Category Archives: Health

Health

A Healthier Alternative to the New Year’s Resolution

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Happy New Year, everyone. Please allow me to state my unpopular opinion: I consider New Year’s resolutions to be the devil. Yes, I realize that resolving to accomplish certain goals every January can really help people have a positive outlook on their futures and motivate themselves, but: 1) People very rarely have the wherewithal to stick with them (which is the most obvious drawback) and 2) New Year’s resolutions cause you to reflect upon the past year and think of all the shit you did not accomplish. As in, “Oh God, there goes another year and I didn’t change careers / put myself out there in the dating world / lose ten pounds…” You fill in the blank. Woe is you. You messed up this year, huh? But that’s okay, because next year you will do all those things! Right? Right! Except there’s a chance you might not. Because point #1.

But what if, instead of making New Year’s resolutions, we did Past Year’s reflections? I think this method is a healthier, glass-half-full approach to prepare for the next 365 days. Sure, there are some things you wish you could have done this past year, things you really hope you’ll do next year. But why not catalog all the really cool, life-changing things that you did do? It can feel like time is speeding up in all sorts of odd ways as we age, and it’s easy to lose track of the milestones as the year flies by. Reflecting upon the past twelve months reminds me how long a year actually is, and I wind up realizing that I have made progress as a human being.

Ready? Awesome, I’ll start, and I’ll start by being perfectly honest. This past year wasn’t one of my favorites. There were a lot of personal hurdles to confront family-wise, work-wise, self-wise, money-wise, pet-ownership-wise… pretty much all of the wises. But every time an obstacle cropped up, the way I ultimately chose to deal with it was with the pat on the back I gifted myself. I might not have compiled all the Facebook-friendly accolades that usually qualify as “milestones.” This year, mine were quieter and more personal but no less valuable.

Sure, there were a few big moments: I moved in with a significant other. We adopted a rescue dog and showered her with love. I left my Hollywood assistant job and launched my freelancing career, ignoring how much the prospect terrified me. I finished writing my first book. Then I rewrote it. And rewrote it again. (I’m still rewriting it again.) So, yeah, these are big, important things! But the moments in between these big, important things, when life was definitely not throwing me a Get-it-Girl parade, are the moments in which I feel I grew the most. And they’re the moments I think I’m proudest of.

I learned how to enrich my relationship with my family from afar when someone close to me confronted a health crisis. There was a lot of flying back and forth to New York for a few months, and I had to really weigh the pros and cons of my life on the opposite coast. That was scary. So was the realization that the healthy status-quo of your parents is not permanent by any means: it’s something we all know on a very basic level, but it’s different when you really start to know it. I’m not proud of how much I yo-yoed emotionally during that time. But I’m proud of and happy with my decision to stay on the West Coast. By even suggesting that I’d move back East, I was giving my family the impression that the situation we were in might be worse than it actually was. They wanted me to keep on keeping on so that we could establish a new normal. So I did. And they did, too. That was a huge thing to have learned. Life is full of establishing “New Normals” when something doesn’t go as planned.

Another “New Normal” (and yes, I’m sensing a pattern here) that I had to establish was in regard to my dog Sydney—the peanut butter to my jelly, the Hobbes to my Calvin. Sydney underwent major surgery on both her eyes and went completely blind due to glaucoma. I had to teach her how to “see” her world in a new way, and boy… it was tough. For weeks, I couldn’t even get her to walk to the front gate of our apartment complex. But every day I set a goal for the two of us to accomplish, however small, and every day, she achieved that goal with my help. Eventually, “Today, we’ll take five steps to the water bowl” turned into “Today, we’ll run up the stairs for a treat.” And I also finally paid off that enormous vet bill. We definitely have a new normal in our household, but I don’t think I’ve ever learned so much about patience as it relates to adaptability in all living things.

“Patience and Adaptability” could totally be the theme song for my recent career move as well. After several years of working different assistant jobs throughout the entertainment industry, I decided to strike out on my own and start freelancing as a writer. I prepared for it. I gave myself a financial cushion. I pulled together a portfolio that I was proud of. I forced myself to take on projects that I didn’t really think were up my alley, just to see if I could broaden my range. Yes, I was super nervous and had daily panic attacks for a month or so. And yeah, money is tight when you do this. It’s unpredictable. But like I said, patience, adaptability, and establishing a new normal have been my jam for 2013. And I’m happier. I might not be exactly where I want to be career-wise at the moment, but I’ll be damned if I’m not pleased as punch with my decision to go for it.

And what’s that they say about long-term goals? That they’re long-term, right? Patience and discipline pays off, little by little. Before you know it, a year has gone by, and that “little-by-little” has started to look like pretty awesome progress. I think pursuing long-term career goals is a lot like climbing a tree (which 8-year-old Liz was definitely the authority on). You don’t realize how high you’ve climbed ‘till you look down, and by then, it’s usually a lot easier to keep climbing than to try to make your way back to the ground. The only difference is that once you reach the top of your career-goals tree, you won’t be yelling for your dad to come out with the ladder and help you get back down before it gets dark out.

To those of you who are suffocating yourselves with New Year’s resolutions in light of all the things you think you didn’t accomplish in 2013—cut yourself some slack. Reflect upon this past year and take stock of how you changed personally. I feel great after writing this, much better than I would have in February 2014 after realizing that I hadn’t even scratched the surface of whatever my New Year’s resolution was. Even if you had a tough year and you don’t think your milestones actually look like milestones… look closer. Not all progress is heralded by 100 “likes” and a tornado of congratulatory texts.

Move ahead with each passing year, but don’t beat yourself up over goals you were unable to accomplish when life got in the way. If you did your best with the circumstances you were dealt this past year and you know it, then guess what? You just won New Year’s.

Health, Relationships

Let’s Go Get The Shit Kicked Out Of Us By Vulnerability

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After Dr. Brené Brown gave her first TED Talk, about the power of vulnerability, she woke up with a “vulnerability hangover.” She hid in her house for three days, ashamed of confessing that she’d had a “breakdown” to the over 500 attendees. Knowing her video was headed for the Internet, she told a friend she anticipated another couple hundred people seeing her admission but, “If 500 turns into 1000 or 2000, my life is over.” Her talk has since been watched over 12 million times.

[ted id=1042]

When I think about vulnerability, I imagine something raw and tender. The kind of thing I might boast about embracing but, more often, actually find myself cowering from. When I watch a TED Talk like Brené’s, or read some quotes on Tumblr, I think, “YES! That sounds amazing! I am going to start being vulnerable right now! I am going to let go of all my insecurities immediately, accept my imperfections, be kind to myself, really let go of who I’ve thought I should be for all these years, and embrace the imperfect reality of who I am!” Boom. Done. I am vulnerable. And yet, just saying the words “imperfect reality of who I am” sets off a wave of discomfort. Because that’s the reality of vulnerability: it can be really uncomfortable.

