Lessons Learned from Whole 30

As I reflect on my Whole30 experience, I'm always surprised by how emotional fasting can be.  What began as a journey to health inevitably ends up teaching me more about who I am mentally and emotionally, forcing me to unearth an unhealthy relationship with food that goes back years.  I detailed a good bit of that in this post.  Whole30 requires as much mental toughness and discipline as it does physical, and the program taught me a great deal about my ability to persevere even the toughest challenges, so here are a few of the key lessons Whole30 taught me.

1.  It may seem the whole world is plotting against your desire to eat more healthfully.  

Yup, in a backroom somewhere, the "world" schemes ways to sidetrack the most diligent among us. Perhaps that's a bit overblown, but for those of us who have decided to go Paleo and exhibit a small desire not to cook every meal for the rest of our lives, eating out is near impossible.  Even if Paleo isn't your thing and you just want to eat more vegetables, I dare you to find a conveniently located fast-food restaurant that meets your standard of serving one vegetable that isn't a French fry or overcooked, salty green beans.  Most places offer salads, but many of those are laden with cheese, corn, or other non-Paleo fare.  For most of my Whole30 experience, I chose to avoid restaurants.  I discovered quickly that most meats are soaked in soy-based or sulfite-containing marinades.  I doubt grass-fed meats grace most menus and almost all vegetables were sprinkled with a processed butter substitute.  It seems that though we swear to jumping on the healthy bandwagon, it's little more than lip-service.  If there were an actual public demand for healthier fare at most restaurants, it would be offered.  The truth is most of us aren't willing to part with our Big Macs.  If we speak with our wallets, the restaurant industry will listen.

2.  Prepare, prepare, prepare

Whole30 requires an inordinate amount of planning, and I've discovered so does healthy eating in general.  If you aren't willing to plan meals, shop strategically, and cook some things ahead of time then you are setting yourself up for failure.  This type of lifestyle change is possible, but it isn't easy.  As with most worthy goals, work is required to achieve success.  It simply isn't possible to create real change without effort, and a healthier lifestyle is no different.  If you wait until eight o'clock at night after a long day of work to think about what you're going to eat for dinner, you'll grab whatever is convenient, regardless of its nutritional value.  If you want to succeed in making a significant lifestyle change, commit to doing the work required to succeed.  There's no shortcut to health.  

3.  Seek out resources to help you on your journey

Though difficult, living Paleo doesn't have to be impossible.  I learned quickly that there was no reason to try and navigate a new, unexplored path.  Thousands of people have been successfully living a healthy, whole-food Paleo lifestyle for years, and glory, they have shared their tips for success, common pitfalls, and recipes....tons and tons of recipes.  You don't have to travel alone, friend.  Subscribe to one of the hundreds of excellent blogs like Mark's Daily Apple, Paleo Parents (especially if you have children), NomNom Paleo, or Rubies and Radishes.  And that's just a sampling.  Subscribe to a magazine like Paleo Magazine.  All of these offer recipes, advice, and support, which are critical to success.

4.  Whole30 will make you feel and look great, leading to more body confidence.

Okay, I'll admit, my only disappointment with the initial thirty days of Whole30 was that I only lost five pounds.  First of all, I realize Whole30 is a lifestyle change to improve my health longterm, not a quick-loss fad diet, but I was expecting a few more pounds to melt away.  That being said, one of the big benefits of Whole30 is a noticeably flatter stomach, in addition to glowing skin, fewer breakouts, and energy through the roof.

I was so impressed with my flatter stomach that one morning while shopping, I decided to try a smaller size in a skirt.  I waltzed into Banana Republic, grabbed an adorable skirt off the rack, skipped into the fitting room, and easily slipped it on. After admiring my slimmer physique in the three-way mirror, I walked back into the fitting room and began to unzip the skirt.  It wouldn't budge.  I yanked a little harder but to no avail.  After fighting with the zipper for several minutes, I meekly tiptoed out to the sales floor and caught the attention of a clerk.  "Ma'am, I can't get this skirt to unzip."  She confidently strode over to me and gave the zipper a yank.  Still, the stubborn zipper didn't budge.  "Greg," she called, "Come give this zipper a try."  Color flushed my cheeks as the young man wrestled unsuccessfully with the zipper.  Finally, the manager came over and attempted to free me from the skirt.  After a few seconds of tugging on the zipper, she took both hands and forcefully yanked, ripping the skirt off of my body in the middle of the sales floor.  I quickly grabbed the remains of the material wrapped it around my waist and fled to the fitting room.  I'm not saying the skirt was too snug, but perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to grab a smaller size.  Whole30 might give you body confidence.  Use it wisely.

