I am in a period of upheaval.

Pippa started kindergarten on Monday, and Julian starts preschool in a week and a half. This means I will have more Me Time, and I want to use that time for exercise and writing.

Except…

Standing in Pippa’s kindergarten classroom this past Monday, I realized I want to be involved with her elementary school life. I want to be in her classroom so I know what my daughter’s days are like. And more, I want to be there to help the teacher because holy eff, how is one teacher supposed to teach twenty-five five year olds how to read??? Pippa’s teacher is amazing, but education also depends on parental participation. And even more, I want to be there because something in my gut is telling me to do that.

I did not realize that the start of kindergarten was going to be such a big transition for me! I thought I was going to have heaps and heaps of extra time to write. I didn’t realize I’d start thinking over my values and how I want to spend my time. I didn’t realize I’d want to spend some of my Me Time in the kindergarten classroom. Which means I have to either (a) spend less time writing or (b) diminish another “obligation” to free up more writing time.

Well.

Poop.

I’m actually going to see my psychic in nineteen minutes to sort through all the crap spinning around in my head.

(I’ll have to write another post about “my psychic” and my new growing relationship with the tarot and intuition. By another post, I probably mean “an ass shit ton” of posts because I’m figuring all this out as I go along. My journal is a wonderful place to vent and express and feel the joyful flow of words moving through my body, but blogging is helping me become very intentional about my journeys and adventures.)

A big part of me feels like I need to sort out my calendar and figure out my priorities. How much time will I spend working at preschool? How much time will I devote to kindergarten? And how will I spend my time helping at elementary school? And what about my writing? Just how much time do I need to feel satisfied on that front? What about my podcast? And the support group I run? A couple of days ago, it occurred to me that it might be time for me to stop leading a mom-to-mom postpartum support group on Thursday afternoons and instead, maybe host a monthly nighttime gathering. The Thursday group takes a huge chunk out of my babysitter time, which is time that I could spend writing, and shit, I have a lot of crap to consider.

Deep breath.

I don’t have to figure out my life today. Or tomorrow. Or next week.

Right now, I just need to accept that I’m in a period of chaos, upheaval and transition. A month from now, I’ll have a better handle on how I want to spend my days.

For now, it’s enough to embrace the chaos.

As I blogged about here and then here, I have been fasting from sugar, one hour at a time, since August 5, 2018 at 7 a.m. I have now been fasting from sugar for eleven days, just by taking a One Hour Sugar Fast. As of this morning, I have lost four pounds. (Woot woot!)

Earlier today, while walking around the mall with Julian, a thought bubbled to the surface of my conscious: I’m ready to commit to a One Day Sugar Fast.

Eleven days ago, I was eating all the sugar: ice cream; pancakes with syrup; donuts; more ice cream; candy; birthday cake; and oh my god, give me more ice cream. The thought of giving up sugar for even one day was overwhelming. How could I get through an entire day without at least a little hit of chocolate? Impossible!

But could I live without sugar for one hour? Yes, of course. The idea of fasting from sugar for one lousy hour was so absurd, that of course I could and would follow through on the commitment. The commitment was so ludicrous, I could even extend the fast for another hour and then another and another until lo, I found myself living without refined sugar for an entire week.

Now that I have been living without refined sugar eleven days, the idea of fasting for One Day More feels so ridiculously small, that of course I can commit to it. It’s been eleven days since I had processed sugar. I can easily make it to Day Twelve.

And so, the Adventure of The One Hour Sugar Fast has turned into the Adventure of the One Day Sugar Fast. I’m not exactly sure where this adventure will take me, but I know that (a) this is something I must do and (b) I need to blog about my weight loss adventures because (c) this is about something bigger than numbers on a scale.

For the past year, I have let myself eat whatever I wanted to eat. Sometimes I wanted to eat healthy nutritious foods. And sometimes, I did not. I had to take the past year to eat all the chips and ice cream and candy and chocolate that my heart desired to show myself that I am worthy of love no matter what.

I get that now. I am worthy. Simply by virtue of being, I am worthy.

But now I am ready to level up. It’s no longer enough for me to love myself no matter how much I weigh. Now I want to love myself so much, that I take immaculate care of my body so I can feel like my best and most vibrant self.