[box] “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” ― C.S. Lewis [/box]

For most of my life, just like Brené, I thought I could “outsmart” vulnerability—that if I just locked it up in a box, made all the right choices, and checked off all the boxes on my list of impossible expectations, I could be perfect. And, obviously, perfection was, well, perfect and when you’re perfect, there’s no need for vulnerability. If only that was true. But I did not see vulnerability as a strength back then, I saw it as a weakness. A big, undefined, pain causing weakness. And this unknown thing was so scary to my brain that the idea of even exploring it was enough to get me to bury anything tagged “could be painful” so deeply, that once I started searching, it took me almost a year before I was even looking in the right place.

The fear that vulnerability induces in me is the kind of terror that dictates my actions without me even realizing it. So, first, I had to not only recognize, but also accept, that so many of my actions were defenses. As if that wasn’t vulnerable enough, then I had this exposed raw, tender, place that I was supposed to stay with and sit with! Patience in my life before: not fun. Patience while sitting with discomfort caused by vulnerability: excruciating.  In her TED Talk, when Brené talks about the “whole-hearted”—the ones who believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful, that vulnerability is not comfortable or excruciating, just necessary—you need to know that when I started this process, I was not one of them. Whether I was willing to articulate it or not, I was one of the ones who always questioned if I was good enough and I was pretty sure I wasn’t.

[box] “[The whole-hearted] talked about the willingness to say, “I love you” first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call after your mammogram. They’re willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. They thought this was fundamental.” ― Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

Some of the most seemly confident, happy, and/or successful people can still have this voice in their head that makes them believe, in spite of their “accomplishments,” that they are not good enough. On the outside, I denied that I had low self-esteem. Because, honestly, I didn’t think I did. But that was because I only gave weight to the parts of me that I showed to other people and I didn’t count all the things that I only thought to myself.  Look in the mirror and pay attention to your thoughts: Are they kind? Are they accepting? Or do they scan for every flaw? Do they plot how to hide away the things you’re most ashamed of? Do they berate you for not having done more to “fix” something that you consider “wrong”? I was feeding my own insecurities without even knowing they were insecurities. And, worse, I just accepted them as limitations to myself. This was “the way things were” and nothing and no one were ever going to change that. Well, I was right about part of that, no one else was ever going to change the way I saw myself, but I could.

[box] “When you’re raised with the belief that perfection is possible, it’s very hard to let go of that.” – Hannah “Harto” Heart [/box]

Alright, so finally I start digging up my insecurities, I acknowledge them with a curt head nod, and I start trying to sit with them in a very large room (in which I do my best to never directly look them in the eye, because, ow.) Finally, we get closer, we’re not cuddling on the couch or anything, but we’ve started having marginally polite conversations, and then I realize it’s not enough to be aware and sit with my insecurities by myself, to really heal, I have to accept them: out loud. I have to let them be seen by others.

Terror doesn’t come close to describing how I feel about doing this. Because this is not the kind of “being seen” where I get to admit my flaws and then get patted on the back with some reassuring comment to make me feel better. This is the “being seen” where I admit them to a large room full of people and then we all just sit there awkwardly in silence together. Not because it’s awkward, or shameful, or even anything revelatory that they are seeing, but because I am so scared of the risk, I create my own fear-fueled reality. But when I figured out that I was actually sitting in the middle of a boisterous vulnerability party and my shame was just sitting on top of the mute button, every thing changed. Of course this also required something else I had been in denial of: the ability to really trust. Because finding self-confidence in your imperfections requires a kind of trust in yourself and others that is not the kind of trust you give your friends when you tell them about that one time you waited outside a hotel to stalk the Jonas Brothers in college, but the kind of trust that is choosing to go on television, naked, to do an interview in which you willingly hand over a flashlight and say, “Please, examine me.” And I do mean choosing, because that was my turning point with vulnerability, when I realized no one was going to roll out a red carpet and escort my vulnerability to the party. That I was going to have to drag her out myself, sometimes kicking and screaming, every day, for the rest of my life.

[box] “We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder and more open to what scares us. We always have this choice.” — Pema Chödrön [/box]

Vulnerability is a choice. It’s about making the choice to accept my imperfections, my mistakes, my failures, even when it really stings, when all I want to do in the face of criticism is launch into one of my “Whatever, you’re wrong!” or “OMG, I’ve failed at everythinggg” monologues. When going on Facebook to complain seems like so much more fun than apologizing, when sending an angry and defensive email makes us feel better than admitting that maybe the other person is actually right. It’s never starting a thought with, “I know I said I was going to be vulnerable, and that I need to sit with this discomfort, but that sucks and it is uncomfortable, and I don’t want to feel this, so just this once…” It’s not seeking out a drug hit of sympathy from someone by making sure, “You still love me, right?” It’s not justifying my mistakes so that I can make them again. It’s not going numb in an attempt to forget, ignore, or deny. As Brené says: we cannot selectively numb emotion.  If we numb out pain, grief, shame, disappointment, we also numb our happiness, gratitude, and joy. That’s why taking a risk is such a vulnerability, because the inherent definition of a risk is that there is no certainty, and without certainty, we risk failure. And vulnerability is all about embracing your successes and your failures. It’s actually being yourself in the face of possibly losing everything because of it.

[box] “To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there’s no guarantee, to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we’re wondering, ‘Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?’ just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say, ‘I’m just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I’m alive.’ — Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

There’s an ancient Japanese art form, called Kintsukuroi, that repairs pottery with gold or silver lacquer with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. That’s the biggest truth of all this. I still do not have this figured out. I will probably never have it all figured out. I will succeed and fail at vulnerability, and in life, again and again and again. The point it not to actually figure it out but to make the choice to go on that journey, to be broken and put back together. So I am trying, and stumbling, and trying again. And even when I fall into my old patterns, and cycle through the same loops, I just remember that it’s not about the loop, it’s about how much more quickly I can get out of it. And every time I make that choice, as hard as it can be in the moment, I always look back and feel better, stronger, and more alive than I ever did before.

[box] “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” — Theodore Roosevelt [/box]

If you’re interested in reading more about these ideas, I strongly encourage you to go read all the Pema Chödrön you can get your hands on (apparently the Buddhists have had this vulnerability thing figured out for over 2,000 years) and watch Brené’s other TED Talk, about listening to shame. Brené has also written several books that I have yet to read but are waiting for me on my bookshelf. Or just go watch Love Actually.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

Health

Scientific Proof That Daydreaming Is Awesome For Your Health

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Okay, fine. You got me. I am not, in fact, in an academic position to offer actual “scientific proof” about anything. But, as a person who has spent a lifetime working on a formula for a gentler daily grind, I defend my right to call myself an authority on this particular topic.

Daydreaming is great. And it’s great for you. It isn’t useless or silly. It isn’t only something 13-year-old girls do when they have a huge crush on someone they would never dare exchange a word with. I don’t know about you, but I am fairly certain that there is a WAR ON DAYDREAMING. As you venture further into the world of adult-people, do you feel pressured to engage with yourself in a super sensible way instead of letting your imagination run wild? I mean, it’s obviously important to grasp the reality of whatever situation you’re in. But I’ve found that allowing yourself a little time in Brain-Narnia, no matter what age you are, can be incredibly healthy.

Daydreaming gives you perspective. It allows you to view your obstacles in a different way… to apply them to places you’ve never been to before and people who aren’t you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t consider yourself a “creative person” and you don’t think you’ll “use” the lessons your inner monologue is trying to teach you. That little movie theater that lives inside your head is a powerful weapon against the crappy, unexpected blows of the real world.

