So, here’s the thing.

I’m bad about writing about my life.

The poor abandoned state of this here blog should tell anyone that. I’m terrible at it. I don’t even post updates on Facebook, other than the occasional Instagram picture or a share of a funny.

I’m not a sharer. Yet, I started a blog, about three years ago, to share that. I think it was my effort to try to share more. I’ve done okay over the years, but I think that I need to get back in the habit of getting my thoughts out, even just a little bit, especially as I struggle with issues surrounding my body, self image, and the changing status of life in general.

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My body and I have always had a tenuous relationship. Between trying to run and my feet failing me, trying to balance grad school/work/sleep and finding that it didn’t leave time for exercise (or that I simply didn’t have the motivation and when I did, I ended up even more exhausted afterwards), and general budget/time/lack of kitchen space constraints on cooking efforts.. I’m back in a place with my body where I have to stop, think, and reevaluate what healthy is to me.

Healthy is not where I am on the scale. Healthy is something that’s probably lower than I am now, but I’m working on finding healthy as something that I feel, not that I need outside validation of from the red blinking numbers on a machine.

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I like being active. Prioritizing it is the hard part, so I try to work it into my daily life. Purposefully take the stairs. Walk the long way back from lunch. Take a bike ride before sitting down for homework. Some days it’s purposeful. Others it’s not. When my pedometer tells me that I’ve only walked 4,000 steps, but I’ve done my grocery shopping, gotten a paper written, and have my meals for the week mostly portioned out… I’m gonna count it as a win, steps or no steps.

So here’s to documenting that again, and keeping myself aware. Because if I force myself to put it out there, I’m more likely to keep acknowledging it. Not judging, not pressuring myself, just acknowledging. Being aware. And then strengthening the good parts, and slowly removing the weak.

Oh, and here’s Moose because I know you all have missed her.
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I guess the ‘thing’ is, I’m trying. And that’s all I can do. And that is okay.


Last week, there was a shooting at Florida State University. In the age of school shootings, gun control issues and other heated issues, I am not unused to seeing the news of shootings on the news. It’s a sad reality, but it’s true. However, I didn’t expect that it would ever happen to someplace that I called home.


FSU was the place where I found myself. Where I figured out, away from family and the town I grew up in for the first time, who I am. What I am doing. Where I am going. It was the place where I discovered what it was like to be defined by no terms but my own.

Last week, the security of that sense of home was shattered by the news I woke up to on Thursday morning.  I wrote this post to share on a Facebook group, and at the time I knew it would become a blog post, but I wasn’t quite ready to share it until now.  This is my reaction on the day of:

Today I am not courageous. I am self absorbed. I am frightened. I am hurting for a nameless group of people who were terrified out of their minds last night. I am trying not to bury myself in comfort mechanisms that don’t serve any purpose, and aren’t actually all that comforting, but they’re what I think I should do for some reason. I am trying to hold it together, and I’m failing.

But that’s okay. Today I’m allowed. I don’t have anything supremely important to do. I am just working towards finishing the day in one piece (or at least several large, easy to put back together pieces) and beginning again tomorrow.

I went to Florida State University. I spent four years in that library, in the middle of the computers on the main floor, hiding in corners of the research floors with earbuds in writing papers, chatting with my German classmates in the Starbucks for Stammtisch. I lived for two years in the dorm that is not 500 yards away from that same library. I sat on the steps. I hung out on the green. I directed freshmen to the research materials they needed.

And last night, someone shattered the safety of a full library three weeks before finals. Someone hurt my fellow Seminoles. And honestly, even living three hours away and being a student at another school completely, it still shakes me like I had been there. All of the news footage is almost too personal – I know that doorway, where it leads. I know those stacks. I know that display case… you get what I mean. You never think that it’s going to happen to you, in your home, where you live. But last night, for me, it did.

Today, I’m praying for families. For injured. For the family of the shooter. For the students who have to be brave enough to resume their normal lives tomorrow, and keep moving forward. They’re not going to be okay, but they’re going to do it anyway. And so will I.

But today, I’m allowed not to be courageous.”

Time marches on, as we go forward, we learn to heal, however hard it is.

A student, Fahram, was injured in the shooting, and is paralyzed as a result of his injuries.  The news story about him can be found here:

You can donate to help offset his medical expenses through this YouCaring site.

Coffee date.

Inspired by Cassie here and Krissie here, this is my way of catching up.

