"Time passes quickly the older you get," said my mother.

       I didn't understand her then, but this last year of my life I've come to understand a lot more about myself and life itself. 24 has quickly become 25 and it feels as if I merely went to sleep on one birthday and woke up on the next. Time does slip through our fingers like sand, and I've realized my mother was right about this. However, there is a logical reason behind that saying. As kids, whose entire lives may only consist of a few years, time seems vast. A day could feel like a week or a month to them simply because they've only existed for a few cycles around the sun. For adults, we've done this before. I've lived through 24 years, and they no longer feel super long. I can't imagine how quick they feel to someone in my parents' generation.

       Now, just because I feel like I didn't even have time to put up my 2018 calendar before I was given my 2019 one, doesn't mean I didn't tackle my goals. On my birthday last year, I made a list of the things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 25. I'm happy to report I was successful. Well, mostly.

Lets review:

• Lose Weight 
• Clear up my Acne
• Finish Writing a Full-length Novel

       Right off the bat, I can cross off the first one. Not only did I complete that goal, but I crushed it. I lost 50lbs between February and September last year. Even better, I've maintained that loss for the last five months. If I hadn't opened my eyes to anti-fat bias, this would be  a major celebration. It shouldn't be. Yes, I'm super proud of myself, but mostly for the effort I put into this endeavour rather than the results. Wearing size medium leggings makes me feel accomplished, and the anti-fat bias that inspires this feeling is disappointing. I set this goal to prove a point (that my illness was the same or worse when I was thinner) and I did just that. Unfortunately, I wrecked my metabolism along the way and created new disordered eating habits. So, while I'm pleased to have defeated this goal, I'm also very regretful for having set it in the first place.

       As for the second goal, I didn't think I'd manage to complete that one. I'd been battling acne for over a decade, how would I defeat it in a single year? Welp. Eating some crow on that one. In December 2017, I started taking Spironolactone 50mg for my PCOS symptoms, but specifically for acne. I increased the dosage in February to 100mg. Spring and summer were rough, but by mid-August, my skin cleared up. It was miraculous! It's super rare that I get pimples at all now, big ones almost never appear. I can actually go out in public with a bare face and I couldn't be happier. Thank you, Spiro. I should've tried you sooner.

       Now, the third goal, I must sadly admit I didn't complete. My novel manuscript fell to the wayside as my health and then my weight loss regime became my focus. However, over the summer, I picked up an old project and found my passion for writing again. It's a co-written fanfiction I began years ago and I haven't fallen in love with my work like this in so long... It's a wonderful feeling. I wrote about 100,000 words in the latter half of 2018, so I'd say I sort of completed this goal in a sense. But I won't cross it off for posterity's sake.

       Okay, time for the big question, what about 26? Well, I think 2019 is going to be the year of truly simple goals. I felt pressured by those three goals last time (I called them simple, ha!), and with a wedding coming up, I really can't take on too much else. So, I'm thinking small for this year. I'll make a separate post for that though. For now, I'm grateful to have achieved even two-thirds of my goals from last year. I'm proud but burnt out. A slice of cake and some well-deserved rest is in order!

-Dana.

Fatness isn't inherently bad. 

       I felt like I needed to say this, especially after all I've learned losing weight this last year. It's been a long, difficult journey that's been peppered with self-loathing and dealing with my own internal biases. I've recently discovered fat activism and it's changed my perspective on weight loss as well as health. There's a lot to unpack there, but I'll come back to it.

       In early 2018, I had a conversation with one of my doctors about my chronic pain condition, Fibromyalgia. She suggested that if I simply lost weight, I'd feel less pain. But I knew that wasn't right. Two years prior to that conversation, I weighed 70lbs less and was in the worst pain of my life. It was then that I was diagnosed. The extra weight had piled on from medications and being housebound because of the condition.  Still, this doctor insisted it would work and refused me other care options until I lost weight.