Case in point: Enduring a particularly wrath-inducing breakup? Wishing you could assert yourself in front of that co-worker who seriously will not stop treating you like you haven’t even hit puberty yet no matter how many SAT words you use in daily conversation? I suggest to you the following: Get the soundtrack to Kill Bill bumping (either volume is superb, though I gravitate towards Vol. 1 for this exercise), go run, bike, or just walk with mad purpose for a few miles, and imagine the source of all your fury meeting the pointy end of your katana. You feel better, right? YES, YOU DO. You identify with this character, this person who obviously isn’t you but might have some feelings mirroring your own, and you’re able to explore how you really feel. Did the daydreaming directly solve the issue at hand? Not so much. But the important thing is that you gave yourself a safe place to work out your “ish”, as they say. It keeps you from wanting to chase after your skeezy ex with a real katana.

And if you do happen to be the type who uses their daydreams as creative fuel, there’s an added bonus. Your inner platform 9 ¾ is a stage upon which you can watch your wildest concepts come to life, and there is nobody but you (!) in the audience. You can observe characters, places, and images from a safe distance as you attempt to flesh them out and discover more about them. As a kid, I personally used to adore jumping on the trampoline in my parents’ backyard with my boombox blaring, thinking of what I was going to turn in for creative writing class that week. I’d spend hours out there. The neighbors probably asked my parents if I was “okay” (possible perceived evidence of the War on Daydreaming!). Nowadays, I’m more of a long-walks-on-the-beach kinda gal. But it’s the same idea. It’s my artsy fartsy zen time.

However, there’s one caveat to that particular practice, something I’ve had to work to wrap my head around over the years: Just because an image intrigues you when its dancing around in your own brain, it will not necessarily be intriguing, or even good, when it materializes on paper, onscreen, or on a canvas. Some things you dream up will work as you intended. But it can be hard to tell which product of your dreamscape is the golden egg and which is the dud, because both excited you. This is when real-world-brain has to take the reins and learn to let go of the things that didn’t work, things you thought would be eye-opening and thrilling but in the end just wound up looking cheesy as hell. There’s a time and a place for creative daydreaming. Lose yourself in it. Go nuts. But accept the fact that maybe only 25% of the things you conjured up while you were walking the coastline listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack will actually make it into your final product. Accepting that takes time and maturity. And that’s why you need real-world-brain in addition to Narnia-brain. They work together and they each serve a unique purpose.

So, next time somebody tells you to get your head out of the clouds, take it with a grain of salt. You need to stick your head in said clouds from time to time to get some fresh air. It doesn’t mean you’re delusional. It doesn’t mean you can’t confront yourself. It means you’ve given yourself license to not always be so self-deprecating. It’s like taking a mental health day in short little bursts. As long as it’s not hurting anyone and your life/work/relationships aren’t suffering because of it, have a ball. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t have a rich inner life. It’s a coping skill. It’s a creative breeding ground. So get out there, go find some clouds, and promptly stick your head in them. I’ll wait here.

Originally published by Thought Catalog at www.thoughtcatalog.com.

Health, Travel

Food Poisoning as a Broke Foreigner

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Before I left on my two-week dream excursion to Western Europe, my boss had one piece of advice for my first trip to Europe: “Watch out for that French food. They love their rich sauces and butter.”  She was right—the French coat everything imaginable with creamy, delicious sauces.  My boyfriend teases me that I am overly sensitive to food, and he is right, too: my stomach can’t quite handle the greasy, fried foods that most young people in their twenties enjoy.  I have made a point of eating healthier since graduating college; however, this new healthy lifestyle was going to be left back at home. In Europe, I was determined to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, sensitive stomach be damned!

After consuming everything from the four basic Western-European food groups—cheese, meat, bread, and beer—David and I halted our binge in the Louvre. There, we hoped to find a quick, simple lunch.  I ordered what I assumed to be a cheap alternative to the rich and extravagant French dishes: a chicken sandwich.  Baguette, cold white meat chicken, hint of mayo, and lettuce.  By “cheap,” I mean 8 euros, which trust me, is cheap for Paris.  Especially compared to the fondue-and-champagne birthday dinner to which my boyfriend treated me the evening prior.

After filling up on our easy lunch, we commenced our 9-hour Louvre visit.  But, among the Egyptian ruins, mummified cats, and pages from the Book of the Dead, I was already starting to feel tired. It had only been a few hours so I dismissed it as travel fatigue (this was the last day of our whirlwind trip) and carried on. I was not about to miss any of the artifacts from one of my favorite historical eras! So, despite the occasional audible complaint from my stomach, we saw the mysterious Mona Lisa, the gorgeous Venus de Milo, and more paintings of Jesus than could fill the Notre Dame.

As our full-day Louvre excursion continued, David remained enthusiastic but I was drained and found it impossible to find the energy that had kept me going through Versailles, sightseeing in Berlin, an 8-hour drive through the German countryside, and Oktoberfest in Munich.  I kept having to sit down to take breaks on every bench we passed and build my energy to move through a museum that is rumored to take weeks to explore.

After a solid nine hours in the museum, David and I set off to find the Metro station, and stopped by a corner brasserie for dinner.  We were scheduled to fly back to the States the next day, so I wanted my last fill of traditional French food.  I ordered a rare steak, pommes frites, crème brûlée, and a glass of Bordeaux.  I was going to eat what I damn-well pleased and work off the inevitable weight gain later.

We were back in our hotel room by 8 pm and, within an hour, I was complaining of nausea and had a pretty nasty stomach ache.  After taking some Pepto Bismol (a necessity if you plan to eat and drink your way through Germany and France), I was not getting better.  Another hour later, I was vomiting.

David was our pillar of strength—and I say “our” because dealing with your significant other’s food poisoning is no cake walk for either of you—through the next 24 hours, which would prove to be my worst case of food poisoning to date.  (Which is really saying something: when one is born with a delicate stomach like mine, one is prone to overdramatic food poisoning episodes, like the time I got food poisoning from eating a veggie burger in middle school. Yes, that’s right—a burger patty comprised of vegetable matter gave me food poisoning.)  Anyway, once we realized I could not keep one sip of water down, I started worrying about the effects of dehydration. My mom, a registered nurse who has been to the emergency room with a bad bout of food poisoning, was our first call.  We spent 46 euros (about $62) to call her back in California on our hotel room telephone at 2:30 am (no, we didn’t have a calling card, and no, we weren’t about to go hunt one down at 2:30 am).  She confirmed that my symptoms were, in fact, the result of food poisoning and warned David not to let me get any more dehydrated.  Dehydration is the primary concern for anyone with this kind of food poisoning (the vomiting kind), because the effects of dehydration usually warrant a visit to the emergency room.  From then on, our chief concern was to keep me hydrated enough to avoid going to the E.R., where they would give me an I.V. for the fluids that were refusing to stay in my system.  At one point during the course of that night, I simultaneously begged David to make sure I didn’t get dehydrated and not to force me to take another sip of water.  Yes, I was a mess, but at least not a hot one—thankfully, I wasn’t running a fever. Dehydration plus fever equals a certain and expensive trip to the hospital.