Let’s sit down with a cup, shall we?

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We’d exchange hellos, the “Oh, your hair is really red now!” and other such obvious comments. I’d nod, say that I was doing alright as a brunette, but being a redhead simply matched my personality more. You would nod, and agree. Speak softly, and have fun hair, that’s me.

You’d ask how school is, and I’d roll my eyes and give a long suffering sigh. “Crazy, yeah?” “Oh, the craziest.”  I’d recount how I took three classes during the busiest time of the year for my work, and how it almost killed me. That my motivation and my self care absolutely dropped to nil.  That it almost made me want to give up, even though I wouldn’t allow myself to fail. And giving up is failure.

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Somewhere I’d end up on a tangent about programs I want to plan, things I want to do, changes I want to make in the world. You’d nod, and smile. I’d run out of steam, eventually, as I usually do. Daunted by the fact that I have so many dreams, so many ambitions, and am really limited in how much I can do at the moment. Eventually I’d shrug, sip my coffee, take a bite of my cookie and say “Well, some day.”

We’d talk about things like having fancy drinks with friends, or the times that we actually get to hang out together. The rare times, the moments where I’m usually procrastinating or stealing time between assignments, quarters, or work.  I’d laugh about my fondness for whiskey, and joke about how I’m probably just a crotchety old Southern gent inside waiting for the day I get to holler at kids to get off my lawn.

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I’d show you too many pictures of Moose, and the dogs that I dogsit for. The roulette of houses I visit to snuggle up to canines and attend class, working out of other people’s homes as if they’re libraries for my study zone. Sometimes I’m home, others I’m not. At least cats are solitary creatures, and Moose doesn’t seem to dislike me for my habit of wandering off and coming home smelling like dog.

It’s probably because I feed her.

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We’d get a good laugh about the time that I dressed up and reenacted with the fort, being the town flirt who was possibly an accessory to murder. I’d tell you about the corset and the laugh that my friend Jill and I had getting me into it, and the bigger laugh that Amy and I had getting me out of it at the end of the night when I was Done-with-a-capital-D with it.


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I’d confide that I haven’t felt very “healthy” lately. That I don’t follow my own advice and work out as much as I want. That my eating habits suck. I don’t sleep well most nights, and that I’m trying not to freak out about the fact that what used to come so easily.. doesn’t, now. You’d assure me it’s okay. That it’s just a phase of the moment, and it will get easier. As time passes and stress levels lower (Yeah, we’ll laugh at that) I’ll reestablish my routine again.

I’d confide that I have been secretly dating my running shoes again. In short spurts. Sometimes just walking, others in running. No coherent training plan, just a run. Or run/walk. Or dog walk. But something. It’s a start. It’s a beginning. The journey of a thousand miles begins with just one step, and all of that.

Photo Sep 27, 1 59 35 PMQuietly, I’d tell you of my insecurities. How they haunt me. That I’m afraid I’ll never be free of them. And you’d take my hand and tell me that no, I won’t. But I will be able to trust myself, in my own brilliance and passion, enough that I won’t fear them anymore.

I’d smile, and realize that I’d have talked the entire time about what I think are silly things about me. I’d promise to talk less next time, but you know I probably won’t have coffee with you again for a while, and that means a lot of catching up will happen next time, too. We smile, finish the cookie. A hug. A promise.

And that, my friends, is our coffee date.

Gratuitous Moose Ending.

Gratuitous Moose Ending.

Historian goes to Health School: Learning to Thrive.

Here’s the thing about why I haven’t been blogging:

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I spend so much time on my computer already.  It’s kind of ridiculous. My laptop, my iPad and my phone are my lifelines, my work sources, and my ball and chain.

There are so many mornings where I haven’t ran. I can’t remember the last time before last night (at 10 PM. With a German shepherd. On a whim.) that I really ran. This past week, after working myself into a sinus infection and the beginnings of tonsillitis and struggling in vain just to keep myself together so I could keep going on, I stopped. I wasted time. I made myself take a breath. Sleep. And ease myself back into things.

Was I behind in work? God yes. Was I struggling to catch up? Like nobody’s business. Was I stressing out about it anymore? Nope.