       I was enraged. Logically, her argument didn't make sense to me because I knew what my pain felt like at that lower weight. The fact that she didn't believe I knew my own body was so infuriating that I decided to do something about it. I would do as she asked, I would play by the medical system's rules, only so I could prove a point and finally be taken seriously for my pain.

       Losing weight was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Calorie counting is not easy, even though I made it seem that way in some of my earlier posts. I struggled, I cried, and I did feel like I was starving myself regularly. But, after 6 months of dieting, I lost a significant amount of weight. Guess what happened? My pain increased tenfold, just like I knew it would.

       That terrible chat with that biased doctor had broken me, and I put myself through hell to prove a stupid point. I never returned to see that specific physician (she was an unnecessary addition to my medical team at a time when my pain clinic had a discount on private care). Unfortunately, the damage her comments and suggestions made is still ongoing. I wrecked my metabolism just to access better care. The anti-fat bias doctors possess, that we all possess, has hurt me and will continue to hurt others until we make changes.

       As I said before, I discovered fat activism this year. There are some lovely people out there trying to make a difference and getting people to acknowledge their own biases. Here are a few awesome peeps on Twitter for you to follow:

• @meghantonjes
• @comfyfat
• @fatgirlfreedom
• @yrfatfriend

       Your Fat Friend also writes wonderful essays on Medium about the anti-fat bias that are really worth a look: How Healthcare Bias Harms Fat People. If you want more information, Your Fat Friend and the others I listed above are great resources and it's better to hear it from their point of view rather than myself as I am now a small fat after my weight loss.

       Anyways, if you would like my perspective: I think the main point of this cause is to get us to recognize our own biases and deal with them to hopefully stop demonizing fatness and fat people. It's not an easy task; many of us, even fat people themselves, harbour this extreme negativity towards fatness. We've internalized these biased views of society and for many of us who are or were fat, we've turned against ourselves because of it. I know I hated myself whenever I looked in the mirror, ever since I hit puberty. Even when I wasn't fat by any standard (age 10 or 11), I hated any bit of fatness on my body. When I did gain massive amounts of weight, I still looked the same in my eyes. I had always been fat, I was always going to be fat. When I did set out to lose the weight, it came from a place of self-loathing and I shamed myself through the entire experience.

       Even after I lost 50lbs, I still harboured those feelings. But you know what happened? Being thinner, and fitting into straight sizes (S-L, 0-14), made me feel beautiful and acceptable. It made me feel like I was better than people who were bigger than me, and that's terrible! This right here is my anti-fat bias at work. I'm not better than them and I can't let my bias make me think this kind of discrimination is okay.

       It takes a lot of self-talk and head-work to stop these internal judgements. Still, it must be done because I don't want my biases reflected in my actions. I don't want to treat people poorly, even subconsciously, because of their size. I know how awful it is to experience this kind of prejudice, and it's something that will take a lot of effort to eliminate from society. Anti-fat bias, in particular, is very tricky to root out because it's propped up by the medical system.

       Society insidiously imprints us with this negativity against fatness and fat people by using numbers under the guise of science to make the hatred seem okay. Clinically, I'm still 'obese' at a BMI of 32, down from 41 this time last year. Now, that word itself is not neutral and is often thrown around as a hateful term. I use it only to reference the specific medical measurements that have helped fuel society's hatred of fatness.

       The Body Mass Index is a strange scale that assigns numbers to determine what your 'healthy' weight is for your height. 'Overweight' starts at 25, 'obese' starts at 30 and 'morbidly obese' begins at 35. It's a simple mathematical equation to find out where you land, but it doesn't make sense. BMI doesn't account for muscle mass which means big burly athletes with no fat can be considered obese. It was also based on average weights during the early 1900s when food was not nearly as plentiful as it is now and people regularly starved themselves out of necessity. So, of course, you might be thinking, "Why haven't they updated the standard then?" Well, that's a good question with an unfortunate answer. The reason no one has updated the formula is that using the BMI scale simply conforms with our already existing biases against fatness. Why change something that helps confirm what society already believes?