When the vomiting wasn’t easing up at all, we realized I still needed medical attention and since we were trying to avoid the E.R., David and the hotel clerk contacted an on-call doctor who was available to make the last-minute house call to our hotel room at 3 am, for the low, low price of 110 euros (about $147).  This angelic, Parisian woman with lovely dark features came into our hotel room with a real-life version of the doctor kit that I played with as a kid: stethoscope, thermometer, blood pressure cuff, and briefcase adorned with vials of prescription drugs.  After asking for my age, known allergies, and what I had eaten the day before and when, she opened her briefcase, pulled out a needle, and prepped an injection.  Now, I’m usually perfectly okay with needles; I am devoted to my yearly flu shot. But, given my incapacitated state, I became uncharacteristically worried about the chance of a rouge air bubble left in the vial and of my doctor’s ability to practice medicine at 3 am.  In my haze, I remember asking what the mystery vial contained, and she responded with the prescription name of an antiemetic, to help with my vomiting and nausea.  I have no idea whether her response was in English or French: I don’t speak a word of French, and her English was coupled with a heavy French accent—so, to this day, I have no idea what she injected into my body. I felt another wave of nausea come over me, so I shrugged my shoulders, looked at my adoring boyfriend for support, ignored the fact that she never snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and willingly handed her my arm.

That doctor’s visit cost 110 euros, cash only, payment on the spot—a fact that I somehow managed to ignore until she was done treating my symptoms.  The “cash only” caveat being an issue since, between the two of us, David and I had roughly 65 euros on hand that was supposed to get us through our final day in Paris.  But the wonderful doctor with the miracle injection that promised to make me stop vomiting needed to be fairly compensated for her time!  David walked down to the hotel front desk, for the third time that night, and asked to borrow the remaining 45 euros with a promise to pay him back once the banks opened and David could withdraw the cash. Thankfully, the grumpy front desk attendant begrudgingly agreed.

I vomited a few more times but, finally, whatever the doctor administered kicked in and I had stopped by the time the sun came up.  I was in no shape to eat solid foods, but I needed to ingest something that would increase my blood sugar and energy.  David left the hotel room on a mission to find Coca-Cola, pick up medicine prescribed by the doctor, and—most importantly—get cash.  What David didn’t prepare for was the fact that, during our dream vacation out of the country, his debit card had expired. This meant he was unable to retrieve cash from any source.  My poor boyfriend walked back to the hotel room to get my debit card and face a not-so-forgiving version of his helpless girlfriend. By the time he returned with the soda, pills, and cash, I was worn down to the point of tears, and David was exhausted.

While the original plan was to hop on the Metro to Paris Orly Airport, there was no way that we could coordinate that effort with my sick ass and our four bags of luggage.  With the remaining cash from David’s morning ATM trip, we spent 80 euros (about $106) for a cab ride that far exceeded our original plan of a 3 euro each Metro ride.  But, we made it to the airport: broke, weak, and grateful for each other.

And when I got back to work a few days later, after arriving safely in the States, I was able to tell my boss all about our unforgettable trip.

Photo by Rob Admans

Photo by Rob Adams

Health

What is “Normal”? Dealing with Depression & Anxiety

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“It’s okay. It’ll get better. Everything will be all right.” I hate when people casually say those words to a distressed friend—and, usually, I am that distressed friend.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Looking back on my teen years, filled with moments of extreme sadness and anger over my body-image issues and my limitations, it’s tempting to say that my panic attacks and depression started then. I think, however, that I was just a regular moody teenager. But I do know that it was around this time that I adopted habits that later led to my anxiety disorder: I stayed silent, I ate my feelings, I avoided talking about it when others broached the subject, and I became resentful of my friends for their “easy” lives.

Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illnesses in the U.S., affecting 40 million people, roughly 18% of the population. There are a wide variety of them: generalized anxiety, OCD, PTSD, phobias, etc. If you’ve never experienced depression or a panic attack, here’s a rundown: We all experience anxiety, but those who do not have a disorder can rationalize their fears, work through them, and come out with a plan of attack for any issue they’re facing. But when you have an anxiety or panic attack, the fear takes over. You can’t step back, you can’t shake yourself out of that place of fear, and you can’t force yourself to “just not think about it.” I’ve heard people say a panic attack feels like having a rubber band pulled across their chest, or having an elephant sit on them. The first time I felt it, I thought it might be a heart attack: the shortness of breath, the erratic breathing, the tears. After the attack passes, then comes the self-admonishment, the feelings of inadequacy, the thoughts that you must be weak and inferior to those around you because they don’t go through this—all of which feed into depression. And when you’re depressed, you can’t lift yourself out.

Depressed isn’t just sad or frustrated or down. Depression is detached, and that feels worse than the sad times or the panic-stricken times. You hear people say that if you put on a happy face, the good feelings will come. It’s not true. I’m putting on the happy face, I’m being my perky self. I’m at work, I’m with friends, I’m joking, I’m laughing. But there’s a cold layer around me. I feel as though all my movements are jerky and disjointed as I’m internally debating and debasing myself. You try to pull yourself out, wanting to feel something because anything is better than nothing. You try to talk to friends and family about it but you can’t get the words out or, when you do, they don’t know what to do. So they just offer the only comfort they can—“It’s okay.”

Anxiety disorders and depression do not always go hand in hand, nor does one predispose an individual to the other. However, studies show high co-morbidity rates: in a study of 3,000 patients in clinical trials for generalized anxiety or depression, about a third of anxiety disorder patients had severe enough depressive symptoms to enter the depression trials, while two thirds of the patients in the depression trials had anxiety disorders that warranted joining the generalized anxiety trials. I’ve gone through periods of both anxiety and depression, and because I have—because I’ve sought help—I know I’m likely to go through them again. I know it’s not an instance; it’s a cycle that’s repeated and feeds on itself. But I’ve also learned I’m not alone.

When you live with anxiety or depression, you might feel like you’re the only one, until you meet another ‘only one.’ When my attacks clustered closer and closer together and I started distancing myself from friends, I was scared about where I’d end up if I didn’t get help. So, I started talking to friends who I could trust. It helped me to vent and their comfort kept me from feeling like less of a person. But I still felt disconnected from my peers who all seemed to excel, unhindered. Then, a friend confided in me and told me about her own struggles. A coworker revealed the truth about her battle with the same illness. Suddenly, I wasn’t an imperfection in a perfect world; my struggles weren’t proof of my inadequacies as a human being. I was normal, beautifully and imperfectly normal. It seemed weird and maybe even wrong to feel legitimized by other people’s struggles. But I was. And that was worth something.

I’m not saying talking about it always helps, but not talking about it never does. I’d talked to friends mid–panic attack, either calling them or tracking them down at school to explode at them. They weren’t prepared for it, nor did they have the knowledge or skills to deal with it. But as I became more comfortable telling friends about the imperfect areas of my life, they reciprocated that comfort. I found safe zones to talk and let off steam before I reached attack mode.

