him over for dinner. He asked if he could bend me over on his way home. I wanted so badly for him to be 'The One'. He was my first for so many things. I think I held on to the hope of being with him because he was the first man to tell me I was beautiful. And he made me believe it. He was patient with me and never pressured me into anything.
Everyone would tell me to just let him go, that I deserved better, that I deserved someone amazing. When you want something or someone so badly, you ignore the world around you. 'They don't know him like I know him,' I would often think.
He didn't treat me well most of the time, when we were apart. There were long distance arguments. It was during those fights he would yell and get angry, become physically ill from getting so worked up. But during those arguments, I would find out that I meant something since I was causing that reaction in him. Twisted, maybe, but I preferred those fights to the silence he sometimes gave me. When we were together, oh when we were together, I never felt safer. I felt like we were the only two people who existed. In those moments, I found myself falling.
But he would never commit to me. He would give lame excuses or just ignore what I was asking for. I knew he was dating other women and sleeping around.
When I decided last year to let him go, I started seeing someone else. Someone great. Someone I had so much in common with. This is when My First came back into the picture, trying to get a reaction out of me. I ignored him at first, then finally replied to an angry text. So he yelled and sarcastically wished me luck with "the new boy". I thanked him and told him I wouldn't regret anything that ever happened between us. He got mad, as per his usual. So I flat out said that we both knew he didn't want to be with me and I asked why he was getting so upset. He gave his standard, "Oh ok whatever you say."
Of course, me being as naive as I am, I take that to mean that he's afraid of losing me and wants another chance. I apologized to New Guy and told him that I couldn't continue on with him while I was still in love with My First.
As weird as it sounds, it felt good to be back to my version of normal. I no longer had the butterflies from New Guy, and I had My First ignoring me. My normal. I realized I no longer had the emotions to deal with anything other than my normal.
When 2012 finally came around, I was ready to say goodbye for good. It was time for me to move on. On January 2nd, I logged onto my facebook and deleted My First. I knew there was no point in contacting him to say goodbye. That would just lead to an argument with him bringing me to tears so he could feel like he's the one who made the break.
It's been almost three weeks. I haven't heard from him. I'm not surprised. I doubt he has even noticed. And that hurts. It reiterates how little I actually mattered to him. How little a part of his life I really was. I don't know if I'd actually answer my phone if he calls. Part of me wants him to. Part of me wants to know I meant something, anything to him.
I was in lust with him. He was well built and attractive, intelligent, talented and funny. But he treated me poorly. I used to think it was from the walls he built up throughout his life from so many people he loved leaving him. If that was the case, he shouldn't have initiated anything with me in the first place.
I've come to the conclusion that I was in love with the idea of finally being in love. I thank him for everything that happened, because now I know what not to settle for. They say it's difficult to say goodbye to your first, and boy oh boy is that true. It was a three year plus lesson that I finally learned. It took a long time, and so many people are proud of me for finally closing that chapter. I'm proud of me, too.
I have a feeling this is going to be my year.
I used to think yes and that I did. But now I'm not so sure if that was the case. What are the requirements for falling in love? Should the other person feel the same way about you before you can actually give all of yourself to them?
I thought I was in love. I thought I was in love with someone who obviously didn't feel the same way. Someone who said he had been so jaded by relationships in the past. Someone who only said he cared about me when I asked him specifically if he did. I thought if I showed him that I loved him enough, that he would realize it would be safe for him to feel the same for me. That it would be safe for him to fall. That I would be there to catch him.
That never happened. I moved to be closer to him, yet he accused me of pushing him away. I asked him over for dinner. He asked if he could bend me over on his way home. I wanted so badly for him to be 'The One'. He was my first for so many things. I think I held on to the hope of being with him because he was the first man to tell me I was beautiful. And he made me believe it. He was patient with me and never pressured me into anything.
Everyone would tell me to just let him go, that I deserved better, that I deserved someone amazing. When you want something or someone so badly, you ignore the world around you. 'They don't know him like I know him,' I would often think.
He didn't treat me well most of the time, when we were apart. There were long distance arguments. It was during those fights he would yell and get angry, become physically ill from getting so worked up. But during those arguments, I would find out that I meant something since I was causing that reaction in him. Twisted, maybe, but I preferred those fights to the silence he sometimes gave me. When we were together, oh when we were together, I never felt safer. I felt like we were the only two people who existed. In those moments, I found myself falling.