Because hatred on a grand scale is wrong.

-Dana.


Have you ever felt medical professionals were biased against you because of your weight? Did you ever struggle with self-loathing because of your weight or your internal biases? Let me know in the comments down below!

        Every little girl raised under the influence western society dreams of her wedding dress. The shape, the fabric, the way it makes her feel like a princess when she's actually just an accountant or a software engineer or a part-time English tutor... I'm no different. Ever since I saw the Disney animated film, Cinderella (1950), I knew I wanted to wear a ball gown and feel beautiful, even if only for one day of my life. But especially so on the day that I was to feel the most loved: my wedding day.

        There's a lot society neglects to tell you as you grow up. Movies, televisions, books and the theatre all try to show snapshots of real-life, to tell stories that you may relate to, or that one day you may experience. The media in all it's forms—from oil paintings to 140-character social media blurbs—tries to portray human life in a certain, optimistic light. Also in a roundabout way, it tries to prepare you for the struggles ahead. I mean, it so obviously fails to do so as the media exaggerates and inflates stories into massive balloons so full of fantasy hot air that the original message is suffocated. The biggest example of this is the classic movie romp style of "rom-coms".

        Romantic comedies as of the last hundred or so years have told thousands of wedding and marriage tales, almost all of which end in the happily-ever-after myth. Now, I do not have the energy nor the time to touch upon the perils of that kind of story-telling. No, I'm here to discuss my troubles with one of the other, small parts of life that these love-dovey movies just gloss over: wedding planning.

        It was only in the last 20 years that Hollywood actually decided to tackle the lead-up and preparation for the most perfect (and expensive) day of any young woman's life. However, the movie directors did it in their usual superficial style (ie. Father of The Bride 1991, The Wedding Planner 2001, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2002, Bride Wars, 2009). Often an actual professional was hired to do all the hard work of planning (my wallet aches just thinking about this) while the bride and groom simply enjoyed their engagement. Or instead, the wedding plan fell entirely on the bride and her family where as the groom merely had to show up at the event to be considered 'supportive'.

        Growing up with these visions of weddings was not only unhealthy, it was extremely unrealistic. There's no way my fiancé and I can afford to hire someone to do all our planning (now referred to as a wedding or event coordinator). We have a small budget by modern standards as statistically average Canadian couples will spend $46,000 dollars on a wedding this year. We planned to spend less than a quarter of that, which means we'll have to be cutting costs by doing a lot of the labor ourselves. Also, note that I said 'we' and 'ourselves'. See, my fiancé and I are a team. That's what this whole celebration is about. So, when we tackle the most expensive and most extravagant event of our lives, you better believe that we do it together. I'm not planning this alone, my family doesn't have the final say, and my new life partner isn't going to sit back and chug a beer amongst the chaos of wedding prep. My story is going to be different from the whimsical and hilarious tales on the big screen.

        Once I put my engagement ring on, I was ecstatic. Then, after a couple hours of basking in the newly-engaged-glow, the reality of what lay ahead of me sunk in. Sure, I was engaged and so in love, but I also had to plan a party for all my friends and family, the biggest party I will ever throw in my lifetime. It was terrifying and I relayed this to my fiancé. As always, he was calm and collected. Together we made a few of the smaller decisions and I started to feel like the process wasn't so overwhelming. Those small choices lead to bigger ones, and now much of the event concept is solidified. In the coming weeks, we'll begin booking vendors for our February 2020 wedding. My fiancé has been a part of the process the whole time and, instead of being crippled by worry, I'm actually excited for what lies ahead.

        The movies were wrong about a lot of things when it comes to weddings. As entertaining as it was to watch the wacky love shenanigans and overwhelming bridal meltdowns, I'm very glad that so far reality is nothing like that.

-Dana.