So, how can you tell if you’re near this precipice? If any of the above resonated with you, you may want to talk to someone (yes, actually voice the thing you’re most desperate to quell). There’s a stigma associated with “not being able to deal.” A coworker who’s faced similar struggles told one of our peers and was discouraged from telling anyone else. But what we’ve experienced is real, and so is the connection I now have with this amazingly strong and beautiful woman. If she hadn’t told me about her situation, we might not have ever had this connection.

Okay, so what should I do? Again, talk about it. I couldn’t afford a therapist, so I looked into group programs I could join, which are cheaper. The people I met there provided me with a support system. If that doesn’t help, maybe one-on-one sessions are a better fit for you. Bear in mind, however, that it can take a couple of tries to find the right therapist or support group. You have to feel as though you’re in a safe place. Don’t settle until you’ve found that.

Aside from the importance of talking about it, I’ve also learned the value of the following:

Don’t Assume

The perception that your friends and family have it easy builds negative emotions and increases your feelings of being different. It’s hard to remember that those around us suffer too, that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side, but try. Resentment only distances you from the positive influences in your life.

Sleep

This can be hard when you lie awake at night for hours thinking of what’s to come. But if you’re prone to missing sleep, don’t go to bed when you have to be up in eight hours. It sounds weird, but budget for the freak out. You’ll cry and you’ll stress, but eventually you’ll be so drained emotionally and physically that you will drift off to sleep. However, if you suffer from insomnia, consult your physician.

Exercise

To quote Elle Woods, “Exercising gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t kill their husbands. They just don’t.” I’ve always hated when people suggested exercise to help with mood, cramps, whatever. But it does help. Exercising results in an increase of serotonin and endorphins, which are chemicals that alleviate depression. But even if that twenty-minute walk around your neighborhood doesn’t do much for you chemically, it at least allows you to have some time alone. You have the opportunity to think things through, to be away from the pile of bills waiting for you on your desk, or your spouse who you just had a fight with.

Stress Less

Easier said than done, I know. But map out the major stressors in your life, talk it through with someone if it helps, and formulate a plan of attack to deal with each one in turn. Try not to think negatively. It’s hard but doable. Instead of thinking of “I can’t get a better job,” say to yourself “I’m going to revamp my resume by the end of the week.” Turn your fears into a to-do list. When you make a mistake, instead of obsessing, take a step back and see what you learned from the mistake and do your best to accept it.

Focus on the Happy

I love journaling because it’s a great way to document milestones and see how far I’ve come. However, when I’m upset and want to gain perspective, looking at old journal entries from when I was down can actually increase my feelings of anxiety or depression. For my New Year’s Resolution, a friend and I started a little yearlong project. We each bought a mason jar and pretty stationary. Every time something good happened or we stumbled upon something random that made us happy, we would write it on a piece of paper and stick it in the jar. Whenever I’m down, I open the jar and read through some of the anecdotes. Remembering those moments and how happy I was when I wrote them down helps to lift me out of my funk.

Health

The ER: It’s nothing like on TV

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Just under 130 million people visit ERs every year, complaining about everything from earaches to broken bones to severe pain. I, myself, have visited the ER more times that I would like to admit, due to some chronic illnesses that love to become acute at the worst of times, combined with a tendency to twist joints in directions they are not meant to go.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

If you’ve never been to the ER, it’s good to know what to expect in advance, because the stress of the situation can easily overwhelm you.

Bring your ID and insurance card: While paperwork is often the last thing you want to think about when dealing with a health crisis, it’s important that you have the necessary documents so that the hospital can easily get you into its system. Without them, it can be a nightmare in the following weeks to  play middle man between the hospital and your insurance company—trust me, I’ve been there. That’s why it’s one of the first things you’ll be asked for: while you’ll never be denied care, insurance or not, having all of your information up-front will save enormous headaches down the road. Usually, registration is quick, and in big emergencies where you can’t really chat with the hospital staff, they’ll get it from a family member or friend as soon as possible. I keep my ID and insurance card with me at all times in my wallet, and I make sure at least one other person can access it: in college, my roommate and I had copies  of everything organized and accessible—it saved the day at least once.

Know your medical history: The first thing you will do after registering in the ER is go through triage, whether you arrive by ambulance or walk through the front door. This is a short process in which a nurse or nurse practitioner will measure your vitals (blood pressure, pulse, oxygen levels, and temperature), find out what symptoms you are experiencing (always be as descriptive and honest as possible—unlike hospitals on TV, they aren’t likely to spend hours and thousands of dollars worth of tests figuring out what you are hiding: drugs, drinking, sex, all of it is important), ask for your pain levels (scale of 1-10), and get your medical history. This will include information like what medication you take, including any vitamins, your drug and alcohol use (again, be honest!), medical conditions, and any past surgeries. If you are female, you will also be asked if there is any chance you could be pregnant and when your last menstrual cycle was (it’s as awkward as it sounds at first, and often I forget—I hate this part). All of this information is key to helping with diagnosis, so it’s important to keep it handy. If you have a few things you need help remembering, keep a list on your phone or somewhere else handy so that the stress of being sick doesn’t cause you to forget the dose of your daily medication or the name of that surgery you had years ago.

The wait: ERs are notorious for their wait times. This is most common in big-city ERs where life-threatening traumas are more commonly experienced. I’ve experienced wait times as short as ten minutes and as long as five hours. It’s a toss-up as to when these times will be the worst, but I’ve found that nighttime is definitely the longest wait. There’s less staff on call, tests take longer, and there are more accidents coming in.. In the end, your wait depends not only on how many people are there but also how ill you are in relation to the other patients. If you are having a long wait and your symptoms change, make sure you let the triage nurse know immediately.

Getting care: Once you are seen, don’t expect there to be a private room: it’s often simply a curtained-off area. This can be extremely awkward at times, because you can hear everything around you. Sometimes it’s difficult to overhear, especially if someone is very sick around you. Other times, you’ll hear the wackiest conversations: I once heard someone find out that they were pregnant with their mother there, and her reaction was hilarious. In the ER, people watching is one of the few forms of entertainment available.

A different nurse will probably take your vitals again, will likely take some blood, and will ask you many of the same questions you were asked in triage. They are required to do this: it’s annoying, especially when you’re stressed and worried, but it ensures that they are getting the right information. Depending on your symptoms and complaints, they may also put you on an IV immediately. An IV is a tube  inserted into a vein, most often in the arm where blood is taken, which facilitates getting fluid into your body (often saline) and medications for pain or nausea. It only takes a minute to insert and, though it’s super uncomfortable, it no longer hurts once it’s in.

After the nurse has seen you, a doctor will follow. Sometimes this wait can also be a bit lengthy, depending on how many people that doctor is covering. He will again ask you about your symptoms and conditions, and may have more extensive questions than you have experienced previously. Depending on your situation, he will then likely order medications or tests to figure out what is going on. Those tests can vary from blood work or urine analysis to an ultrasound, X-ray, or CT scan. Every trip of mine has varied because it really depends on what the issue is. The worst by far for me was when I was in a severe amount of abdominal pain. Seven hours later, I had gone through three rounds of blood work, an ultrasound, a CT scan, and an EKG. Other times, I simply had one test and was out within an hour or two. No matter what, they try to get these done as quickly as possible, but there can be a long wait even when you are in a room.