5.  Whole30 will change your relationship with food.  

Once my thirty days were complete, I surprisingly didn't run to the nearest Chick-fil-A and order a frosted lemonade.  In fact, I pretty much ate the same way I'd been eating for the previous thirty days.  Why?  I felt fantastic.  I'd finally learned to appreciate the art of cooking, the satisfaction of a meal prepared with whole food, free of preservatives and junk.  My body was responding in ways I'd never imagined:  better sleep, more energy, clearer skin, less brain fog.  I found myself not wanting to go back to eating as usual.  Granted, I don't imagine I'll be as dogmatic as I was during Whole30, I can't imagine completely returning to eating the way I did one month ago.  The benefits far outweigh the inconveniences.  I appreciate the taste of real food now, and with proper planning, it's become easier and easier to prepare meals.  My crockpot and I are now best friends, and I even know what to eat in a pinch.  Whole30 has transformed the way I think about eating, and I like it.  I enjoy living this way.

Whole30 and the Paleo lifestyle aren't for everyone.  I get the reluctance to give up pasta and cinnamon rolls.  While I once craved these foods, now I look forward to a plate of grilled steak and roasted brussels sprouts.  Seriously.  If you're looking for an eating plan that can transform your health, consider Whole30.  

The One Where I Open Up About My Struggle with Body Image

I quickly post pictures of me taken at the finish line of the Gulf Coast Triathlon without examining them too closely.  I just completed my first triathlon, and these pictures need to get to the world wide web as soon as possible.  The people need to know.  Later, when I've had time to recover, I scroll through the photographs taken by family and friends.  I pause on the one of me proudly holding up my finisher's medal, and I am disgusted.  My first thought isn't, "Look at what you just accomplished after years of battling injury.  You go girl!"  No, sadly, my first thought is, "Who is that big girl?  I look so fat." What should be my most triumphant moment in a long time reduces me to tears of frustration as I pore over every flaw, picking apart each inch of my body with a negativity I wouldn't reserve for my nemesis.

Me at the finish line of the Gulf Coast Tri

The old critic, the one I thought I'd long buried, resurges with as much vigor as she had when I was struggling to make it as a model in my early twenties.  Rather than see the athlete who survived, what I, perhaps dramatically, like to refer to as the near-death drowning experience on the 300 yard swim, finished third in her age group on a ten-mile bike ride, and hammered out two miles to come in fourth overall in my age group, I see a fat girl, and I've worked too damn hard on staying healthy to allow that girl back into my head.  

To understand my story, we must travel back to my middle school days, the place where tall, awkward, nerdy kids like me thrive.  This is where my body image issues began.  As a junior high cheerleader, I was at least two inches taller than the next tallest girl.  While my teammates' tiny, athletic bodies tumbled and flew through the air, I more or less thudded.  I recall on photo day, the photographer pointing to me and saying, "Big girl.  You line up in the back."  I'm sure he meant tall, but "big girl" echoed through my head the rest of the day.  (I was also the only person who forgot to bring white socks, so tan sock girl would have also been appropriate, but alas, big girl it was.)  No matter what the occasion, I was always a giant among tiny, muscular athletic people.  

As I entered high school, someone, perhaps noticing my discomfort with my Amazon-ish-ness, mentioned that models were tall, so I began to appreciate my height a little more.  I had also been told that I looked better in pictures than I did in person, so I began to send my photos to agents, hoping to get noticed.  I also knew models were ultra-thin, so I began dieting, and by dieting, I mean starving myself, and when the starvation become too much, binging and purging.  I knew exactly where to place my finger in my throat to bring up any meal.  Running water hid the sound of my retching, so no one was the wiser.  My weight fluctuated based on my level of determination.  Once I began pursuing modeling in earnest, though, I became so strict with my diet that I only allowed myself a few pretzel sticks each day.  Anything more and I dealt with an inordinate amount of guilt.  I also exercised for hours a day.  I dropped from 145 to 130, but that still wasn't good enough.  Any professional I met insisted that I still needed to lose weight.  I remember speaking with someone I had met in California and her first greeting was, "How's your weight?"  In the following photographs, I was still deemed too heavy for high fashion.