"Have you ever planned a wedding? Did it feel as crazy as a movie wedding? Was it difficult to plan? Share your experience in the comments!"

      There are some days I feel like I'm the luckiest person in the world. And then there are days, like the one I am about to describe, where I feel like my luck ran out. As if I'm dragging the bucket across the bottom of a dry well. The wooden container bounces off the stone floor and I find myself rattled by the emptiness. June 17th, my most recent unlucky day, definitely shook me.

      It was Father's Day so I was rushing around to get ready for a matinee showing of the Han Solo movie. This was a treat for my Dad since we both adore Star Wars.( The man practically raised me on sci-fi movies, George Lucas' epic space opera in particular.) That day also happened to be a busy one in my house for other reasons. I live in a large, shared home with multiple roommates. Such is life in a metropolis with horrendously over-inflated housing costs. Anyways, one of my roommates was moving out that Sunday morning. Two of my other housemates as well as my partner had gone with our former roommate to help him unpack the moving van. The only people around were me and one other housemate in a home that comfortably supported six people at it's most full. I have to admit, we were lucky to get this place. It's located in a great area, close to my partner's work, and is quite modernly finished. It's also the largest house I've ever lived in. While living here, it was very easy for me to close myself off away from my five other housemates without worry. I liked that about my home. Until today.

      Around noon, while waiting for my partner to return from the move, I had a shower. With the water running, I sang my heart out to some Top-40 played on a Bluetooth speaker that sat on the bathroom counter. It was linked to my phone that lay next to it. Normally, I wouldn't bring my phone into the washroom—too easy for it to get wet—but to listen to music I had no choice. Because if the speaker was apart from my phone, it had a habit of jumping and skittering through songs like the device was having a stroke. Thus, I placed both electronics side by side on the counter to enjoy some lovely pop beats while I got clean. So, with music blasting, I danced and swayed while I washed. Wiggling to the beat while I shower is a guilty pleasure I can't help but indulge in.

      See, now you're thinking I slipped in the shower. No, no. I have an anti-slip mat. With my bad legs, it would be really stupid of me not to own one of those.

      No, I finished my shower and climbed out just fine. I toweled off, put on my terrycloth robe and ventured out into the bedroom to get my outfit ready. Whilst I was digging through my sock drawer, I realized that I needed to text my father something. I don't remember whether it was about parking or something else in regards to the movie. That doesn't matter. But the problem was that my phone wasn't in the bedroom. No, it was still next to the speaker in the bathroom because of the shitty connection. So, determined to reach my Dad before he left his house, I turned on my heel and plodded back into the bathroom rather hastily.

      As I shuffled, my foot missed the bathmat by an inch. I was still wet. The skin of my feet was just damp enough to slide across the hard floor like it was made of ice. Further worsening the situation, my knee joint was weak from repeated minor dislocations this spring. Finally, my knee cap decided, it was time to slide complete off kilter. With no way to steady or support myself, both my legs flew out from under me and I collapsed to the floor in a heap. I landed with all my weight on my left elbow which made a sickening crack as it hit the tile. As a writer, I always wondered what the sound of bones snapping was like. It's not pleasant, like the crackling of a summer bonfire. Nor is it enticing, like the snap of a well-made sugar cookie. No, you see, this sound was gut-wrenching. Hearing it sent a terrible quiver through my spine. Such a sickening noise triggered a nauseous response. I hope I never have to hear it again.

      My first thoughts were mostly curse words. I knew while laying there that I messed up. The pain wasn't immediate. It was this deep, hollow soreness. Moving made it sharp and hot. Frustrated, I lay there for a while as I mentally berated myself. So stupid. I went over the admonishments in my head repeatedly while crumpled up on the floor.

I should've wiped my feet more on the bath mat.
I should've brought my phone out of the bathroom with me on the first trip.
I shouldn't have played music in the bathroom in the first place.