Leaving the ER: Once the doctor has the results, he or she will either order more tests or, if they’ve found a diagnosis, will get you the right medication or care. Remember that the ERs are for acute care (for sudden and often moderate to severe issues). I’ve always left the ER with a prescription for pain medication or other temporary treatment, with the direction to follow-up with my doctor as soon as possible. Usually, once the major issue is solved, my regular doctors are able to get a better idea of what is wrong and find a long-term solution so that I can avoid acute issues down the road.

If the condition is serious enough, it may warrant admittance to the hospital. I’ve been admitted three times in my life: once right after an emergency surgery, and twice when I spent six days in the hospital before solutions were found and solved by surgeries. Those were expensive, scary, and extreme cases, and I am definitely an exception to the rule: in reality, only about 13% of ER visits result in hospital admissions. Likely, admittance would occur for something like heart trouble, breathing issues that can’t be resolved, severe pain that can’t be managed, dangerous blood pressure, or serious infections. Hospital admissions are expensive and the beds are in high demand, so it requires sound medical necessity. However, if a doctor wants you to be admitted, know that it is in your best interest and they will aim to have you better as soon as possible. It’s always been worth it for me!

Otherwise, it’s back home you go! You will be discharged by your nurse, which, like everything else, can take anywhere from ten minutes to an hour, in my experience. Discharging includes home care instructions, information on your diagnosis, and any prescriptions you might need. Be sure to also request records of any tests you received, so that you can show them to your primary doctor and have them added to your medical file.

ERs are overwhelming places. Sometimes fear of them will keep people from going at all. However, if it could be a medical emergency, you need to make sure you get it checked. It’s never silly to go if you are unsure of a severe pain or of a mystery symptom that concerns you, especially if your doctor is unreachable. And if it’s a critical emergency, never hesitate to call 911 and get an ambulance, as it is always the safest and fastest way to get to the nearest hospital. I’ve arrived at the hospital by ambulance and by my own transportation: sometimes, it was out of my control entirely as I wasn’t the one calling the shots, but other times when I could make my own decisions, I never hesitated to go by ambulance if it was my best bet. Don’t be afraid to call one, despite the possible expense, because it can make all the difference in your situation—some counties even cover the cost of an ambulance for this very reason (mine does!).

Hopefully, you will never need this advice. But if one day you do, you now know how to be prepared and make it just a little bit easier.

Health

My Emergency Pap Smear

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Pap smears suck. It’s ingrained in women from the time they even hear such a thing exists. “They’re gonna do what, to that?!” Admittedly, I put off getting my first one done for a long time; I figured I’d think about it when I became sexually active. But, then again, I wasn’t quite expecting that my first one would be in the ER.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

One day during the summer a few years ago, I had come down with really bad abdominal pain on the right side. Like excruciatingly bad. It felt like someone stabbing my ovary from the inside. Based on location, I figured it was some kind of “female issue,” so I went home, took to my bed with a heating pad, and popped a couple Advil. Thankfully it went away after a few hours. Just in case, I still called my local hospital’s advice nurse the next day and, after being asked in six different ways if I could be pregnant (“Not unless it was an immaculate conception.”), she said it was most likely an ovarian cyst. She instructed me to go to the ER if the pain came back, in case she was wrong or it burst. I didn’t bother making an OB/GYN appointment and the pain stayed away, so I assumed the cyst had shrunk on its own.

A few months later I woke up to the exact same excruciating pain. This time it wouldn’t go away so my poor dad—being the only other person home—drove me to the ER. After much waiting (the usual ER fun) and not one, but two different nurses going “OMG, you’ve never had sex! Never?!” (thankfully my dad was in the waiting room), I got to see the doctor. A male, of course. He proceeded to poke and prod the painful area, “Does this hurt, how about here, what if I do this?” Um, yes to all of the above!

I don’t remember the exact order of events but he did an ultrasound and at some point decided I needed a pelvic exam (because obviously all the poking on the outside of my abdomen wasn’t enough). Cue the remaining nurse gawking at me, saying “OMG, you’ve never had a pap smear?!” Yes, thanks a lot, lady. But then she did take it down a notch and attempted to comfort me by saying it wasn’t a big deal, I was actually the right age to get my first one. So the sadist doctor proceeded to poke around from literally both angles, which hurt much more than just poking on the outside. Between that and the slightly terrifying-looking black spot that showed up on my ovary during the ultrasound, he determined that it was a cyst. But, just in case, he decided that he still should do an actual pap smear. Best part? His attempt at consolation: “Well at least down here we use the plastic tools, they’re much better than the metal ones the OBs have!” Really?! How does he know what is more comfortable down there?

Luckily, the actual pap smear itself was quick and easy (after you’ve had a cyst poked at from all sides, everything is easy). I left with a prescription for painkillers and, oh joy, an appointment with an actual OB/GYN for yet another pap smear a week later. Fortunately, the cyst shrank significantly in that week. I found out later that when cysts don’t shrink on their own, they can burst and/or surgery is needed.

My second pap smear was as fine as a pap smear can be, I suppose. And here’s a fun fact: metal and plastic tools feel pretty much the same (or at least, to me they did!). I haven’t had a cyst since my gynecologist prescribed birth control, and hopefully won’t ever need another emergency room pap smear. But the one good thing that came from this experience? Pap smears no longer intimidate me. Take that, obstetrics!

Health

Recognizing and Helping Depression

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In thinking about writing this post, there were a lot of angles I considered coming from. Do I talk about how, in my work at a university, I frequently see students who are buried under the weight of this nebulous and frightening disease? Do I talk about family members or partners or friends or other loved ones whom I have been able to help or, in some terrible cases, not been able to help? What I hope my internal editorial struggle conveys is that depression is incredibly common. According to the CDC, about 1 in 10 adults report experiencing depression in their lifetimes. The number is even higher for young adults.

Seeing a friend, family member or loved one who might be depressed can be scary and overwhelming. But depression is both recognizable and treatable. This should bolster you, knowing that if you can catch depression in yourself or recognize it in a good friend or loved one, you can go a long way toward making someone’s life better.

Depression and other mental health issues are still incredibly stigmatized in the U.S., and so it’s important to remember a few things: people are never, ever at fault for their mental health problems, and treating them like they are only alienates them and makes it harder to help them. Second, you will probably not get a bouquet of roses from someone you are helping, but that does not mean you didn’t make a difference.

Below are some basic signs that you or a loved one might be depressed. Keep in mind that depression is complex, that this is not an exhaustive list, and that this is not in order of importance. It is a good place to start, however, if you are feeling concerned. Here are some common aspects of depression:

  • Feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism—like nothing will ever get better.
  • Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and/or helplessness—like nothing matters or you can’t do anything right.
  • Irritability, restlessness, or being easily angered (this is especially common for men).
  • Sharp and unexplained change in behaviors, including the following:
    • Disinterest in activities, hobbies or work that were once very important or fun;
    • Feeling very tired or excessive sleeping;
    • Insomnia, early-morning wakefulness;
    • Change in eating behavior, like overeating, skipping meals, or a loss of appetite.
  • Difficulty concentrating, remembering details, and making decisions, especially if this was not an issue before.
  • Thoughts of suicide or suicide attempts.
  • Persistent aches or pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems that do not get better, even with treatment.

