The woman behind the picture - Part 9: Melissa Manville

In my life I have always struggled with feeling beautiful, inside and out.

It’s been a constant battle in my mind. I know my father in heaven thinks I am beautiful, I know my husband does. My family does too! I don’t have it figured out yet, no one does. I am going to tell you a couple of stories in hopes that you will understand where I am coming from and see how I am trying to see my beauty inside and out.

I loved school in elementary. I had lots of friends, always had someone to play with and felt good about myself. Grade 6 is the first time it happened. A boy much much bigger then me stopped me in the playground on the way home from school and told me I was ugly and had no friends and then proceeded to push me to the ground then chase me as I ran home! Then in grade 7 there were a few kids who would tell me I was ugly and that I had a big nose…. I started to retreat and slowly had fewer and fewer friends because I didn’t try to make new ones. If these kids thought it, then everyone else did too… right?…. I hated school. But eventually tried so so hard to make friends but they weren’t always the best friends. They would say nasty things behind my back. Then my parents (for reasons unknown to me) decided to move out of the city to a small town. This was the best thing to ever happen. The community was 90% Christian and they were so welcoming and I loved it! No one cared what you looked like or what you believed.

So here I am having fun with all my friends. But I still didn’t consider myself loved or beautiful. What was wrong with me? Nothing… I had a church leader very close to me. I talked to her about it, she told me to pray and talk to my father heaven about it…. Well duh why hadn’t I thought of that.

After high school I moved out to Calgary, I was excited to start a new chapter in my life. I soon realized that I didn’t have a plan, no dreams or goals. I just dated any shmuck that gave me a little bit of attention. I thought I was loved by these guys. I had one boyfriend who was manipulative and angry.  We dated off and on for about a year. I had friends who told me to not see him but the attention that he gave me always sucked me back in. I finally ended it after one night when we were “hanging out” he tried to force me to have sex with him. Things started going in that direction and then something clicked in my mind and I ran out of his house and made him drive me home. I stopped seeing him after that at least not alone. I told him that I didn’t feel good inside when we were together. My best friend at the time started taking me to the gym with her. We would work out together and do positive up lifting things. I remembered what I learned in high school; that I am beautiful and that I don’t need negative influences or negative attention to make me feel beautiful. I began to do things that I enjoyed, I learned how to long board, I rode my bike. I made a choice that I would only date guys that made me feel beautiful.

I still look in the mirror some days and look at my nose and think, “why can’t you just shrink?” and I get the same unhappy and self destructive thoughts that I had.  But then stop I lean on the knowledge that He loves me and that I am beautiful. To this day I have to remind my self of this and re learn that fact.

October 29th 2010… was the worst day of my life. I felt that my body had failed me, failed Steve, failed Gods plan. I remember feeling like the ugliest person in the world when I got the news that I was pregnant, but that it was an ectopic pregnancy. How could this happen?  How could my body do this to me? It wasn’t until I got pregnant again with Porter that next January did I really realize that it wasn’t my body that had failed. God had a plan for me. I think about it almost daily and think “wow” Heavenly father has control, and he knows what I need. I see the beauty in that, the beauty in his creations. I look at the scars from the surgery and think these are marks from heaven. You may think I am weird for thinking this but it’s like they are there to remind me how precious life is, how beautiful God is, How beautiful I am. These marks make me who I am.

Beauty is a hard subject, even after these experiences that I have had I still struggle with feeling beautiful. Just recently I have decided that I want to become the best I can be physically and spiritually. I find beauty in the fact that our bodies can do so many things. Why not see what mine can do. I am trying to find new talents and develop my spirituality by reading good things. I am pushing myself, growing into the best me possible. I always feel good when I push myself and that makes me feel beautiful.

The woman behind the picture - Part 8: Moka Allen

Finding My Inner Beauty

As a victim of a sex crime at a young age, I grew up hating myself. I thought I was useless, ugly, embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I thought everything that had happened was my fault. I remember when my parents had found out about the attack. The house was very somber and my parents didn’t say much. It was an event in our lives that nobody was prepared for. I sat on the couch watching Nickelodeon and crocheting a Tweety Bird rug. A detective showed up at my house later that night to interview me. I was terrified to sit in my own living room with this man and recall the events to him and to make matters worse he was such a jerk and very insensitive, again making me feel like everything was my fault. My parents were in complete denial and couldn’t sit in the room with us. I’m not even sure that they talked about it to each other. I realize now since I am a parent what they must’ve been feeling but at the time in my 11 yr old mind, blame needed to be placed, and I placed it on myself. The next several months consisted of court dates and interviews with very matter of fact men who scared me to death. The charges were dropped against the man that had done this to me, and I would spend years of my life now trapped in jail inside of my own body while he would walk away with not even a slap on the hand. I didn’t know at the time but I had quickly developed an eating disorder as a way to cope and try to control something in my life. I didn’t even know what an eating disorder was until a couple years later.

I switched schools and was bullied quite a bit. I’d come home sobbing and put towels over the mirrors in my bedroom and bathroom so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. My grades were failing and I couldn’t concentrate on anything except what I ate last and what I was going to eat and not eat. I would spend my time at school pinching myself and trying to figure out how long it would take me to lose the “fat” on my elbow. I learned that year what anorexia was and that I had it. “Ana” (anorexia) had become my only friend. She made me feel better about myself. This disease had become a person to me. I was quickly getting sicker and sicker and nobody seemed to notice. I started researching anorexia and discovered “pro ana” websites dedicated to promoting and supporting people with eating disorders. These websites talked about punishing yourselves for eating and suicide. So, I started cutting myself after I’d eat and the meals got fewer and fewer apart, the suicide attempts and cutting got more and more frequent, it obviously never worked. I remember one day while I was home by myself, I took a handful of Tylenol trying to overdose and walked to my favorite spot as child and lied down on the ground waiting to die. An hour later I sobbed wondering why it didn’t work staring at the sky pleading with God to let me die.

I somehow managed to survive middle school and my freshman year in high school things started to work themselves out. I was happy. I had a 4.0 GPA, I was a star volleyball player and cheerleader. I had a good group of friends, the teachers were great, I was dating junior and senior “popular” boys and I had put on a little weight. There was a place for me in high school and the past seemed to be the past. The summer before my sophomore year in high school my family moved to Utah and I was spending the summer still in Maryland with my friends. I became a victim for the second time of a sexual crime. I never reported it or told my family. I thought they’d hate me or be so ashamed. I was afraid I’d be abandoned. None of which is true, but the shame that a victim goes through is unreal. I come from an extremely loving family and my momma is my best friend, but hard topics weren’t talked about much in my family and were moved on from quickly. I went through anger, grief, denial and I didn’t reach acceptance for a long time. I held this inside and was a big secret literally eating every ounce of fat off of my body. I relapsed and went down hard. I started losing weight again, and trying to fit into a new high school in a small town was torture. I was completely invisible, except to the snake with blue eyes. He was the ultimate loser in a big truck, but he paid attention to me which was what I desperately needed at the time and something I would do anything for even if it would end up hurting me in the long run. He kept pressuring me to have sex with him and after some time of refusing he threatened to leave me. Well that abandoned feeling started to return and I gave in to pressure. I didn’t want to be alone and it turns out I wouldn’t be, because the first time we had sex I got pregnant. I was 15, pregnant, and the snake with blue eyes left me and I was now the laughing stock of the school in a small town. 