When I once looked at these photos I picked apart every flaw, every ounce of flab, a maelstrom of  self-condemnation.  Now I see a beautiful, young woman who needed a healthy relationship with food.

So, I dropped another 22 pounds, weighing a paltry 108 when I left home and moved to Atlanta to pursue modeling full-time.  I remember dancing in the fitting room the first time I buttoned a pair of size 3 Calvin Klein jeans.  I was exhilarated!  My dance was short-lived, though, when the exertion almost caused me to pass out.  My family grew so concerned with my weight that my mom forced me to watch the Karen Carpenter story and explained how talented she was, yet how her life was cut short from anorexia, but for once, I felt powerful and in control.  I couldn't control the responses of agents or that sense of restlessness and uncertainty about my purpose, but I could control my weight, and I controlled it like a czar.  I didn't care that I was listless or losing hair by the handful; I ignored the anxious pleas of those who loved me.  For once, I was skinny, and as a result, "beautiful".

I continued this ridiculous lifestyle for months.  I spent my time trying to book fashion shows or print jobs.  No matter how small I became there was always someone there to remind me of any flaws.  Then one day I woke up and simply decided to step off this crazy train.  I was sick.  I was tired.  I was dying inside, and I needed something to bring me back to life.  For years, food had been my enemy, not fuel for my body.  It was my foe, and I needed to learn the delicate balance of friendship, so I moved home and began college.  I also discovered a love of distance running, one that most likely saved my life.  It's impossible to starve yourself and run, so I began reading about nutrition.  Slowly, through prayer and the love of those around me, I began to see my body as the miracle it was.  My legs grew strong and muscular and propelled me through ten mile runs.  I threw out my scale, and to this day, rarely weigh myself.  I could be perfectly fine and at ease with my body, but one wrong number on the scale would send my day spiraling out of control, and a maelstrom of self-condemnation would suck me into a frenzy, ruining my day, so I tossed it and used the fit of my clothing as a gauge.  Bit by bit, I began to make peace with my body.

By the time I married and began to have children, I felt healthy and whole.  I arrived at the place where I  honestly didn't think about my weight.  For the first time in my life, I liked myself and my body.  From time to time, I'd see a photograph and cringe, but I would quickly quiet the critic in my head and move on.  Now, I focused on my marathon and half-marathon finishes, the twenty-six hours of labor that produced two beautiful children, the power it took to cycle 67 miles of a hilly course.  So, my response to my photograph at the finish of my first triathlon shocked me.  I thought I was finally over this body image nightmare, but I'm not.  I still have moments where I long to be that 108 pound girl in the size 3 Calvin Kleins, and you know what, that matters more now than ever because I have a daughter.

I've fought so hard for her to maintain a healthy view of my body.  I've never allowed fashion magazines into our home because I know how easily it is to fall into society's trap that shouts from every newsstand and grocery store aisle in the country:  This is true beauty.  We see it every time we walk into a store and find "skinny" jeans staring at us from every table.  I've never used the word fat or referred to my body as anything but strong and healthy, but that doesn't mean the self-loathing doesn't sneak back into my mind when I step out of the shower and notice the paunch that greets me in the mirror or the dimply thighs peeking out from my swimsuit.  I don't want my daughter to feel that way about her body.  I desperately want A and me to believe that we are beautifully and wonderfully made.

No matter how hard I fight, it's so difficult to prevent my daughter from internalizing society's idea of beauty.  Recently, she came to me and asked why her legs got fat when she sat, and I wanted to scream at the stupid fashion industry and ask where she heard the word "fat".   Instead, I explained to her that it wasn't fat she was seeing, it was muscle, and those muscles propel her through the water when she's swimming her 50 yard breast stroke, they are powering her forward as she bikes up a hill, they are providing her the strength she needs to cross the finish line of a 5K.  I flexed my thighs and showed her my running/cycling muscles then we compared who had the biggest muscles.  Because that's what I want her to see when she looks at her body:  power, promise, potential.  I long for her to see a capable, beautiful body that has the ability to bear children, run marathons, and inspire others.  But, it will be an uphill battle.