If this sounds like someone you know, it’s really important that you reach out to them. Here are some basic steps for talking about depression with someone you love:

  1. Express your concern. If you see something, say something. Depression can be incredibly isolating, and so it’s very important to show that person you notice and are concerned.
    • Do this with as much care and kindness as possible, in a private and controlled environment. This is not a good discussion to have on the bus or in a crowded coffee shop. Talk about specific behaviors you’ve noticed, but don’t make the observations sound like you are accusing them of having done something wrong. Something like “I’ve noticed you’ve been missing a lot of work recently, I’m concerned that something might be wrong” is much better than “Why have you been missing so much work?” because it is less accusatory.
    • The person you are speaking with may rebuff you, get angry, or be relieved that they have someone to share with. It feels best when people are relieved, but don’t expect this reaction 100% of the time. If the person you are concerned about is angry at you, do not take this personally. Depression can come along with strong feelings of shame and anger, and this can make it easy for the person to deny the severity of what they are experiencing and lash out at you. Remember, bravery isn’t a lack of fear, it’s doing something despite your fear. Even if you are worried about their reaction, it’s still important to reach out.
  1. Listen. Give your friend the space to express themselves and really listen. Don’t jump in, don’t talk about your own experiences (especially don’t tell that story about your cousin’s friend’s brother), and don’t give advice. Also, don’t be offended if they are not interested in telling you their life story. Create a welcoming and safe space, and allow your friend to be supported by you.
  1. Refer. I know, I know, we just talked about not giving advice, but this is different. Having a resource or two on hand to give to your friend is incredibly important. This can be anything from a hotline, to the number for your therapist, to the counseling center at your university (if you’re still in school), to an article online talking about depression.
  1. Follow Up. Check back in with your friend after a day or two and see how they are doing. Again, express your concerns, and listen. You can’t make someone get help, and you shouldn’t follow up in order to make sure that they do. This is mostly to let them know that you are consistently going to be there for them, and that you are not going to bail after one (likely very intense) conversation.

Lastly, here are some resources to keep in your pocket:

  • In an Emergency: Call 911 – If someone is thinking about attempting suicide or if they have already attempted suicide,  it’s critical to get highly trained professionals on your side. Don’t hesitate to call 911.
  • National Institution of Mental Health – Information about Depression: Interested in some more information about the prevalence and effects of depression? That is provided here in a helpful way and contains much more information about the many types of depression, treatment options, and experiences of those who have been diagnosed with depression.  http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml
  • Suicide Hotlines: Sometimes it’s critical to have someone to talk to and give you strategies to not harm yourself, or to help you work through whether a friend is in need. These are free and most are available 24 hours.  They have services specifically for veterans, Spanish speaker, and teens, among others. Call if you need help yourself, or if you need help helping someone else. Sometimes friends aren’t available or don’t have the right tools, and this is where these folks come in. http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
  • Online Emotional Crisis Support: Not everyone feels comfortable on the phone or has access to a private place to have a conversation. This is the chat room version of the service above.  http://www.crisischat.org/
  • College Student Helpline: Depression for college students is very common. 18-24 year olds experience a wide range and, according to some researchers, the highest prevalence of mental health problems. These folks are specifically trained to help college students.  http://www.ulifeline.org/
  • Grad Student Helpline: Many studies have shown that for whatever reason (high stress, high pressure environment, self-selecting factors), grad students are at a very high risk of poor mental health. Like the resource above, this helpline is specifically geared to help graduate students and to understand the issues they face. http://gradresources.org/

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Health

Put Your Goddamn Shoes Back On

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Every summer, hundreds take to the parks and beaches, ditch their shoes, wiggle their toes in the grass and the sand—and with every step, I cringe.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Just in case you were raised by wolves, allow me to educate you: you need to wear your goddamn shoes. You should not run about willy-nilly in public places like beaches, forests, or parks without wearing some protection! I say this from personal experiencing the perils of ignoring common sense and my mother’s advice (but more on that later).

Cuts, Stings, Bites

There is a whole world of things that typically pass beneath your soles with no event: bent nails, flattened snails, and even those little pokey balls of death. But without shoes, the ick has no sympathy for your feet.

On the beach, sea glass is lovely stuff—smooth, pastel, beautiful. But do you know how it got that way? By rolling around, broken, in the water or through the sand for quite some time. And when you’re just walking innocently along the waterline, that newly donated (read: littered) glass will take no mercy on your unshod feet. Since water shoes are some of the dorkiest things to hit department stores since fanny packs, I typically go with some ol’ fashioned flip flops. They protect my feet from the bad stuff, while still allowing me to enjoy the water and sand.

Walking on soil in forests or fields can also expose you to a much livelier problem: hookworms. If you step on hookworm larvae, they can enter your body through your skin, causing rashes, allergic reactions, and infections. The hookworms will take up shop in your intestine, and requires some seriously nasty meds to flush out. What were you thinking, taking off your hiking boots like that?!

Last but not least, bees reign supreme as that minor annoyance that will completely ruin your picnic (and discomfort you for the next two weeks). Even with the generous assumption that you have been blessed without a bee allergy, tromping across a grassy field has never inspired as much regret as that moment when bee stinger meets squishy inter-toe flesh. If only you had slipped on some tennis shoes…

Broken Bones

So what makes me so passionate about pedal protection? Running around barefoot landed me with four broken bones.

Once upon a time, I attended a lovely beginning-of-summer BBQ, pumped to catch some rays and eat some burgers. Obviously, I decked myself in the quintessential California summer uniform: jean shorts, a tank top, and my comfiest sandals. After our second round of gooey, semi-charcoal’d cheeseburgers with a side of sour-cream-and-onion Lays, one of my compatriots whipped out a disc and challenged us all to a cut-throat game of Ultimate Frisbee.

Game on!

Of course, my similarly shod friends and I chucked off our sandals and commandeered the largest patch of grass we could: running, laughing, overthrowing the Frisbee.

My team—currently in the lead—was just about to thump our opponents with yet another landmark goal, when a defenseman ran up to block my catch. I turned, trying to thwart his attempt, and three of my toes twisted in the grass and folded under my foot. As my weight shifted onto my toes, they broke, and I fell to the ground. Instinctively, I brought up my forearm to protect myself—but instead of my arm breaking my fall, my fall broke my wrist.

It took all of my summer break for my wrist to heal, overlapping with a vacation to New York (in which I schlepped around in a bootie and sling and had to explain the game of Ultimate Frisbee to every single New Yorker in town) and my university orientation days (when I broke down in tears because I couldn’t write all the information being thrown at me).

So listen up, kids. You do not want to deal with all that. Put on your damn shoes.

Health

Remotivation: Jumping Back on the Health Bandwagon

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It’s 11 pm. You stand in front of the open refrigerator, rub your distended belly and wonder what just happened to the fifteen Darth Maul cookies left over from your boyfriend’s “May the Fourth Be With You” Star Wars party. Oh yeah, you just ate them all, despite your determined declaration just last Monday that “It’s time to start fresh!” They somehow found their way into your mouth, and on the fourth day in a row of not working out, too. What bad luck! Evil cookies!