The same week that I found out I was pregnant my volleyball coach and biology teacher both pulled me into their office to confront me about my eating disorder. I completely shut down and was back in the denial phase all over again. Talk about self-hatred. I wanted to run away and never be found again. I explored adoption because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do and felt pressured to do because nobody was very supportive and it only seemed to cause tension in my house. So I decided I was going to keep her, which also caused problems in my house and other relationships.  No matter what I did nobody was happy. I was a failure. My life at home was chaotic, my OBGYN was not very kind and my family was mum or my brother was yelling at me about how selfish I was. I spent my time at home hiding in my room or working for my Dad, who at times had to defend me to some of his customers.

My labor and delivery was extremely hard and I was not given proper medical treatment. I was alone most of the time with my daughter in the hospital and it was an awkward situation that most people tried to avoid. I cried myself to sleep every night and questioned myself as to what the hell I was doing. I was at my rock bottom but finally ready to tackle the world as a 15 year old single mom. I had a reason to live, to fight. I wasn’t able to live for myself but this little girl loved me and needed me and would never hurt me or do me wrong. I didn’t want to fail her.

A few months later after I had lost 80 lbs, I went to my momma for help. I needed a therapist. So, I started going. I can’t say it did more good than harm but it was a step in the right direction. The suicide attempts were in the past but I was still anorexic and bulimic, and slowly starving myself to death. I often fought with my daughter’s birth dad, which usually ended up being quite violent, trying to create an ideal life which would never be. One night after a fight as I lay in my bed crying, feeling fat and out of control with no more stomach acid to throw up, I decided I needed to go running.

That night, a runner was born. The road quickly became a good listener and I was a religious about it. I still had anorexic tendencies but I began to eat to run. I couldn’t run fueled on diet pills, diuretics and laxatives. Although I wasn’t eating much it was certainly a start. All those long hours spent alone really forced me to get inside of my own head, to recall unwanted events in my life and sort them out, I would run to get the anger out, the sadness out,  and the demons inside of me that told me lies that I would never amount to anything.

I can’t tell you an exact moment that I found strength to overcome obstacles in my life or what caused me to fight; it’s been a long and ongoing process. I can’t tell you exactly what inner beauty is, since everybody’s definition is different, or that it’s something that I’ve got. But I absolutely am continuing in my quest to become more beautiful each day. I have come full circle in the past 3 years, I’m happy with a drive and passion for life. I welcome challenges now and never shy away easily. I am still a normal person and have dark moments in my life. I still tend to struggle with food and have plenty of moments doubting my self worth and wanting something that I don’t have, but the moments are fewer and farther between. I try not to let anyone control my life but myself, and I have found that I am much stronger than I ever thought I was. “You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” ~Unknown

 Lots of terrible things happen to great people. It’s how you deal with those situations that define you as a person. I was given lemons and in time I made lemonade.

The woman behind the picture - Part 7: Sandra Harding

  Never Admit De-Feet


  I clearly remember  one October afternoon, sitting in the rocker in our living room, feeding our  one month-old son, having sent the three older  children off to school for the afternoon, and feeling so peaceful, grateful and content --- life was not just good, it was Great!  I felt contentment right through to my very soul, and was recovering quickly from this fourth c-section-  then life took  a right hand turn and a long, hard struggle  began for me.

  My husband was laid off before Christmas , and began searching for new  employment – a difficult process at mid-life.  He worked hard to find work and it took time. He eventually found work, and then decided he needed to go back to school part-time and get his MBA while working full-time with a courier company and serving as a Scout Master.   We talked as a family about how money was going to be tight now, and the two older girls started  doing a flyer route. I would help them get the flyers ready, then walk around our neighborhood  with them to do the deliveries.   After a few weeks, my feet started to hurt --  I rested them, iced them, and wore better runners, but it persisted.  This began a 19 year long struggle with sore feet that continues to this day and has changed my life.

 I developed Plantar fasciitis in both heels, and because of the shape of my feet, a very high arch, it took  a LONG time to settle down. -  years!    I was not used to having an injury that would not respond within a reasonable time to care and treatment, so I tried just “pushing through” and  only made it  worse.  Subconsciously, I began to put more weight on the front of my feet, to spare the heels, and  over time, developed neuromas, or inflamed nerves, in-between several of the joints on the forefoot, as well as dropped met – heads –   joints that just dropped out of position and also became inflamed. The fat pad on the front part of my feet shifted, leaving the joints without padding., It was like walking with marbles in your shoes on the front and sharp pain in the heels. 

  I started going to see podiatrists, seeking relief from the daily pain in my feet ---  it was a very difficult case to deal with.  I tried night-splints, anti-inflammatories, orthotics,  physio, chiro., you name it --- I tried it!!   I had four children at home, a husband  who was crazy busy, and  trying to help at home, but gone a Lot. I got so tired of just sitting and looking at all the things that  needed to be done, I started cleaning the house on my hands and knees!   I would watch the clock and wait for the  older girls to come home, and ask them to run downstairs and change the laundry for me , or do other things around the house - I  needed their help to do  things that I had previously taken care of myself.  This may not seem like a big deal to some – you may think “Well of course the kids can pitch in and help,” but it is not easy to be the mom who is used to doing all of this and now having to rely on her kids more and more, not just for a short time, but for years.     Not easy for the kids either --- God sent me Angel children!

I struggled to  take care of my family, serve in the community and church the way I had all of my life and the daily pain was grinding!  I was unable to exercise regularly as I had done before, I started to gain weight, I could not go and Hang out and play volleyball with my friends any more,  or even just go for a walk/hike  --    what was happening to my body???   This was not ME  ---  I began to feel discouraged as the years went by. I would have some periods when my feet would settle down somewhat and I could do more, but then I  would then develop some new “Thing”and it would start again.  It affected every aspect of my life---  it changed how I felt about myself.       I saw “Life” passing me by.

  I  eventually went to a foot surgeon  who said that he had 98% success treating plantar fasciitis and he felt he could improve the situation in my heels at least, so  I choose this route --- four surgeries later, my hopes were again dashed. The surgeon then  admitted he had never seen feet as difficult as mine , but he had  thought he could handle it ---Crumm!!

  We invested in a wheel chair so that I could go out and shop once in a while and I hated that thing --- did not like to be sitting in it, did not like to be stared at, etc.,  BUT at least I could get out of the house and do stuff. So I learned to be patient with those who stared (mostly!), and not worry about it (again, mostly!).  One day, while I was venting about my “necessary evil”, the Said wheelchair, to my older sister, she encouraged me to just decorate the thing with balloons and ride it in style ---- I thought to myself “Why don’t YOU ride it in style!”  I had yet to learn what SHE had learned after spending years in and out of the AB Childrens Hospital with a daughter who had two kidney transplants – life is what you make of it!

  We took this Said Wheel chair on our trip to Europe recently --- it was a choice between being able to go and see all that we wanted to or being restricted because of my feet .Did you know that cobblestones roads provide a free  “Mexican Massage” if you are sitting in a wheelchair!   Interesting ---it was also handy for hanging wet clothes on in the Hotel room and I much preferred this use of the  Said Chair.

     So, the long and short of it  is this ----------  I have had to accept the fact that my feet  will not EVER be what they were  and I have had to make a lot of adjustments.  I do things that I would not have done had my feet been healthy – like Family History, swimming classes, and art classes. Yet these things have become blessings in my life.  I take my hat off to my children and husband  who  even now will step up and ask how they can help me and encourage me to let them do things rather than be on my feet too much, and to a husband who rubs my feet every night  and gets groceries as often as he can. I could not have mentally and emotionally survived without my families help --- I hope that I give back to them what I have been given, maybe not in “Foot-reliant” things , but hopefully  in Life’s Lessons learned!