The end of the quarter is always the hard time. Finals, final projects, etc., start to overload and come to a head and suddenly I’m just laid flat when it ends and I don’t have anything to do for a week or two. That’s how end of terms always are with me. With MPH@GW it’s a bit harder because I’m working my way through four quarters with only a week or so in between until December when I get the month off, so I’ve literally been in school almost consistently for close to 20 weeks. And I have two more quarters to go for this round.  It’s easy, so easy, to burn out.
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And friends, I am so burnt out that I am charred and krispy. Pass the ketchup, stick a fork and call me BBQ.

But I can’t stop. I can’t give up, because I still have to manage to pass my Biostatistics final and not fail the class (I’m not going to fail, no matter how much I whine like I am. I’m quite proud of how not-going-to-fail I am) and finish the grant proposal with my group for Program Planning of Disease Prevention Programs. It’s not over yet.

So what am I learning to do? Thrive. In the years between undergrad and beginning graduate school, I forgot how well I work under deadlines. How much I manage to just make things happen.

The trick is making my healthy habits happen at the same time. So that I don’t get sick. So that I don’t eat crap. So that my body doesn’t feel like I got hit by a MAC truck at the end of the day. Maybe that would be easier if the only time I can find for working on lecture materials wasn’t 5:30 AM. Or if I wasn’t putting out fires every day at work. But even without that ease, I’m doing okay.
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Vegetables are my friend. Protein is good. Sleep is a requirement, not an option. Everything will still be there waiting when I wake up.  Just like it will be there when I get back from my run (which let’s be honest, running for me is run-walk-run-walk-jog-walk…. I run to prove to my body that it can, not to be a runner or even for fitness. But that’s a whole other post).

And I definitely can’t forget to feed the cat.

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So now I go back to working. Editing. But I’m trying to follow this wise advice, and remember how much I love the process of working through challenges, rather than focusing so much on the challenges themselves.

Photo May 07, 11 12 51 PMI’m learning to thrive in the life I’ve built for myself, even if it’s not always the easiest.

What have I been hiding from?

The past few weeks, months… I feel as if a part of me has always been hiding behind the screen, keeping just out of sight, panicking when I felt someone get a little too close.

What part of me? The part that cared about no one but myself. The part that put nothing and no one above my own survival and ability to thrive in the situation.  That part of me has been pushed into a box and stuffed away ever since last August.

When my grandpa was diagnosed with cancer. When I started a relationship. When I entered graduate school. When I began having to schedule time for my friends rather than being able to just decide to go out on a whim.

When everything around me seemed to demand that I care more about other people than myself.

So I stuck the part of me that wanted to take care of myself, to invest time and resources on good things which benefited no one but myself into a box. Why?

Because I fear, above all else, being seen as being selfish. Why do I do that? Because society tells us to be selfless, to love the other person more than you love yourself. That your worth is what you can do for other people, not what you can do for yourself.  People who climb the social ladder to further themselves socially, professionally.. they’re painted as being cut throat, bitchy, hard.  People who give the shirt off their backs, who share what they have and ask nothing in return are shouted from the mountain tops as being someone worth emulating (though they are, in turn, called soft and easy to manipulate, door mats, etc. as well. There are two sides to every coin).

I wanted to be one of those people who gave everything to everyone else. That’s how the people who are the biggest influences in my life are. I wanted to be just like them. So when things happened that mattered to no one but me (break up? Diet flop? Bad test grade?) I just kind of bottled it up as much as I could and only let a few people see a little bit of it, because I didn’t want to be… selfish.

Yesterday, a friend of mine asked if I could come pick her up from a doctor’s office and bring her home because they wanted to do a minor test that would leave her unable to drive herself — But only if it didn’t bother me, or take me out of my way. I know that she’s terrified of pain and doctor’s and I could hear the anxiety in her voice, so I asked if she would like me to come up and do more than just pick her up, to hold her hand, to make sure she’s okay, and I got the same “I don’t want to bother you” speech, because she didn’t want to be any trouble. I went up and sat with her, made sure she ate lunch, and got her home safely. I also granted her doctor the knowledge that she snorts when she laughs really hard about something.

That’s me. The person who didn’t want to be any trouble. I was perfectly willing to be there for my friend.  I’m more than happy to go out of my way and take the time to do that, but driving myself home it hit me that I would have used the same terminology. I probably wouldn’t have even called anyone, wouldn’t have asked them to help me. I would have refused the drugs and taken the hit full pain force to make sure I could drive home.

Because I didn’t want to seem selfish asking someone to help me.