And on and on adnauseum... After a solid minute of being angry with myself, I realized that I couldn't actually get up. Several attempts ended in sobbing agony. Then I wasn't angry anymore. I was scared.

      I tried calling out timidly. Admittedly, I was embarrassed about having fallen.

      "Hey... Can someone help me up?"

      Nothing. After four minutes, I started shouting.

      "Help! I fell!"

      Ten minutes of that still produced nothing. Laying on my smashed elbow was only making the pain more intense. I knew someone had to still be home. Someone needed to be there. Desperate, I started screaming.

      "HELP ME! PLEASE!"

      Still no reply. The tears were flowing freely now. Not just from pain, but I was afraid. The pain was getting stronger and I was worried about how much worse I was making the injury by laying on it. The fear set in hard. I cried, heaving deep sobs over the fact that I did this to myself and that there was no one around to help me. As I wept pathetically, I caught a glimpse of the bright blue of my phone case. It stuck out just a little bit over the edge of the sink counter above my head. Salvation. It took several swings of my free arm, teetering back on my injured elbow, to knock the phone to the floor.

      Two texts messages and one phone call later, over the span of about thirty seconds, my other roommate was bounding up the staircase to my aid. He had been in the kitchen on the other side of our massive house, four doors and a whole floor between us. Everyone else was still out helping clean up after the move. I actually scared my poor partner with the phone call, he dropped everything to get back in his car and race home. But, because of a rare circumstance, in that moment I was totally alone and completely incapable of saving myself. Without my phone, I might've laid there for over an hour or two until my partner returned. My other roommate was planning on heading out after his lunch in the kitchen.

      Anyways, I did have my phone. Even in an unlucky situation, I was still lucky. My roommate came running into the room and helped me up off my elbow. I was a damp, crying, half-naked mess. Once he was sure I was fine and able to move around a little on my own, he left me resting on the bed while I waited for my partner to return. When my partner walked in, breathless and concerned, I had gotten to the point that I was denying my pain and my injury.

      "I'm fine. Really. It's Father's Day! I have to go see Dad."

      My partner didn't really want me to go. He was pretty sure I messed my elbow up bad. Sure, it was swollen. But no cuts, no bleeding. I thought I could survive a two hour movie like that. Who needed to fully straighten their elbow anyway?

      Putting on my t-shirt sure changed my tune. That was some unexpectedly blinding pain. To my partner's delight, I reluctantly went to the hospital and rescheduled the movie with my father.

      Turns out, I managed to break a bone for my first time ever in the fall. My radial head. The doctors told me it was good I came in, because my arm needed to be properly set and placed in a cast to heal. I was really mad at myself the whole time. I still felt super dumb for falling in the first place. My partner would have none of that. He was too kind about it, but I appreciated his support very much.

      That evening, I returned from the hospital with my left arm in a cast and secured to my chest in a tight sling. Stubborn as ever, I still went to an evening showing of the movie with Dad. Surprised him with the cast too. His reaction was almost worth it. After he was done chastising me for not telling him how bad it was, we enjoyed the film. However, I was still sore the whole time. It wasn't the great evening I had planned.




      It's been a couple months now. I'm free of the cast and my elbow is mostly healed. It still aches at night when I roll on my left side. I'm sure it's going to continue to be a pain through Autumn and into Winter. Still, it was an interesting lesson. Sometimes things just happen that are out of your control. Sometimes there's nobody around to save you. And sometimes, when you feel most unlucky, you can still find a little ray of hope. I'm so glad I was able to knock my phone down during that ordeal. I can't imagine how bad it would've been if I laid there for the whole two hours. So while I'm not pleased by all the things that came together for me to break my arm and be trapped on top of it, I don't look back at the memory negatively. When the pain fades, I'm sure it'll be a funny story to tell.

      Though what's really funny is that, ever since I fell, my bluetooth speaker's connection magically improved. No static, no interruption. Just crystal clear, wireless streaming. The whole time we owned the speaker the signal to it had never strong. But then, right after my fall, it suddenly fixes itself. My phone now sits out in the bedroom while I play my shower tunes. Isn't that just freaking perfect?