But he would never commit to me. He would give lame excuses or just ignore what I was asking for. I knew he was dating other women and sleeping around.
When I decided last year to let him go, I started seeing someone else. Someone great. Someone I had so much in common with. This is when My First came back into the picture, trying to get a reaction out of me. I ignored him at first, then finally replied to an angry text. So he yelled and sarcastically wished me luck with "the new boy". I thanked him and told him I wouldn't regret anything that ever happened between us. He got mad, as per his usual. So I flat out said that we both knew he didn't want to be with me and I asked why he was getting so upset. He gave his standard, "Oh ok whatever you say."
Of course, me being as naive as I am, I take that to mean that he's afraid of losing me and wants another chance. I apologized to New Guy and told him that I couldn't continue on with him while I was still in love with My First.
As weird as it sounds, it felt good to be back to my version of normal. I no longer had the butterflies from New Guy, and I had My First ignoring me. My normal. I realized I no longer had the emotions to deal with anything other than my normal.
When 2012 finally came around, I was ready to say goodbye for good. It was time for me to move on. On January 2nd, I logged onto my facebook and deleted My First. I knew there was no point in contacting him to say goodbye. That would just lead to an argument with him bringing me to tears so he could feel like he's the one who made the break.
It's been almost three weeks. I haven't heard from him. I'm not surprised. I doubt he has even noticed. And that hurts. It reiterates how little I actually mattered to him. How little a part of his life I really was. I don't know if I'd actually answer my phone if he calls. Part of me wants him to. Part of me wants to know I meant something, anything to him.
I was in lust with him. He was well built and attractive, intelligent, talented and funny. But he treated me poorly. I used to think it was from the walls he built up throughout his life from so many people he loved leaving him. If that was the case, he shouldn't have initiated anything with me in the first place.
I've come to the conclusion that I was in love with the idea of finally being in love. I thank him for everything that happened, because now I know what not to settle for. They say it's difficult to say goodbye to your first, and boy oh boy is that true. It was a three year plus lesson that I finally learned. It took a long time, and so many people are proud of me for finally closing that chapter. I'm proud of me, too.
I have a feeling this is going to be my year.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Forever and For Always
Today would have been my grandma's 80th birthday. All I can think of is how proud of her grandchildren she would be if she were here. It reminds me of how she would call and then stop by on each of our birthdays. How we'd be given a card that contained her perfect little cursive handwriting inside.
Left column, top to bottom: Corey, Shelby, Nick
Right column, top to bottom: Cameron, Brandi, Will
We have all changed quite a bit. When she left us, we were 19, 18, 17, 14, 9 and 9. Now, we're 31, 30, 29, 27, 21, 21 and 3, respectively. Grandma never had the pleasure of meeting my three year old cousin.
Top row: Will, Nick, Cameron, Shelby
Bottom row: Corey, Brandi, Gunnar
We all miss her so much. It's interesting how fast time seems to fly by, but some things never change.
I was 17 when she passed away and suddenly I am 29 years old. Since she has been gone, I've graduated high school, started driving, had a whole bunch of firsts and moved 800 miles from home. I know she's in Heaven, smiling down on me. I know in her adorable Norwegian accent, she would say something to the effect of, 'You go, girl!' Some days that softens the blow. Most days I'm too selfish to see the good in that, though. Some days it just hurts. Some days I just want to hear her voice. Some days I want it to be her chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Some days I wear her Harvest Wine lipstick and it makes me feel close to her.
This day, though, this day is a good day. I know she loved me like crazy. And that will always make me smile.
Happy 80th birthday, Grandma. I love you. Forever and for always.
Foolish Wishes
When I was younger, I had these huge wishes that I wanted to fulfill one day. Looking back on those days, I can only laugh and shake my head.
Wish # 1 : I wanted to be the girl with glasses, braces and freckles. I had the freckles. I got the glasses in 8th grade. I got the braces after high school.
What I think now : Why on earth would I want all three things at once? Not a clue. I have learned to embrace my freckles. They are angel kisses, after all. I switched to contact lenses in 2003. Best. Move. Ever. I still like wearing glasses before bedtime and occasionally as a fashion statement, but contacts are awesome. The braces were crucial. I used to be so embarrassed smiling for pictures. I would hide, if possible. Now, it’s nearly impossible to wipe the smile off my face.