Asking for help isn’t selfish. Taking care of myself, choosing to invest my time in myself rather than others isn’t selfish.  Beyond getting into graduate school and focusing the minimum of my time on it, investing the majority of my time in my studies is not selfish.  If that means that time I would have with other people, for other people, gets cut because I refuse to cut the time I need outside of my studies to take care of myself, then so be it.

I don’t want to hide behind my fear of being seen as selfish. I don’t want to be seen as someone who “lets herself go.” I want to be able to be proud of myself, my care of myself, rather than feeling ashamed if I want to make a big deal out of my birthday, my good grades, my stress over school. It may not have anything to do with the people I’m ranting to, but if I matter to them, it will matter to them. I don’t expect them to care as deeply as I do, but I don’t need to hide that part of myself from them either.

I am worthy of being selfish. Not just occasionally. Constantly. Every day, I vow to do something a little selfish. To take time for no one but myself.

Giving to others is part of who I am. I do what I can, and I want to be there for people when they need me, like when they face a doctor’s appointment and they’re scared. When they need a ride and I’m going vaguely in their direction. All of those times when I’m happy to go above and beyond.

But I shouldn’t avoid the times when I need to go above and beyond for myself, either.

All or nothing

I’m not someone who likes to do things halfway.  If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it. Which is probably why house cleaning tends to happen in short, intense bursts in my life, but that’s a confession for another time.

As my life shifted the past couple of weeks, I got the bug that maybe I could get through this quarter without sacrificing so much of a social life. As a certain vacancy had opened up, I figured out my schedule and though “Hey, I can do that!” and accepted every invitation. And I don’t regret doing it at all, because I needed that time.

I do regret not focusing the time I had left more wholly on my school work, but that’s my innate procrastinator in my personality.

So now I’m wiggling things around, putting color coded labels into my planner and figuring out how I’m going to balance things. Balance my good eating habits (well, my attempts at better eating habits, because I can’t be perfect) which require time and preparation, my deep desire to have more of a fitness routine because it makes me feel good, my human need for companionship of friends, oh, and working full time and going to school full time.

No sweat, right?

Balance is something that keeps coming up in my blog, especially in terms of Work+School+Life. I struggle with it, and I take comfort in knowing that other people do too. It’s a struggle we all have, because we all have the same 24 hours in the day, and we all have the same physical limitations, because we’re not Time Lords.

…If you are a Time Lord, well, I’d like to submit my humble application to be your next companion. Just sayin’.

As far as things go, I’m doing pretty well, if you don’t squint too hard at my Biostatistics work. If you do, well, it’s Biostatistics. If you understand it better than I do, please, feel free to explain it. In small words.

Really, I make time to go swing dancing on Tuesdays after my class lets out. It means getting up early with extra coffee to make sure I am prepared on Biostats for class, but it’s worth it. I take the time to pack lunches, which is much better for my wallet and my waistline. I keep track of things. And I don’t beat myself up, because I can’t change what’s gone wrong before, I can only keep moving forward and hope to keep out of the way of further mistakes.

Now I’ve got a Moose on my feet, a fuzzy blanket to ward off this WEIRD APRIL COLD SNAP and a congratulatory episode of Call the Midwife to reward myself for getting through work and classes this week… and to help me forget that I have an entire day dedicated to school work in my planner tomorrow, in an effort to get ahead of things before my birthday.

It’s kind of a big one, and I’m all excited!


Things… change.
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Sometimes, they change unexpectedly. Out of the blue. And you’re left standing somewhere you’ve been a million times, but everything has changed.

Life changes. Relationships change. Things ends. And sometimes, you don’t have anything you can do about it, except move on. Which, of course, is the hardest part.

I’ve never dealt with change well.  I don’t handle it well, because I like to understand things. I want the motivation, the reasoning, the impetus to all be clear cut and laid out before me. And sometimes that just doesn’t happen. I don’t get that luxury. I just have to deal.

I suck at rolling with the punches in terms of my personal life.

But I rock at doing it with my work and school life. Interesting.  Because as everything shifted, I couldn’t let things go and had to work on school work. Had to go to work for a seven day stretch. Had to keep getting up every day and moving forward.  The luxury of my explaining my decisions, or even making them, was taken away for a while.
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Until I decided to do what I wanted to do.

Seriously, I should have a motivational poster that says “When in emotional distress, dye your hair and go swing dance.”Photo Apr 10, 3 32 25 PM
I know this is cryptic, doesn’t really have anything to do with graduate school or work or health related, other than my personal mental health, but that’s what this blog is for.

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