-Dana.


"Have you ever fallen and hurt yourself as an adult? Did you ever break a bone for the first time later in life? Did you luck run out at an inopportune time? Sound off in the comments below!"

      It's been about three months since I started actively working on my weight loss. Calorie counting, stepping with my Fitbit, and swimming once a week have all contributed to this and I hope I've created a routine that I can maintain.

      Initially, I had a lot of water weight just hanging around. During the first month of calorie counting, this just melted off at an insane rate. I was shocked at just how much I lost in the beginning. Like, double digit loss with very little effort. By the second month, I was steadily losing about a pound a week. I was a little disappointed that it wasn't as fast as month one, but still seeing those losses really kept me motivated. I was doing something right!

      I think calorie counting is ideal for me. I mean, I can still have McDonalds, the stereotypical epitome of fatness and unhealthy food. I didn't start this to eat perfectly healthy. I just wanted lower numbers on the scale to prove a point to my doctors (the number didn't matter, the pain was always there). I knew that over time I could make the healthier choices because I felt more confident in my diet. And I did. I started choosing to cook instead ordering in. I would go for a protein heavy meal to stave off hunger. I'd excitedly drink water to stay hydrated. Slowly, but surely I'm making healthier choices and I have the willpower to maintain it.

      So, the big reveal. The thing that I never thought I'd be able to say. "I've lost weight." A decent amount of weight. As of a week ago, I'm now down just over 30 lbs. I couldn't believe it. I've never lost that much intentionally in my life. It felt like such a victory. I did this. I worked hard and earned this.

      Now, I still have weight to lose and I will continue to work on my weight loss for the rest of the year. However, I feel really proud of myself and motivated to keep going.  Maybe I'll never be the "perfect" weight, but I can be healthier overall and prove that my condition exists at any weight. I hope to find a happy medium and work towards that. I'll check in again a few months from now, but until then I'm going to celebrate my current success, not of the weight loss but of my immense effort producing results. All my hard work is what matters. I made the impossible possible for myself. Now, I want to revel in that for a little bit.

-Dana.


Have you ever lost a large amount of weight? How did you feel losing weight? Do you maintain the weight loss? Sound off in the comments section!

      I've put a lot of pressure on myself since setting my goals for 25. I really want to achieve them and I thought clearing my skin would be the easiest one considering I'd been working on it for so long. Unfortunately, last month's set back really threw me through a loop. Then, things continued to get worse.

      I felt like nothing I did was working. I felt like my face was redder and angrier than ever before. Turns out, I was right.

      With all the pressure I'd put on myself, I'd started being super strict about cleaning my skin (way too often). I was also using a harsh serum (12.5% Vitamin C) when I probably should've started with a lower dose. Worst of all, I was picking at any little imperfection until my skin cracked and bled. This caused redness and more scarring. Trying to make myself better I just made everything worse.

      So, I decided to do something similar to my basic routine from a year ago when I wrecked my skin. I only cleanse with water in the mornings. Cerave Foaming Cleanser is only for night time. Next, I stopped using heavy toners and switched to Thayer's Fragrance Free Witch Hazel toner. It's very gentle, listed as an SCA Holy Grail product, and alcohol free too. Then, most begrudgingly, I set aside the Vitamin C Serum since it felt a bit harsh. It was expensive and I felt it was a bit of a waste, but I needed to start over.

      My routine is much simpler now, and I'm hoping my skin can recover over the next couple months. I'll have to resist picking (which feels impossible) but I can see that it's counterproductive. We'll see how my skin fares in the warmer weather, but I have high hopes. Maybe hitting rock bottom was what I needed to find success.

-Dana.


What was your worst skincare setback? Did one of your favourite products suddenly cause a reaction? Have you ever had to get rid of an expensive product? Tell me in the comments section!