  One side note --- I have to wear these UGLY but very supportive and comfy dress shoes with all of my dresses/skirts .   My vanity  has had to learn that  “What I wear on my Feet does Not Determine who I am.”       And if people stare or make comments, then that is just because they do not understand.

    I have more to do in this life yet, and I am excited about that.  My feet have taught me a terrible lesson in patience, tenacity, depression,  relying on others, and never quitting. 

   Part of how I used to see myself was someone who was   Fit, Active, Slim, and Capable --  well, after many years of reduced activity,  I  have  put on several pounds, so “Slim” is out the window,  but I am still Capable and I try to be as Fit as I can.   My Body –image has had to change --- how I see myself,  how I feel about my body and especially my Feet ---  I have sometimes looked at my feet and  been embarrassed because of my crooked little toes  and scars from surgery,  or been upset that these feet are not carrying me through life the way I want them to --- until one doctor said he was surprised I had not given up and just sat in a wheel chair !  Now, I am thankful for these little feet of mine and I take care of them ---sometimes I look at others feet with a touch of envy, but these are what I have to work with and you know what, they are doing well, in spite of everything!

When I see someone else who is in a Wheelchair, or who has a Body  with Physical limitations, I really try to see past what is on the Outside and look into their eyes and see the Person , and talk to them, not over or around them.

 It is coming into Spring --- I have wept a few tears in writing this ---  BUT I want to say that I am content with my life, and I am grateful for what I have.  No doubt, Life will throw a few more curves my way --- it already has --  I will not be afraid of that(mostly!).  I will take what I have learned, trust in God and go on. The following lines have become some of my favorite poetry:   

“I am wounded, But I am not slain.

I think I’ll lay here and Bleed a while, Then rise to Fight Again.”

The woman behind the picture - Part 6: Teddi Lee

This post will not be so much about a struggle with Body Image. My story is about a struggle with Internal Beauty. Outward beauty really doesn’t mean anything if you don’t feel beautiful inside. I’m thankful to Kim for allowing me this opportunity to be vulnerable and honest and I hope others can gain insight for themselves.

Growing up through my adolescent and teenage years, I was blessed to have no major trials. My parents were divorced when I was very young, but all things considered I had it pretty good. My Mom raised me in the LDS Church as a single parent and made sure I kept in touch with and fostered a relationship with my Dad. My mom raised me to have as much confidence in myself as possible. She put me into every lesson imaginable to develop my talents: dance, singing, sports, art, you name it, I did it! Since she was a high school teacher, she always instilled the importance of education, and I excelled in school and went on to graduate with a Degree in Nursing straight out of highschool. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I had an unshakeable confidence.

Fast forward a few years….marriage, real life, responsibility! Once high school sweethearts, we were now happy newlyweds.  Daniel and I ventured out of Calgary, away from our families, excited to start our own little life together. Life was great! I worked full time as a Registered Nurse at the local hospital while Daniel took a few classes in school. We started getting into Real Estate. We loved the idea that we could create passive income through obtaining Revenue properties and worked together on obtaining deal after deal (moving about every six months). Somewhere in the mix of all the moves, we added two puppies and decided to start a family. I got pregnant right away and we were ecstatic! Then life got tough.

I had a position and worked on the Psychiatric Unit in the Hospital when I become pregnant. Daniel was already apprehensive about me working in such an unpredictable environment, but became even more so once the news of my pregnancy came. I assured him that no pregnant lady (or anyone for that fact) had ever been assaulted on this Unit and I had even spoken to my managers who also laid that fear to rest. Two weeks later, Daniel’s fear became a reality.

I was the Nurse in Charge on that shift.   Not even an hour into my shift while I was admitting a new patient onto the unit, one of my patients began acting out, yelling at her family members that were visiting, destroying her room and was making her way out to the common area, which would be putting the other patients at risk. One of my male coworkers was already trying to deal with the situation. In hindsight, I should have let him and stayed out of it. Thinking that since I was the one who had established a rapport with this volatile patient, I cautiously intervened, keeping my distance. I simply asked her to go back to her room and we could talk about things. It was kind of a blur after that. I remember her turning toward me without hesitation and punching me square in the nose, reeling me back into a chalkboard ledge of some sort. My back hit it hard.  I was bleeding, fumbling to get up off the floor, trying to call Security, and I could hear my coworker (who had now put the patient in an arm hold) yell to some of my other coworkers to take me to Emergency because my nose was broken. I was in complete shock. I was 8 weeks pregnant.

How could this happen to me, especially in those fragile early weeks of pregnancy ? Why me? I was convinced that my baby had been harmed. My Doctor didn’t see any need to monitor or schedule an ultrasound. Not knowing the state of my baby was too much to bear. I developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had constant nightmares, and was nervous to go out in public. I wouldn’t step foot in that Psych Unit! My confidence took a nose dive.

After switching Doctors I was finally able to get that long awaited ultrasound that put my greatest fear to rest. I had one short scare of preterm labour, I had a long 40 hour labour followed by a PAINFUL C-Section because the epidural had slipped. OUCH is an understatement. Not even a broken nose with no pain meds could touch this! Nonetheless, I gave birth to my perfectly healthy daughter, though I quietly mourned that my body had rejected the normal progression of a natural labour. I felt broken.

I got a job offer that was a perfect fit for me working as a Nursing Education Assistant for a privatized Homecare company. I loved the atmosphere and the job. My confidence was beginning to return until my husband got a job offer he couldn’t refuse and within weeks and after much hesitation on my part, we were headed back toward Calgary.

In and around this last move, I had been dealing with countless other trials: Financial transitions. A personal illness that resulted in Surgery (and the joyous recovery).  The heartache of unsuccessful attempts of getting pregnant again. The stresses of moving-packing, unpacking, knowing no one and trying to make friends over again. To top it off, we were having some major family struggles.  I usually pride myself on being strong in the face of adversity, but dealing with all of this at the same time was too much to handle.  Any confidence I had left from my early years was gone, along with any belief in myself. I felt that I had no friends I could turn to because we moved so constantly. When we moved, people moved on, it’s just what happened. I felt so alone. How could trials just keeping coming like this? I just needed a break for some normalcy! Was that too much to ask?

Throughout all of this, I’m sure I seemed “beautiful” and “put together”.   I was still my happy, friendly, outgoing self, but inside, I was not beautiful anymore. I was negative, felt sorry for myself and wondered why things wouldn’t just get better so I could catch a break. I felt that I was lacking as a mother, a daughter, a wife and a friend. Most of my family and loved ones didn’t even realize all I was facing or how I was feeling inside. How could they? I didn’t want to bother anyone with my problems…everyone has their own to deal with!

I realized things had to change. Outward beauty means nothing when you didn’t feel beautiful on the inside. There was no point in waiting for the trials to stop, because they don’t! That’s life! So, I made a choice. I was going to change my belief in ME and gain my confidence back. I was going to focus on controlling the only thing I could-myself! Figuratively drew a line in the sand and told myself “I used to feel sorry for myself, depressed and alone, but now I’m getting better at realizing that trials allow me the privilege to grow into the person I want to become”.