Right now, my girl doesn't know, but she's learning.  She doesn't quite fully understand that "thinner is better" or that she can only be accepted and loved if she's perfect, and I'm fighting hard not to send her that message.  Yet, the truth is she will listen more closely to my actions than my words.  Moms, it's time we stop spreading that message with the way we treat ourselves with the way we speak about ourselves.  Every time we look in the mirror and scowl because we don't measure up, regardless of what we speak, we say to our daughters, "I must look a certain way to be satisfied."  While we can't protect our daughters from the messages that society sends, we can equip them with the truth that their value is not based on their body type.  We can build within them a mindset that sees the impossible standards of beauty as a ridiculous myth that no longer needs to be perpetuated.

I'm realizing that as a mom and woman, I personally cannot transform what society values as the standard for perfection in beauty, so my child will grow up in a world that values women for our brains and contributions rather than our bodies, but I can transform my values.  And you can control yours.  What if, when we looked in the mirror, we practiced seeing what was beautiful? What if we start there?  What if we list every day all the things our bodies are capable of accomplishing?  What if we stop using the word fat or disgusting or hideous when talking to ourselves about our bodies?  What if we focused on a healthy relationship with food?  What if we exercised for strength and fitness rather than to sculpt an ideal that has been airbrushed beyond recognition and DOESN'T EVEN EXIST?

What if we learned to love ourselves and see our bodies as God sees them?  What if we sent a message with our money and stopped shopping at Victoria's Secret and Aerie and any other retailer that uses the sexualization of women and preteens' bodies to sell something?  What if we purchased from companies that revere women and use real women to advertise their products like Dove?  What if we stopped buying the lies and started rewarding those who are honest?  You and I individually might not make a difference but if we collectively shouted then maybe someone would start listening.

I don't share my struggle with many people; in fact, outside of my family and close friends, I've never shared it with anyone because I fight to keep it buried in the past where I hope it will let me alone.  I'm realizing, though, that I'm wasting my experience by keeping it to myself.  I believe that God never allows us to walk through a difficulty without somehow using that experience to help, to inspire, or to heal someone else.  My journey, though painful and frustrating, has value.  All of our stories do.  It's through the sharing that we heal and grow stronger and understand that we often fight the same battles.  I grow tired of hiding the flaws and fighting alone, so moms, let's fight this one together for the sake of our daughters and our sons.  Let's encourage and remind each other that each of us is beautifully and wonderfully made.

What Are You So Afraid Of?

My daughter rushes to where I am working and exclaims, "Mommy, I want to go to camp this summer."  I nod, noncommittally and respond, "I'll check into it."  It's still a couple of months until camp, so there's still time for her to change her mind, right?

Time throttles closer and each week, A asks, "Mommy, have you signed me up, yet?"  I look at my nine-year-old and sigh.  "Are you sure you're ready to spend an entire week at camp?  You won't be able to call or see us at all.  No texting either."  Way to crush her joy, Scrooge.  Should I mention the bears?

"Oh, I know.  I really want to go."  Hesitantly, I fill out the online form then sit with my finger perched precariously above the send button.  An entire week at camp.  My mind checks off the list of all that could go wrong: she could become homesick, she could get injured, bitten by a spider, or worse, a snake.  What if a crazed maniac rampages through the camp.....why is my head even going there?  She could throw a tantrum and embarrass herself.  What if she doesn't know how to make her bed, put on her sunscreen, spell a simple word?  What if there's nothing she'll eat?  What if the other girls are unkind to her?  What if those socialization fears others have about homeschoolers are founded?  What if I miss her?  The silent litany continues as my finger wavers between the close button and the send button.  Finally, I take a deep breath and press send, registering my baby girl for camp.

As I ponder my hesitancy to send my daughter to camp, I realize that many of my fears are rooted in a deep-seated insecurity about my own parenting skills and how her behavior will reflect on my own lacking as a mom.  The other fears are genuine concerns about her welfare so far from home (really camp was an entire hour and a half away.)  Most, though, lie in an inability to let go and come to terms with a daughter who is growing into a young woman.  I'm halfway through the critical years of parenting, and this will be the first real test of how well we are preparing our girl for the real world.  I suddenly find myself wanting to cling and hover rather than release, which is pretty much the point of parenting, the releasing, not the hovering.

It seems that I'm not the only parent who struggles with releasing my grip on my children.  One need not look too far to see the disturbing headlines.  From Psychology Today, "Helicopter Parenting:  It's Worse Than You Think."  This article proceeds to detail how the parents of 25-year-old graduate students are calling admissions offices to assist their child in getting admitted.  Parents are actually tagging along on job interviews, and the kids are welcoming it.  I can just picture the mom dabbing her tongue to a napkin and wiping Johnny's mouth half-way during the questioning.