I have the One Hour/One Day Sugar Fast is going to help me get there. I have a lot of work to do – eat more veggies! drink more water! ditch the Diet Soda! – but one adventure at a time. It’s tempting to hit the time travel button and jump to the end of my journey by making an overnight transformation, but I have seen that movie, and I know how it ends: with me having a breakdown, going back to all my bad habits, and gaining back all the weight. This time, I’m watching a different movie. It’s the Peter Jackson Hobbit movie version of weight loss. But I know that right now, this is the adventure I have to follow.

One day/dragon at a time.

As I explained last week in this post, I gave up refined sugar for one hour on August 5, 2018. You read that right. Just one hour.

I know, it seems absurd to give up sugar for one lousy hour. That’s the point. If I gave up sugar for a month or even a week, that commitment would seem too daunting. I’d get overwhelmed, crack, eat all the Red Vines, and decide life is not worth living without sugar.

Believe me, I know this from prior experience. I have tried breaking up with sugar many times in the past. Always with grandiose resolutions to get clean and pure. And sometimes, I could last for a month or two, but always, the idea of an eternity without sugar made me crack.

But one hour? I can give up sugar for one hour!

So that’s what I have been doing for the past nine days. Or, more accurately, for the past 204 hours. Every hour, I give up sugar. And every hour, I decide to give it up for one more. I don’t actually think about sugar that much. The sugar fast automatically renews on the hour, so if I get a hankering, I just check the time and remind myself that I can have sugar when the current hour is up. By the time the hour is over, the craving has passed.

I have felt pretty lousy the past few days: congested, headache, low energy… It might be a summer cold, but according to Dr. Google, I might be experiencing sugar withdrawal symptoms. My intuition tells me I’m hurting from sugar detox.

Sugar withdrawal symptoms do not make me reach for the chocolate. On the contrary. I just feel more determined to renew my one-hour sugar fast when the big hand on the clock reaches twelve. If sugar withdrawal is making me feel this shit lousy, then it’s better to renew the fast a few more times.

Bonus: I’ve lost just over three pounds in nine days. I have not made any other dietary changes. Also, I spent two days in bed, feeling sick as a dog, walking less than 2,500 steps in a 24 hour period. Which is to say, I’m exercising way less than usual but losing weight. Sweet!

But I mean sweet in a totally natural way, of course. Not in a waffle/Snickers/cupcake sort of way.

As I was writing in my journal this morning, I realized that my adventures with postpartum depression are similar to earthquake.

The first four months of postpartum depression were the equivalent of an actual earthquake, starting with some trembles and tremors that began to grow and grow in intensity until I felt as if my world was coming to an end. Four months postpartum, when I saw my obstetrician and told her I had thought about killing myself, there was one objective: STOP THE EARTHQUAKE.

I voluntarily admitted myself to the psych unit at my hospital and started taking Zoloft and mirtazipane. Four days later, when I left the hospital, the earthquake had stopped.

It was time for damage control.

After a big earthquake, there are a lot of immediate crises: collapsed buildings and bridges; fires, floods; and dozens if not hundreds of people in mortal peril. There are also broken windows and crumbled chimneys, but first things first: you have to save the people.

For two weeks after my discharge from the hospital, that was my focus. I spent lots of time resting, taking long walks, and writing in my journal. I started seeing a psychologist. I got a massage and a pedicure. I went to the mall with my mom and bought shirts that were not stained with breast milk. In other words, we stopped the fires and floods and rescued all the people trapped beneath crumbled buildings and bridges.

During those two weeks, my husband, baby and I lived with my parents. When I was feeling more like myself, we went home. At that point of my recovery, I was ready to deal with the rest of the earthquake damage: the broken windows and crumbled chimneys; the cars smashed by fallen trees; the fallen power lines; and so forth.

I’m not going to go into too much detail about that part of my recovery because hey, I wrote a book about it. But long story short, when I had finished all the window and chimney repairs, I considered myself fully recovered from postpartum depression.

But something interesting had happened during my personal earthquake.

Like an actual geological earthquake, postpartum depression had ripped open a chasm right across my soul. I was able to peer into that chasm and see the inner workings of my spirit.

The chasm revealed a toxic waste dump.

I could have covered the chasm with dirt and fenced it off with barbed wire and signs that said “Danger: No Trespassing.” Then I could have planted tall trees around the fence and acted as if the chasm had never happened.