I immersed myself in positivity. I began writing a gratitude Journal again, and dove into Personal Development books and audios. Through my current work, I began working with Bob Proctor who constantly teaches that positive thinking creates positive results. I quickly realized that my attitude toward life determines life’s attitude toward me! I prayed like I never prayed before. I read tons of books. I strengthened my testimony of the Enabling Power of the Atonement of Christ. For the first time, I realized that my Saviour had already suffered for not only for my sins, but also for my pains, trials and struggles. I did not need to feel that hurt and heartache! I only needed to humble myself enough to allow Him to release those burdens from me so that I could move forward.

With God, all things are possible. I will continue to act as if I am the person I want to become. The difference is that now, I believe it! Inside of me is a greater ME! I’ve retrained my mind, my thoughts and my beliefs and try not to look back. All I needed was for one person to believe in me…and that person HAD to be ME.  I live in the present, not in the past, or anxious for the future. I’m grateful for my trials; they force me to grow and develop into that person I am becoming. Chris Powell once said “A transformation [of your thoughts, beliefs, your life or your body image] means that you will fall and get back up. It’s who you become in the process”.

 Despite what this life may bring, I am grateful, I am blessed. I am beautiful! 

The woman behind the picture - Part 5: Kyley Schmidt

After reading all these wonderful articles about beauty and learning to love yourself, I felt inspired to write down what I have learned about "being beautiful."

Society has turned the idea of beauty into something so shallow and superficial, something that can be only seen from the surface. The media rarely labels someone as beautiful for being strong, being kind, being selfless, healthy and inspirational. Even though these types of beauties in women are not always placed at the forefront of a magazine or a television show, these are the types of beauties that I have learned are eternal and are of the utmost importance.

Growing up I was never considered the "hot" one or the best looking one. I never really had real boyfriends and I never got asked to prom,  or other events like that. I was tall and struggled badly with weight fluctuation. Try being 12 years old and 5 foot 7 1/2, maybe even 5 foot 8 and weighing 150 lbs. I hated myself. Junior high school I developed a habit of binge eating and then starving myself, and I dropped my 150lbs to 120lbs, but it would go just up and down as I would continue to binge then starve. I would stand in front of the mirror and punch myself in the stomach at night,  because I hated my body and myself that much. It wasn't until high school I realized that I needed to stop treating myself this way, and learn to just love me for me. After I decided to focus on my inner beauty,  I found myself much happier and threw myself into discovering my other talents, and even though the boys still weren't calling I realized that that didn't matter so much. I had come to know that I was smart, kind, a self starter and determined, many qualities I wanted to have to feel confident. I also discovered that staying active helped me feel better. I still struggled with weight but I knew it was making me feel better about me and my body.

This mentality stayed with me through my first year of marriage but unfortunately I had lost my fervor for exercise. Then after my first son was born, my confidence in beauty, my body and loving myself was shattered.  It is amazing how much having a child can wear on your body. Not only did I have ugly stretch marks but I had a scar from my emergency c-section,  and had so much leftover weight. I felt so unattractive from the very visible markings, and I also felt like a failure. I felt my body had failed my son. He was born 2 and 1/2 months premature and I felt responsible. I suffered from severe pre-eclampsia and came close to a stroke and my son had to be resuscitated at birth and spent the first two months of his life in the NICU. I hated my body for what it could not do for him, and every time I saw those scars I was reminded.

When he came home, he was in isolation and the only place we could take him in public was outside.  So I joined an outdoor baby bootcamp. I begin to lose weight and feel healthy again, and I thought ' if I can keep this up, staying healthy then what happened to my first son will never happen again.' Unfortunately, my second son was also born via emergency C-section,  not as early but still due to high blood pressure. This threw me into my hating my body cycle. I was angry and disappointed. Six months later, I decided to get into fitness again. This process was started up once again to try and make sure I could get healthier so I could have more children. Since that journey started my reasons to stay healthy have changed a little bit.I am now trying to stay healthy not only for myself, but for my two children I am blessed to have and raise. I still have a chronic problem with high blood pressure, and have been told I will for the rest of my life, and even though this has saddened me it has made me realize that while I was trying to fix what I thought was my body being weak and frail, was really just making the strength I had already been given from these experiences stronger. I couldn't " fix" my problem , but I am building strength with the body I have been given and strength, not only physical strength but the whole human condition is what is truly beautiful.

So even when you look in the mirror and what you see physically isn't quite what you are looking for,  just remember that those bumps and bruises that made you stronger are what truly make each and everyone of us beautiful.

The woman behind the picture - Part 4: Noelle Grant

I was never an athletic child. I hated gym class, never participated in sports, and was always the last person to be picked for a team…justifiably so.  As a young adult I joined a couple different gyms and would do different aerobics, step or weights classes that were offered. I really enjoyed this and I started to get a sense of my abilities in a more active way that I never knew were there before. I was 26 years old when I ran my first 5 km race. I didn’t love it but I loved the way I felt afterwards. The sense of accomplishment I got from finishing, and the feeling those endorphins gave me was amazing. From there I signed myself up for a couple more 5 km races and some 10 km races. When I was 28 years old I started training for my first half marathon. By this time I enjoyed running much more than I did when I ran my first race. I had built up my cardiovascular tolerance and I was able to go for much longer distances. As many runners are aware, people often get what’s referred to as “the runners trots” when running for long durations. I was no exception to that rule. On the morning of the race I took 2 Immodium in an effort to prevent my need to stop part way through the race, wait in line for a stinky port-a-potty, and lose a significant amount of time off my race as a result. Well, the race went great! I did really well for my first half marathon and I was soaring high running through my head what would be the next half marathon I would sign up for.

From the moment I finished the race continuing through the entire next week I was unable to have a bowel movement. I figured I really bunged myself up by taking those 2 Immodium. I felt like I NEEDED to go, I just couldn’t. That lasted a week and then the floods came. Not only was I able to “go” but my stools were entirely liquid and filled with blood. I didn’t know what was going on and I didn’t tell anybody as I figured it was a result of the Immodium and would fix itself with time. Well, it never did. The liquid bloody stools continued and increased in frequency. In addition to having increased stools, I also had false urges to go. You know the feeling when you just HAVE to go NOW! Take that feeling and multiply it by 100. There were times I felt I had to pass gas and ended up messing my pants. I had lost all control over my bowels. I was afraid to go for long walks or too far in the car for fear that I would need to go and wouldn’t have access to a bathroom. With all those trips to the bathroom I had a VERY sore tush. An additional symptom I struggled with was having severe abdominal pains that I couldn’t explain or pinpoint as to why, and I would simply hold my stomach and apply pressure in attempt to alleviate some of that pain.

Eventually, after about a month and a half of this craziness I went to the hospital emergency room and had the on-call Gastroenterologist (GI specialist) do a colonoscopy on me. The results of that test showed that my entire large intestine was covered in ulcers and I was diagnosed with an Inflammatory Bowel Disease, Crohn’s Disease, which is a chronic illness and an autoimmune disease. I spent 11 days in the hospital that first time as they tried to figure out what drugs would alleviate my symptoms and get me healthy enough to be released. I was super dehydrated from all the fluids I had been losing and they were pumping me full of fluids so fast I couldn’t keep up…I was on the toilet every 5 minutes peeing it out but I wasn’t getting rid of it quick enough. I blew up like a balloon…literally. I was so full of fluids that I couldn’t bend my legs. Eventually I was discharged but I was only home for 5 days before returning to the hospital with horrible symptoms at which time I was again admitted and kept for 17 days this time. Things in my intestines had deteriorated significantly.  Eventually I had to take a heavy drug called Remicaid. This drug is EXPENSIVE and comes with the risk of many very undesirable side effects. That being said, I needed SOMETHING so figured I’d give it a go.  It began to work almost immediately. I went from having close to 20 bowel movements a day down to about 10 instantly.