The Washington Post paints the same bleak picture with its article "How Helicopter Parents are Ruining College Students."  Colleges have become surrogate parents for kids who can't resolve conflict with roommates.  Deans are dealing with "she took my shirt without asking."  Police are being called to set mouse traps for skittish coeds.  We're paralyzing our children.  Rates of anxiety and depression are skyrocketing among children because we aren't allowing them to fail, risk, or make decisions.  Colleges can't keep up with the demand for counseling.

I find myself caught in this trap so often as a mom.  It's so easy to coddle and protect.  Society is so obsessed with coddling and protecting that I sometimes find myself questioning parenting decisions like sitting at a picnic table reading while my children play one hundred yards away at the playground.  I remember walking to the park with my siblings from my grandparents while the adults chatted and canned vegetables.  My mom couldn't see us or hear us.  My cousins and I spent our days winding through the countryside not to return home until dusk with narry an adult.  Is it really that dangerous for our children or are we watching too much CSI?  Isn't it ridiculous when "free range" parents are arrested for allowing their preteens to ride the subway alone?  The damage from micromanaging everything
from our children's science projects to career decisions isn't minor or short-term.  It's affecting them well into the future, leaving employers and future spouses baffled.

Every day offers a new opportunity to allow my children to safely take risks and to fail.  We, as a society, must change our attitude concerning failure.  We've begun celebrating failure when it forces us to try harder.  Our homeschool mantra is mistakes are ok because that's how we learn.  Children who are allowed to fail in the safety of their homes become more resilient adults.  Of course, we shouldn't allow our children to take dangerous, life-threatening risks, but most risks aren't that dramatic.  How we teach our children to handle failure is critical, which means despite a deep desire to prevent them from ever feeling pain, we have to sometimes watch them fall.  Preparing a path filled with lollipops and daisies is not preparing our children for the dog-eat-dog real world.

So often, I find myself stepping in to rescue my daughter from messes she created herself, but I have to remind myself that I'm not preparing her for life.  I'm handicapping her.  When she doesn't practice piano or finish a project, I must allow her to bear the brunt of the consequence that choice brings.  Sometimes its easier to save our children because it preserves the peace.  We don't have to deal with tantrums or breakdowns or bad grades, but that short-term ease will result in long-term detriment.  I often find myself praying for the courage to stop taking the path of least resistance.

My own mom taught me two very valuable lessons as a young woman.  When I tried out for cheerleader my junior year, I didn't make the squad, and I was devastated.  I lived in the era before parents filed lawsuits to get their kids onto teams.  If you weren't good enough, you didn't make the team, and that year I simply wasn't good enough.  My mom empathized and encouraged me to try again next year.  That afternoon, a male friend had sent flowers and stopped by to see how tryouts went.  My ego was so bruised that I refused to respond.  Rather than excusing my behavior or filling my head with a bunch of nonsense about how I was robbed and how I should have been chosen/the judges were blind, my mom called me out and reminded me that the world didn't revolve around whether or not I made cheerleader.  I learned to graciously accept disappointment and moved on to a very satisfying year as junior class president.  I wasn't placed on the team when I didn't deserve to be, but I survived and learned to deal with disappointment and embarrassment.  My mom taught me the world wasn't just about me and when at first I don't succeed to try again or to try something new.  My mom chose not to create in me an attitude of entitlement but one of humility.  (Thanks, mom!)

When I was a freshman in college, a naive eighteen year old, my mom allowed my sister, who was a junior in high school, and me to drive to Virginia to visit a friend at UVA during spring break.  I remember my mom handing us my dad's giant bag cell phone, explaining roaming charges, then waving as we backed down the driveway.  This is the point where I would have run headlong down the drive and jumped onto the back of my sister's little red BMW and tagged along, (mother/daughter weekend anyone?) but if my mom had concerns, she didn't register them.  She stoically stood by as my sister and I drove off into the sunrise.  My mom gave us the gift of a lifetime, and despite her desire to hang on, she chose to let go, and I'm sure pray without ceasing, allowing my sister and me to reap the benefits that weeklong road trip.  My mom taught me to trust God and to trust my children.