I think that’s what most people expected me to do. It’s the polite way to deal with a spiritual toxic waste dump.

But I refused. Instead of burying my chasm, I have spent the past five years climbing down into its depths, hauling out the toxic waste, and sometimes, just holding my hand against the infected soil to draw the poison out with love and patience.

This website is about everything that has happened and has continued to happen since postpartum depression ripped open a chasm in my soul and revealed the toxic waste deposits that were dragging me down.

I have another website, PPDadventures.com, but I want to limit that website to all things related to the immediate recovery from a maternal (or paternal) mood disorder. That website is for the moms and dads who are in the middle of an earthquake and need to figure out how to make the ground stop shaking. It’s for people who are putting out fires and floods. And it’s for the women and men who are still trying to cobble their chimneys back together. That is all difficult and important work, and frankly, while you are doing that work, you shouldn’t have to worry about chasms that reek of toxic waste.

But once all the catastrophes are handled, and there’s this gaping chasm in the wilderness of your soul, then what? What do we do with the chasms?

I’m going to keep writing until I figure that out.

I gave up sugar for one hour today. That hour went so well, I gave it up for another hour and then another, and now I have been refined-sugar free for twelve hours.

Let me back up and explain.

I was listening to Episode 97 of the How Do You Write podcast. Host Rachael Herron was interviewing author Rose Lerner, and during the interview, Rose mentioned the book Mini Habits: Smaller Habits, Bigger Results by Stephen Guise. Just from the title of the book, I knew this was something exciting and immediately added it to my Amazon Wishlist.

Rose explained that instead of tackling big daunting mega-goals, mini-habits are so tiny, they are funny. She gave the example of flossing. She wants to get into the habit of flossing regularly. Instead of making a big resolution like “floss twice daily for an entire year,” she decided to floss ONE TOOTH every day. Just one tooth. That’s such a small habit, it’s ridiculous. How can you not take the time to floss one tooth?? And if you are going to floss one canine, you might as well tackle a few molars… and before you know it, all your teeth are polished and pretty.

I knew this was something I had to apply to sugar.

My relationship with sugar is long, complicated and tortured. Some people have epic disastrous on-again, off-again love affairs. I have sugar. (And caffeine. But I’m not ready to talk about that today.)

I gave up sugar earlier this year and felt fantastic. But I did too much too soon. Shortly after quitting sugar, I quit dairy, red meat, peanuts, gluten, and holy shit, my anxiety freaked the eff out, insomnia kicked in, and I discovered I have been numbing my anxiety for decades with my food addictions.

This is a problem. A problem I want to resolve. But giving up sugar, gluten, red meat, peanuts and dairy within a few short weeks… way too much. So of course I ate a little sugar and then a lot and now, I find myself devouring way too much sugar again.

I have been thinking for a couple of weeks that I need to wean myself off the refined sugar beast again. But I felt repulsed by the idea of another Major Dietary Overhaul. I’ve done that before. Many times. It doesn’t work. So why should I keep torturing myself?

But I could not get the idea of mini habits and flossing one tooth out of my head. What if I gave up sugar for one hour? Just one hour? That’s such a tiny commitment, it’s almost funny.

I was journaling about the idea of a sugar mini-fast this morning and when I looked at the time, it was exactly 7:00 a.m. The timing could not be better.

And so, at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday, August 5, 2018, I went on a one hour sugar fast. That went well, so I extended it for another hour and then another. Now I’m twelve hours into this sugar fast, but unlike prior diets, this does not feel so daunting or extreme. It’s more of a game. How many mini-fasts can I string together? And after I break a streak, whenever that may be, can I beat the original streak with something longer?

I have no idea how this will go, but I’m curious to see!

I am working on being more grateful. I feel so much better when I consciously and intentionally practice gratitude. So without further adieu, here’s a list of random things for which I am very grateful:

1. Classical Stretch, The Esmonde Technique – I record this stretching program off PBS and since starting it a few weeks ago, I have noticed a considerable reduction in back pain.
2. Crowded House the band (My husband and I were talking about them a minute ago and now I want to replay my favorite album, Together Alone)
3. Blogging
4. My five year old’s knock knock jokes (so bad)
5. My 2.5 year old’s knock knock jokes (even worse)
6. Snuggles, because that’s what my 2.5 year old wants to do, so time to hit Publish and get our snuggle on.