I was eventually discharged from the hospital and was able to see the bright side of things. I returned to work, returned to the gym, and started running again. I went with friends to Vegas to run the Rock & Roll Las Vegas Half Marathon with proceeds benefiting Crohn’s and Colitis research. I also signed myself up to train for a full marathon. I was so pumped. Yes I had Crohn’s and wasn’t really all that healthy but I was healthy enough to be active again and I was flying high. Part way through this training program I went to Mexico with my husband and some friends. When this was approaching I could feel a flare up coming on (I was having to use the restroom more and more frequently) and as such I made sure to go for my Remicaid infusion before we left for the trip. On Day 3 in Mexico my flare up took hold and I was running back and forth to the washroom from the pool and beach. The rest of the trip I spent the majority of my time in the hotel room bathroom, steering clear from pretty much all food. My trip was ruined, I was in pain, I was shackled to the toilet again and I was devastated that my miracle drug had stopped working for me.

I called my specialist from my hotel room and advised him of what was going on. I was directed to go directly to the hospital upon my return home and he would have me admitted. When I arrived at the hospital he did different tests and at my request we did another Remicaid infusion…this time a double dose. It didn’t work. I was out of options at this point as Remicaid was the heaviest and most effective drug to treat my symptoms and it was failing me. I was now faced with the decision to have surgery. Surgery involved having my large intestine and rectum removed, creating an ileostomy, and creating a j-pouch. An ileostomy is a piece of the small intestine that is brought to the surface of the stomach which is where I would then have my bowel movements from and I would have a poo bag attached to my stomach to catch the poo. There are no muscles to be able to control this so I would be incontinent and pooing basically all day long with no control. A j-pouch is also a piece of the small intestine that is brought down to the anus and acts as a reservoir or a manmade rectum. Surgery went well but I came out with staples going up my entire abdomen. I feared I’d lost my belly button, I was itchy from the anesthetic, I couldn’t move my lower body from the epidural, and I was really groggy. Oh, and I’d woken up with a poo bag attached to me that wasn’t there when I went into the OR. This was a lot to take in. For anyone who has had severe abdominal surgery they know that one of the things that must take place before being allowed to go home is you need to be passing gas and having bowel movements. Well, my bowel movements were completely different. For one, they were now coming out of my stomach and for two, well, the bowels get incredibly sluggish after surgery like that and mine just didn’t want to work. Same thing with passing gas. I now had no control over this bodily function and didn’t know if I was or I wasn’t (this also happens out of the ileostomy on the stomach). Eventually I started to hear gas being passed. It sounds basically the same as it does for a regular person. I was so excited. This was something that is celebrated on the colorectal unit at the hospital. It’s a milestone. Unfortunately it was never enough to please the nurses. I was stuck there still, waiting, willing my body to start doing its job. Well it didn’t. Days turned into weeks.

 I was having complications and becoming very sick. I started vomiting a horrible slimy forest green bile and was forced to have an NG tube put in. This involves having a nurse feed a tube up my nose that is supposed to rest in the stomach area. The idea is that all that bile comes out through my nose tube and goes into a container that is sitting on the wall. This was a horribly traumatic experience for me. I was so sick, in so much pain and discomfort and this was not going well. The tube going in was making me puke even more. I was filling 2-3 wash basins full of this green slime. The second attempt something went amiss and the tube went in my nose and out my mouth. I was gagging and panicking asking them to “help me” as I grabbed the tube from my mouth and pulled and pulled and pulled until it was out. A new nurse had to try as I had completely shot the confidence of the first nurse and her failed attempts. I hated this but to be honest, I felt soooo much better once that tube was finally in! Over time, eventually things started to work for me. I was passing gas and stool and was finally allowed to go home. The day I was to go home however nothing was coming into the bag…no gas and no stool. I had been in the hospital for weeks at this point and didn’t want to stay longer so I didn’t tell anyone that this was happening.

When I got home I started to feel really ill. My stomach was starting to distend and it was as though something was alive inside there. It sounded and felt like violent sloshing around of liquid. So loud in fact that my husband could hear it from across the house. But still, nothing was coming through into the bag. I was in agony and as much as I hated it I knew what I had to do. Back to the hospital I went. I was admitted right away but I’d lost my awesome bed with a view. More tests were done and it was learned that I had an infected abcess. I had to get a drain put in that connected through my butt cheek. Sitting was uncomfortable, laying was uncomfortable, rolling over was uncomfortable. This sucked. After a couple days, things with the bag began working again and I was feeling healthy and ready to go home. But I still had that darn infection and drain in that was keeping me at the hospital. I was dying in there. I had withered down to around 90lbs and was just a pile of bones sticking out everywhere. I wanted to go home and eat normal food and get back to exercising to gain some of my muscle back. I begged and pleaded with my doctor to discharge me but no luck for weeks. The infection was such that only a certain stream of antibiotics could kill it and they had to be administered daily via IV. I continued to beg to take out the drain and let me return to the hospital daily for my iv antibiotics. After a 6 week stay in the hospital my surgeon agreed with my plan. I was finally discharged. I had to keep my IV line in and it was with me everywhere I went which sucked. I was so frail that stepping onto the curb took my breath away and made me lose my balance. I couldn’t walk up the front steps or a flight of stairs without pulling myself up by the railing. This was awful and I needed to gain some strength. I set out to get me some xxx mass building protein powder and I started doing P90X in my basement. I was pathetic. I could hardly lift my own foot let alone a weight, but each day I got a little stronger and then a little more. Eventually I was going back to the gym and meeting with a personal trainer on a daily basis. I was strong again. I was gaining control of my health in ways I was fearful I never could again, and I was so happy. The only thing holding me back was that darn bag. I was dying to have that reversal done.

Life with a poo bag is not a glamorous one to say the least. I had to figure out what clothes I could wear that would hide the bag as it filled up, which was constantly. I had to empty the bag numerous times a day. With the fan on and the bathroom door closed we could leave the house for an hour and come home and still smell it. Sometimes it created a great deal of pain and discomfort as it was working to pump out stools. There were times when I would be out and I would have a major leakage and have to rush home to change the dressing. Speaking of the dressing, that would only last for 3-5 days before I needed to change it again. Each time seemed to be a little worse as the stool would erode the paste that made it stick to my skin allowing the stool to sit on my skin and burn through it with the acid. It was red, raw, stingy and painful, but I couldn’t allow it to heal because I was always pooping. And then there was the sleepless nights. Going from being a stomach sleeper to a back sleeper was not an easy one. I wanted to try to sleep on my side but was afraid I would roll all the way over onto my stomach and squish or burst the bag. And then I would be up numerous times in the night to empty the bag. You would think that when you go all night long without eating or drinking that the output would slow down but alas, it did not.