Wish # 2 : I wanted to be the proud owner of a turquoise Geo Storm with a vanity license plate that read “SHELBYS” and a license plate frame around it, so the entire statement would read “This is SHELBYS baby. Hands off!”
What I think now : HAHAHAHAHA pretty much sums it up.
Wish # 3 : My future childrens’ names were going to be Denim and Lace.
What I think now : Good thing I wasn’t a tween mom. My kids would have every reason to sue for emancipation. Or they would be destined to become strippers.
It’s funny how some so-called brilliant ideas change over time. Goes to show that kids know nothing. I will have no problem letting my future children know that truth. Then I will tell them to be grateful that I didn’t name them while walking through a fabric store.
Wish # 1 : I wanted to be the girl with glasses, braces and freckles. I had the freckles. I got the glasses in 8th grade. I got the braces after high school.
What I think now : Why on earth would I want all three things at once? Not a clue. I have learned to embrace my freckles. They are angel kisses, after all. I switched to contact lenses in 2003. Best. Move. Ever. I still like wearing glasses before bedtime and occasionally as a fashion statement, but contacts are awesome. The braces were crucial. I used to be so embarrassed smiling for pictures. I would hide, if possible. Now, it’s nearly impossible to wipe the smile off my face.
Wish # 2 : I wanted to be the proud owner of a turquoise Geo Storm with a vanity license plate that read “SHELBYS” and a license plate frame around it, so the entire statement would read “This is SHELBYS baby. Hands off!”
What I think now : HAHAHAHAHA pretty much sums it up.
Wish # 3 : My future childrens’ names were going to be Denim and Lace.
What I think now : Good thing I wasn’t a tween mom. My kids would have every reason to sue for emancipation. Or they would be destined to become strippers.
It’s funny how some so-called brilliant ideas change over time. Goes to show that kids know nothing. I will have no problem letting my future children know that truth. Then I will tell them to be grateful that I didn’t name them while walking through a fabric store.
To Shed Some Light…
I have this posted on my personal facebook page and decided to share it with you, my audience here on BlogSpot.
There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.
On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.
We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.
Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.
Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.
When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.
I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.
I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.
None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.
The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.
So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.
My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.
There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.
On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.
We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.
Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.
Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.
When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.
I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.
I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.
None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.
The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.
So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.
My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.
A Sneak Peek Into My Head
Well, hello there! Thanks for checking out my new blog. It has been mentioned to me recently that I should become a professional blogger or comedienne. I’m not so sure about the comedienne part because I’m utterly terrified of public speaking. The blogger part works for me because I tend to have a lot to say about anything and everything.
So I’m Shelby. I’m 29 and I currently live in Phoenix, AZ. I grew up as sort of a tomboy, so I love sports and crude jokes. I am a foul mouthed woman who tends to catch people off guard with my sharp tongue and quick wit (so I’ve been told). However, don’t let that fool you. I’m a woman who wants to love with her whole heart and find a man to experience some of that ‘Happily Ever After’ nonsense with. I love feeling feminine in makeup and heels, but I adore my jeans and Brian Wilson San Francisco Giants jersey just as much.
Here, I will discuss whatever I’m thinking about, whatever I’m feeling. There’s no point in holding back. To be honest with myself, I feel that I should be honest with you. One day, you may think I’m the sappiest girl in the world. The next, you may encounter a raging bitch. But this is me.
This is where you will learn about The Good, The Bad and The Shelby.
So I’m Shelby. I’m 29 and I currently live in Phoenix, AZ. I grew up as sort of a tomboy, so I love sports and crude jokes. I am a foul mouthed woman who tends to catch people off guard with my sharp tongue and quick wit (so I’ve been told). However, don’t let that fool you. I’m a woman who wants to love with her whole heart and find a man to experience some of that ‘Happily Ever After’ nonsense with. I love feeling feminine in makeup and heels, but I adore my jeans and Brian Wilson San Francisco Giants jersey just as much.
Here, I will discuss whatever I’m thinking about, whatever I’m feeling. There’s no point in holding back. To be honest with myself, I feel that I should be honest with you. One day, you may think I’m the sappiest girl in the world. The next, you may encounter a raging bitch. But this is me.
This is where you will learn about The Good, The Bad and The Shelby.
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