If you have ever tried to begin living a healthy lifestyle, you are probably familiar with one of the two following scenarios. One is to say “Screw it, I’ll start next month” and throw out your entire health plan (so you might as well cram in that last cupcake, too). The other is to spiral into a fit of self-loathing and overcompensation, involving weird cleanses with exotic spices and citrus and two hours every day on the elliptical.

Stop! There is a healthier way! Stop binging or purging (or a combination of both) and follow this easy, healthy method to remotivate yourself in the days immediately following a slip-up. And if you’ve never tried to live a healthy lifestyle for the first time, you can apply these same principles to begin in an appropriate, non-Nicole-Richie way!

That Night

Don’t beat yourself up. You are human, and humans make mistakes. Don’t make yourself throw up (or even try) and don’t continue to binge—you know you’re uncomfortable anyway. Take that food baby to bed and get a good night’s sleep.

And stop doing jumping jacks; it’s just going to give you cramps. You’ll know it’s futile when you have to stop after three of them.

The Next Morning

First of all, I’d like to reiterate last night’s message: don’t beat yourself up. Realize that one day of overeating (or even a couple of days) isn’t going to morph you into Jabba the Hut. That being said, it doesn’t give you a pass to keep screwing up. Those calories count, and so do calories for the rest of that week, and all those extras add up quickly. This is a new day, a day to forgive yourself and start out with fresh determination.

With all of that in mind, start with a healthy breakfast. I know you might still feel kind of bloated and gross from the night before, and eating might be the last thing you want to do, but starting your day with a light but nourishing meal will give you energy, keep your metabolism going, avoid the 3 pm hunger attack, and remind you that food is not of the devil. If you don’t usually eat breakfast, now is a good time to start. Most people think that they will lose weight by cutting calories earlier in the day; however, most people who skip breakfast end up making up those calories later in the day, and often even more than usual because starvation leads to very poor choices later on. Intense hunger pangs tend to make you go for the fastest food option. Keep driving past that McDonald’s, and don’t you dare stop!

Make sure your breakfast includes a lean protein, which will help keep you full, and a complex carbohydrate (any whole grain or fibrous fruit or vegetable), which will slow your digestion, keep you full, and create a slow-release energy that will hold you over ‘til lunchtime. Some great examples are:

  • Nonfat Greek yogurt, with a handful of berries (I use frozen for convenience), a sprinkling of granola, and a drizzle of honey.
  • Two whole grain toaster waffles spread with a tablespoon of peanut butter and sliced banana.
  • Scrambled egg whites with mixed vegetables and a slice of whole wheat toast.

Also, get a workout in! It’ll boost your endorphins, and even a light morning walk will remind you that food is fuel and that calories don’t have to stick if you don’t want them to! Plus, you’ll feel much better and get a self-esteem boost if you tend to be hard on yourself.

The Rest of That Day

There are two things you need to do before the day is over. One is to make a plan for the rest of the week, including your dinners and workouts. The best way to combat a future slip-up is to have a plan and treat it as a non-negotiable appointment. At the same time, keep your expectations realistic. Know thyself, and give yourself goals that you know you can accomplish. For instance, if you work an 80-hour workweek starting at 9 am and you come home exhausted every day, don’t expect to work out after your workday—you’ll never get it done. Instead, plan to suck it up and set your alarm for an hour earlier. Get your workout in before work when you still have a ton of energy, or plan a lunchtime workout. Having your plan in front of you, on paper (or smartphone), will assure you that it’s doable. Look, you have time for it! You scheduled it in: it’s in your schedule right there!

The other task is to get rid of whatever triggered your slip-up in the first place. I know it sucks to throw out food, especially if that food happens to be leftover nachos (they crisp up great in the oven!), but just close your eyes and get it done. In fact, this might be a great time to go through your cupboard and throw out problem foods in general. Giant jar of mayonnaise? Get rid of it. Double-stuff Oreos lurking in your pantry? Bid it farewell. Cooking lard? What are you, crazy? Banish it from thy sight!

This is one I have trouble with. My pantry is pretty well-behaved in general, but if there is leftover brownie cheesecake from a party, my logic says, “Well, I don’t want it to go to waste, but I don’t want it tempting me all week. I’ll just… eat it all now! That way, it won’t be a problem later and I’ll only have been really bad for one day, instead of slightly bad for seven days! Genius!”

What? Don’t raise your eyebrows at me. No one is perfect. Let’s move on.

The Rest of That Week

Stick to your plan. Recognize that treat days are perfectly acceptable within the structure of a healthy lifestyle, but the best way to distribute them is to wait for a treat day (or, preferably, just one treat meal) on a special occasion when you really won’t care, such as a family dinner, birthday party, or holiday. A good way to look at it is the 90/10 rule: eat well 90% of the time, and don’t worry about the other 10%.

Do your research. Find healthy alternatives for cooking methods, ingredients, or your favorite treats. For example, sauté vegetables in chicken broth instead of butter, or replace an after-dinner serving of ice cream or cake with a bowl of sliced apples, sprinkled with cinnamon, oats, and honey heated in the microwave. Voilà, healthy apple crumble. Once you’ve done your research, do your grocery shopping and begin incorporating these substitutes into your diet!

Have a rule for your workouts: never, ever, go more than two days in a row without exercise. Any kind of exercise. If you’re on a trip, find the hotel gym or go jogging. Visiting friends? Go out for a walk or hike, and let them show you the town. If you’re in space, I don’t know… bounce off the walls in zero gravity or something! Just make it a priority to keep active and keep it in the forefront of your mind. With this rule, you will never wake up one morning and realize it’s been two months since you’ve worked out, and you will get a decent number of workouts in per week.

The Rest of your Life

Remember, a healthy lifestyle is just that… a lifestyle. Whatever you plan to do, you have to see yourself doing it for the rest of your life. There is no magic diet that will help you reach your ideal Hugh Jackman/Gwyneth Paltrow proportions, and then let you go back to eating whatever garbage you want without gaining it all back.

This also may mean letting go of some unrealistic expectations. If the only way you’ll ever look like Gwyneth Paltrow (who, honestly, I don’t think is that hot anyway) is by starving yourself, then you aren’t meant to look like Gwyneth Paltrow (who, again… is not that hot). Learn to love your body for what it is! The human body is an extraordinary thing, and can do extraordinary things if you treat it well and let it try. Often, exercise is a doorway to this frame of mind; once you see what your body can do given the chance, you’ll stop punishing it and start taking good care of it.

And finally, I’d like to leave you with this final note on the nature of food. Food can be the best medicine in the world or a slow, agonizing poison, but food is not evil. It isn’t trying to trip you up, and that burger honestly does not have it out for you. There is great joy to be found in our food. Treats can be enjoyed in moderation, but you need to find the balance for yourself. Good, healthy, and nutritious food can have beautiful tastes, textures, and color, and above all, it will nourish and enrich your life and fuel your amazing body. Make the right choices, find the love and richness that can be found through good health, and make that your healthy lifestyle.

It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it, and I promise you will thank yourself.

remotivation