I was so excited the day I got a call from the surgeons office saying my surgery to have the reversal was booked. The only downfall was that my daily gym routine was going to have to be interrupted, yet again, and I would lose ground that I had gained. The surgery went well. I recovered much quicker from this surgery than I had from the first. The day after surgery they had already taken me off the IV and I was in the stairwell doing stairs in attempt to keep up with some form of fitness. Turns out however that life without the bag, being connected to the j-pouch and pooing out my bum again was not all it was cracked up to be. I felt like I was in a flare up again prior to my Remicaid days. I was on the toilet ALL THE TIME!  I guess when you have no rectum you don’t have the muscles to hold things in quite the way you once could. My surgeons advice was to hold it for as long as I possibly could and when I felt like I couldn’t hold it any longer, to hold it some more. I was laying in bed clenching my butt cheeks 24 hours a day and still going to the bathroom about 15 times daily on average.

Eventually I ventured out to get back into the gym but my workouts were constantly interrupted by the need to run to the bathroom. Life was constantly being interrupted and I was starting to think I should just camp out in the bathroom and never leave it. My bum was raw and in pain and I was hating life. One day I noticed some pain in my “lady area” while wiping after going to the washroom. I didn’t think much of it but that pain started to get stronger and stronger and I started to notice a lump growing. It got to the point where I was taking Tylenol 3’s with codene to manage the pain and even that wasn’t doing the trick. My husband called the ambulance and away I went to the hospital. After hours in the waiting room I was seen by the ER doc and then an OBGYN. It was determined that I had a Barthelone Cyst on my labia and I was scheduled to go into the operating room that night to have the cyst drained. When I awoke I was told that there was feces coming out of the cyst and was sent home. I begged the surgeon not to send me home as I could feel the cyst filling again and the pain was returning. He sent me home anyways, but I returned that same night. I was then seen by a different general surgeon who determined that I did not have a barthelone cyst, but instead I had a fistula. A fistula is an unnatural tunnel like connection between two parts of the body. Mine was an vaginal fistula meaning that a tunnel was created from where my poo was going and connected to my labia resulting in my labia filling with feces. I was taken back to the operating room and a seton drain was put in to allow for constant drainage and prevent the buildup of feces. This was great for relieving the pressure and pain down there, but it meant that I had feces dripping from my labia uncontrollably all day and all night.

Eventually I was sent home with the drain still in, still leaking feces uncontrollably from my lady bits. This was probably the most difficult time for me out of everything I had gone through up to this point. What was happening to my body was taking a toll on me emotionally. I couldn’t wrap my head around how the body can create a fistula and I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that I was pooing out of the wrong parts. I couldn’t walk the dog, I couldn’t go to the gym, I couldn’t go to the grocery store, I was house bound. I often would be lying in bed watching tv and would start to smell myself knowing it was time to go change my pad as it had filled with feces. I was a wreck and I started to become highly depressed. I would lay in my bed staring at the wall for hours, sometimes with tears streaming down my face, sometimes with no emotion or expression at all, and ALWAYS wishing I would just die. I would beg my husband, mom friends and doctor to just kill me. I thought if only we lived in a place where euthanasia was legal. Life was not worth living at this point for me and I would have sold my soul to the devil to have my life taken from me.

Four months of this house bound, depressive, labia pooing torture went by before my surgeon agreed to perform another surgery, this time to close up the fistula. I was ecstatic! He warned me that this surgery does not always work but I didn’t care, I thought if it doesn’t work I’m no worse off than I am now and at least there was a chance it could work. Well it looked like the surgery took. One day passed with nothing coming out of the stitched up fistula, then another. I was almost in the clear to go home when things burst and I had feces pouring out of my fistula like niagra falls. This was worse than the previous 4 months had been in terms of flow, I could barely keep on top of it. I was devastated. I did not want to go back living the way I had for the last 4 months. I couldn’t! There was no quality of life in that and I was seriously toying with ways to have my life ended without actually killing myself. I made the decision to have my surgeon give me my ileostomy back. I hated that darn poo bag for the 5 months I’d had it before. I hated dealing with the noises in public, finding clothes that would hide it, managing the awful smell while emptying it, the sleepless nights to empty it, the constant filling of the bag, and the pain it caused when having to change it and tear my skin off layer by layer. With all that being said, I at least had a quality of life during those 5 months. I could walk the dog, go on a plane, go to the gym, and live a normal life (in comparison with what I had just been doing for the previous 4 months with the fistula). So, I had yet another surgery, got my ileostomy back and I have had it ever since (coming up on 11 months now). As much as I hated it the first time around, I had the opportunity to experience life without it and I realized how lucky I was to have this back. I now love my ileostomy. There are days where I’m in excruciating pain, discomfort, irritation, inconvenience, etc. but I have my life back.

To take back my life I began eating healthy and started doing my P90X videos again. I needed to re-build my strength and get rid of the awful anorexic look I had yet again from yet another interruption in my fitness for my health and surgeries. I really wanted to get back to the gym but I felt completely lost. I began looking around online to find a program that I could follow. I knew I didn’t need a trainer, I just needed a program so I wasn’t wandering around aimlessly in the gym getting in peoples way who actually knew what they were doing. I stumbled across Jamie Eason’s 12 week trainer on bodybuilding.com. This program provided me with workouts, nutrition, and supplements. It was exactly what I needed and I was hooked. Once the program finished I started it again. I have had people in the gym come up to me on multiple occasions and ask me if I’m training to compete. I tell them I’m not and they are surprised that I work so hard. They then ask what I am training for. I tell them I’m training to be healthy and strong. I have posted pictures on my facebook wall and had people tell me I am an inspiration to them and have motivated them to get healthy again. People message me all the time asking me for tips or advice on how to eat properly, where do I get my motivation from, can I help them get started, etc. I’m always happy to help and do every time in whatever way I can.

So where has my motivation come from? I have had my health stolen from me. Not just once, but time and time again. And will continue to do so for the rest of my life. I have a chronic illness. There is no cure. This isn’t going away for me. There are areas within my body and health that I have absolutely no control over. They can sweep in and take control of my health at any given moment. Rather than laying back and accepting that I’m “sick” and tell myself I can’t, I choose to take a stand and take control of my health in every way that is within my control. I CAN! There are lots of people in similar situations as mine who are afraid to try, who make excuses why they can’t or shouldn’t, who accept that this just the way it is, it’s the cards they were dealt, and they use it as an excuse. They have beliefs that they hold on to that are crippling them, making them sicker than they need to be. I refuse to follow that path. This is MY body. It’s the only body I’ve got. It may let me down from time to time but I have the power to show it who’s boss. Yes, the reality is my training will be interrupted again due to illness and I’ll have to start all over from scratch time and time again. Is this incredibly frustrating? Absolutely it is. But it makes me that much more motivated and determined to kick Crohn’s ass the next time I can get back up on my feet again, every time striving to do better than the time before. I am not sick, my body is. But it is also incredibly healthy and strong thanks to the time, effort, dedication and hard work that I put towards it. My health is my number one priority. Am I training to compete? Yes I am, I’m training to compete with myself. To be better than I was yesterday and overcome my illness in every way that is within my power. My only hope and biggest dream is to get my story out there for the world to read. I want to help others. To inspire those who are in similar situations as my own and show them that it CAN be done.

Some things I've learned about beauty.

This morning as I showered at the gym I cried.  I cried because I felt so sad for all the women who struggle with accepting and also caring for their bodies.  I cried for the woman who wants to be healthy but doesn’t know how, I cried for the woman who feels embarrassed/discouraged about her body, I cried for all the women I know who struggle with their bodies.  I know what it feels like to struggle.  You might be thinking, “oh sure, you’re an ironman or you’re tall and slim, you have no idea what the struggle feels like.”  But I do.  I’ve felt the struggle deeply, at times, and then chosen to change. I have felt times of deep frustration and discouragement about my body and then time and time again I try to choose to be healthy and beautiful in the way I know best.  Along the way I have learned some things that I wanted to share. 

When all you see is the external appearance, it’s easy to judge, assume things and feel either superior or inferior.  When you give someone the benefit of the doubt and get to know them, all those prideful assumptions start to melt away.

I’ve learned this lesson time and time again throughout my life.  Recently I met someone who is a walking resemblance of Barbie.  Seriously, I’ve never seen a closer resemblance to Barbie in a real human being.  I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed that she was kind and good and real and because of this, I now have a good friend.  I never would have become friends with her if I would have let my assumptions put a barrier between us.

This is the main reason I wanted to have the women from the photo shoot share a bit of themselves with you.  It reminds all of us that there is more to a person than what you see at first glance. I sometimes have a wave a jealousy, when I see a beautiful woman.  It has helped me so much to remember that they are real people with a story to tell.

Our beauty is not relative, it is inherent and completely our own.

When I saw the first pictures from the photo shoot of all the women, I felt critical of myself (funny looking nose, looks a bit cross eyed, hair looks kind of weird etc).  I also felt like the other women looked gorgeous, which intensified my own feelings.  For some reason, I just really started comparing myself to the other women, as if my own beauty was only valid relative to the beauty of others.  Of course this isn’t true.  I am beautiful because I am a beloved daughter of God, created in His image and loved by Him.  You are beautiful for the same reason.

What we sometimes view as our physical imperfections, can actually be part of our own unique beauty. 

I expressed to Liz (the amazing photographer) that in one of the close up pictures, I didn’t really like my big smile because I was showing too much of my gums.  Liz responded with this, “you might see ‘too much gums’ but I see ‘happy Kim’.  I can hear your laugh when I look at that picture, and that makes me smile!”  Perhaps when I am being critical about something in my body, I am criticizing the very thing that others might love about me. 

True beauty has more to do with who you are, than what you look like.

The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in person is Julie B Beck (a female leader in my church).  I listened to her speak and felt like I was in the presence of a queen.  She was regal, elegant, confident, radiant and her smile was full of warmth, experience and had something of divinity.  I was enthralled and came home and wrote in my journal that I wanted to have THAT kind of beauty someday. 

This quote is from one of my favorite talks on the body called, “Sanctity of the Body” by Susan Tanner. 

“I am troubled by the practice of extreme makeovers. Happiness comes from accepting the bodies we have been given as divine gifts and enhancing our natural attributes, not from remaking our bodies after the image of the world. The Lord wants us to be made over—but in His image, not in the image of the world, by receiving His image in our countenances.” 

Our bodies are instruments, not ornaments.

Our bodies are gifts from Him, to be used for His purposes.  About 10 years ago I decided that I wanted to use my full life on earth to do God’s will.  I knew I would be capable of doing so much more if I took care of my body from a young age.  This motivation has stuck with me since then.  I want to be healthy so that I can do more good in the world throughout my life.  (see 1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

The weigh scale is a tool.  It should only be used if it helps you to be healthier.

What a strange obsession our culture has with humans weighing ourselves.  What are we, livestock ready to be butchered, that we need to know our weight?  It’s a little ridiculous I think.  I do think the weigh scale can be a helpful tool but only if it helps you to make healthier choices in your life.  If it just leaves you feeling confused, discouraged, desperate or having unhealthy behaviors like extreme dieting, than I think you should just set aside the weigh scale and focus on getting healthier.  You don’t HAVE to know how much you weigh.  In fact, I have a good friend who set aside the weigh scale for her whole pregnancy and even asked her midwives not to weigh her.  She felt better emotionally as she did that and I was so proud of her.

Becoming healthier, stronger, lighter, leaner, faster, and fitter feels AMAZING!

This process is not just for an ‘elite’ group, it’s for everyone.  I love my job (as a personal trainer).  My favorite part is helping people discover their “inner athlete”.  Most people feel nervous when they start exercising but then I see this confidence and joy in their eyes as they realize that they can do more than they thought they could.  Each week they get stronger and healthier and I feel so proud of them.

Being skinny can mean you are healthy but not necessarily.

I feel strongly that in the quest for being “skinny” or “weighing less”, we can lose sight of being “healthy”.   I feel so much more peace when I make being healthy my number one physical priority.  I believe that God wants his beloved daughters to learn how to care for the bodies that He has blessed us with.  We will become so much more in this process of learning to care for our physical bodies, than we would if we look for quick fixes.  Caring for our physical bodies is, in part, about building character.  It’s not just about the external results.  It’s about who you are becoming in the process of being healthy.

Our bodies are amazing.

We are created by God Himself and our bodies are incredible.  I take so much joy in exploring what my body is capable of doing.  It’s the most incredible machine in the world.  I love the feeling of movement, strength, power, flexibility, balance, coordination and speed.  I love that I was able to train my body to complete an Ironman.  I love that my body bore children.  I am grateful for this body God has given me.

Yesterday at the gym I was stretching my hamstring and had one of my legs up in the air, as I lay on my back.  I looked at that leg and was overcome with gratitude for what it had done for me.  My leg had pushed a pedal for 7 hours in my ironman to carry me across 180 km on my bike, followed by a difficult marathon.  I was teary and tenderly touched my leg and expressed gratitude for it.  Then, so as not to play favorites, I did the same with my other leg J.

If you are waiting until your body is perfect to feel beautiful, then you’ll never feel beautiful. 

I think this can be particularly true for mothers, whose bodies undergo a lot of changes through pregnancy and nursing.  I try to view my pregnancy “scars” as marks of the miraculous privilege I have had of bearing children.  I am so grateful to be a mother and it is worth every varicose vein, stretch mark and other impacts it has had on my body.  I hope that these “marks” can somehow add to my beauty, as I see them and am reminded that I am a mother.

Also, I think if we are overly focused on external proof that we are of worth and value, we may lose sight of our true selves!

Acceptance is a step towards positive change.

I have come to believe that in order to change our selves, we first need to accept where we’re at.  That doesn’t mean we love everything about our bodies but it does mean that we love our selves as people and recognize our worth, goodness and beauty, even if it is buried underneath a few layers of fat.  I have seen people change their bodies without ever accepting themselves but it can be an ugly process, accomplished in unhealthy ways.  Health is not a “fair fight”.  We have each been given different genetics, habits and information.  It is left to each one of us to do the best we can with what we've been given.

Elder Holland gave a great talk called “To Young Women”, that addresses this idea of accepting our selves.

I plead with you young women to please be more accepting of yourselves, including your body shape and style, with a little less longing to look like someone else. We are all different. Some are tall, and some are short. Some are round, and some are thin. And almost everyone at some time or other wants to be something they are not! …We should all be as fit as we can be… That means eating right and exercising and helping our bodies function at their optimum strength. We could probably all do better in that regard. But I speak here of optimum health; there is no universal optimum size.

If you admire something about someone else, you can choose to go out there and get it for yourself.

There are limits to what each body is capable of doing or looking like but perhaps your body has less limits than you think.  I believe myself to have very few limits on what I can do with my body.  Doing an Ironman last year proved that to be true.  What false limits might you be placing on yourself??

If you want to set a goal, I encourage you to involve God in your process.  He will help you to refine that goal (if needed), strengthen you, guide you, comfort you and find joy in your journey.  I have experienced that.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE GOD MADE YOU AND HE LOVES YOU VERY MUCH!!!

The woman behind the camera - Part 3: Elizabeth Cranmer

I had this idea a while back about how I don’t have the same type of pictures that I have of my Grandma, Mom, and Nana. There is the cutest shot of my Grandma in some sort of uniform almost and she is adorable and probably about my age or just barely younger. And my Nana around my age sits in a frame at my Mom’s house looking stunning with wind in her hair wearing a cute frock on a balcony. There are fewer yet of my Mom like this, but one of her dressed to go for a formal night out with my Dad with her hair blonde as ever and this classy art deco pin, captures me.

I want to have pictures that when my children and grandchildren look at, they can see who I was at that moment. What I viewed as my best in those years. I had a photo shoot by a friend this past year where she focused on the shots I couldn’t get of myself as a photographer. There is one of me laughing, my real laugh! Not my camera less scrunchie one, but my crinkle nose, lifted shoulders laugh. I have to tell you that typically I do not think that this would be my ‘best’ moment, but this shot was! It captured me as I think my kids will remember me and it’s beautiful!

So started the planning of location etc. I would lay awake at night planning out shots that might achieve a great look and once I had the project under way and faces to attach to the shots my mind went wild! I just had SO many ideas for each of these women and who they were from what I could see. I had to narrow down to a few ideas for each, but I hope that I captured a small essence of each one of them.

I had so much fun with each of the women. Finding their comfort and strengths. It was a beautiful day! We laughed and danced and giggled. I was sure that wonderful things were in the works. I looked through my view finder, and saw gorgeous images and shapes and smiles.

Once I had posted the sneak peeks, my outlook changed slightly. On my screen there was nothing but individual beauty that needed no comparison. But as I heard of these women’s concerns and self-criticisms, I realized that this went so much deeper then I originally thought. I was so overwhelmed that week by what spiritual beauty these women have. It wasn’t just their physical attributes that were striking to me, but their triumph in life, their struggles and their grace in all those things. I was compelled to let them each know. The tears came pouring out of me as I wrote a note to each of them about how amazing just little me could tell they were.

This was truly a humbling experience as I also heard my own self talk that week and realized that I was telling myself some of the same lies that these women were telling themselves.

I know not everyone is based in my faith. However I know us all to be Daughter’s of Heavenly Father regardless. I have never felt that stronger then this last week or two. My heart ached for the misconceptions of beauty that we all have. I have also felt so incredibly hopeful about these pictures at some point making a difference to that. I know that some of the images will not be immediate ‘love’, but in years to come they will be the pictures that tell a bit of the story that makes up our complicated selves. They will freeze in time a moment of beauty that is both exceptional and real. When I look at the images I see kindness in eyes, happiness in smile lines, strength in a still moment, and fearlessness in the whole experience.

Beauty is something that goes to our cores. We can choose to see what is already there. Ugly is not something that resides with any of these women. And lucky for each of us it oozes out of our being whether we recognize it or not. You are each beautiful. Never forget that you are worthy of that title. The way you serve, take in life and live it, will always hold true.

Be beautiful, because you are!

Love

Elizabeth

The woman behind the picture - Part 2: Angela Franceschi

Today I am going to share with you my struggle and recovery from an eating disorder. Why might you ask am I doing this? Because anorexia is the 3rd most common chronic illness among adolescents. Did you know that 95 % of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12-25. I fit right into that statistic!!! I hope that sharing my struggles and triumphs will help that one mother who is terrified watching her young daughter shrink before her eyes. Or that one teenager who can’t see her true beauty and is pressured to fit all of society’s expectations. I am so grateful to Kim for this chance to tell my story.
                                                                  
  I grew up in a very supportive, loving home. My parents made me feel smart, pretty, talented and encouraged me in my interests . I loved going fishing with my dad and drawing in my sketch pad. My nose was always buried in a book or I was down in fish creek exploring with my twin sister. When I started junior high school I was shy but confident in myself thanks to my wonderful family. Sadly it didn't last. I had my very own bully. He would taunt me in the halls and class. He would make rude comments about the fact I had no chest, tease me about my big glasses and frizzy hair and my clothes. I was left anxious, depressed and insecure. This is where the first seed was planted. I started wearing contact lenses and discovered hair product that battled my curly hair. Then it was time for High School. I loved art and did well in English but math and science completely dumbfounded me. I struggled and my grades fell. Add the pressure to wear the right clothes, have the right boyfriend and be in the right social groups. It was too much for me I felt like I was losing control, that I couldn’t live up to the expectations put on me.  This was the beginning.
 
Anorexia tells you many lies. That if you just loose 10 pounds you will be popular. Everybody will love you. That all your problems will go away. And the biggest lie of all that you will be happy.  I did many things to control my weight .....I withheld food for long periods of time .Then I would have periods of binging and would eat everything in sight. To overcome the guilt from this I would consume large amounts of laxatives to purge my system. After 3-4 years  I was left physically weak and tired, my hair was thinning, fuzz was growing all over my body (to try and keep warmth in  since I had no fat left ), my periods stopped, I had ulcers and developed IBS and acid reflux. Emotionally and spiritually I was drained. I had completely isolated myself from my family, friends and my Heavenly Father.  I felt completely alone.

The moment of realization came one night. I was in bed.  I always had a number in my head of the ideal weight I wanted to be and I had finally reached it. I lay there feeling my hip bones and the hollow space that used to be my stomach.  I ran my hands over my protruding ribs. This used to comfort me and my addiction, anorexia, would tell me this was good, this was right. But something changed. I felt scared!!! I realized this was going to kill me and it needed to STOP right NOW!!!!!  I called out to my Savior. I am a spiritual person and have always known Gods love for me. But this addiction had completely consumed me to the point where I hadn't prayed in years. I pleaded to my Father in Heaven to give me strength, to show me what he saw in me that was worth saving. For a second I saw what he sees, a daughter of God, shining with happiness, joy and love, with strength and confidence. I was beautiful inside and out. Waves of gratitude washed over me and a spark was lit in me that grew and grew as I turned away from my anorexia and to my savior.

I went downstairs and sat beside my mom. She was and still is my biggest supporter. She did everything for me. Talked with me, listened to me and most importantly prayed for me and loved me non stop for 4 years. It must have been so heart breaking to watch her daughter shrink and shrink before her eyes and nothing she did could stop it. You can’t make or force anyone to change or get healthy. It has to be a decision you make independently and I was ready. Mom and I hugged and cried and ate. 

So the battle began between me and anorexia. I did everything. I went to naturopaths, counselors, shrinks, doctors , nutritionists and attended ARP ( an addiction recovery program ) . My family battled right beside me and I couldn’t have done it with out them. It was a slow and hard path to recovery with many stumbles along the way. 

I have been recovered for over 8 years. I enjoy food and try to eat healthy nutritious meals but I love my chocolate!!! I appreciate my body and the miracle it is, especially after having two beautiful children. I love to be physically active and feel strength in my muscles, I will never take that for granted ever again. Sadly there will always be that voice in the back of my mind telling me to not eat or that I’m fat. That’s the nature of eating disorders. But I choose to not give that voice power. I choose to ignore it and it gets fainter and fainter every year.
 
When I first saw the pictures from my photo shoot, that voice grumbled it tried to tell me old lies. I cried when I realized this was something I could still feel after all these years. But after praying and confiding in good friends, I saw the strength I have now and how far I have come.  This is my story with anorexia and I WON !!!