When it comes down to it, my children aren't really my own.  They are entrusted to me by a loving God who loves them even more than I.  He's asked me to prepare them for the world.  He's assured us that in this world there will be trouble.  Our heavenly father doesn't smooth the path for us, so why do we think we should smooth the path for our children?  Yet, he does reassure us that He's overcome the world and that He will never leave us or forsake us.  He even reminds us that trials develop endurance, endurance develops character, and character develops hope.  The Creator of the Universe designed life so that the trials and obstacles develop our character and ultimately our hope.  Those don't come without the trial.  This is what I cling to whenever I find myself parenting from a place of fear rather than from a place of trust.  Each time I choose fear, self-preservation, or ease, I rob God the opportunity to develop my character and the character of my children.  I also exhibit a lack of trust.  My children are going to get hurt; my focus needs to be on helping them learn to handle it, not preventing it from happening.
Think on your own life.  When have the biggest breakthroughs come or the most valuable lessons been learned?  Is it through the trials or in the ease?

I arrive at camp at the end of the week to find my baby girl beaming.  She's eager to introduce me to new friends.  (See homeschooling kids aren't socially awkward.)  She isn't sunburned or stinky.  In fact, she's glowing and is eager to tell me all about movie night, canoeing, swimming, singing, and all the other adventures she experienced that week.  She did get homesick, and not only did she get homesick, she threw up when she ate something that didn't settle with her.  And, you know what else, she survived.  It was through the homesickness that her friends were able to rally around her and show her support, thus deepening the friendships.  She survived a moment of vulnerability and learned to lean on others.  She learned that she can survive a week without her mommy, and I learned that I must be doing something right because the counselors shared what a lovely, polite girl she is.  Most importantly, A learned that she is resilient, capable, and strong.  Lessons she would probably not have learned sitting in the safety of her home.

Whole30 Week 1

A couple of years ago I was struggling with exhaustion, not an "I haven't slept enough" fatigue but a bone-tired, no energy no matter what sort of tired.  The fact is I was averaging at least eight hours of sleep a night, so adequate shut-eye probably wasn't the culprit.   I found myself slogging through the day with barely enough energy to stay three steps behind my children.  Keeping up with them wasn't an option.  Bribing, cajoling, and begging them to take a nap was.

I acknowledge that the relentless, harried pace of my schedule contributed to my lethargy, but I refused to believe that was the only cause, so I began to study more intently the effects of nutrition on energy.  I could have easily gone to the doctor, explained my situation and been prescribed medication, and while I appreciate modern medicine, I believe that we are too dependent on popping a pill to fix every ailment.  Hippocrates said, "Let food be thy medicine and medicine thy food."  I've come, like him, to believe that diet and exercise are more critical to preventing and relieving health issues, serving as preventative medicine instead of a bandaid to hide symptoms of a deeper issue that could be cured with proper care of the body.  Several months of reading everything I could find led me to my decision to go Paleo.  Within months of beginning a Paleo diet, I noticed remarkable changes in my energy levels.  I no longer wanted a nap every afternoon and was sleeping soundly at night.  These were just two of many beneficial changes.  I was soon hooked and have followed the diet pretty closely for almost two years.

The close of summer, though, found me wandering from my normal Paleo diet.  I blame Chick-fil-A's frosted lemonade for the slip.  Granted, the employees weren't forcing my car through the drive-thru at least once a day.....have I mentioned how good those things are?  This daily slip led to my adding goat cheese to everything I ate.  Who knew it could be so good on eggs?  Throw in travel, and I soon found myself straying from my normally healthy diet.  Within weeks, my face began to break out, and I found my arthritis flaring up, so essentially I was an elderly teenager.  I never went back to eating wheat or bread, but I did allow sugar and dairy to creep back into my diet. When I returned from a recent vacation feeling bloated, achy, and lethargic, I knew it was time to regain control.  Enter Whole30.


Whole30 is not a weight loss plan or a crash diet.  Whole30 is a thirty day challenge to participants to reset their body and remind it what benefits come from eating a diet of whole foods free of processing and sugar.  Essentially, for thirty days participants commit to eliminating dairy, grains (including rice, quinoa, wheat, etc.), sugar, Paleo cheat treats (baked goods that use coconut flour or another Paleo-approved flour), and alcohol from their diets.  What do I get to eat, you ask?  All the vegetables, fruit, and meat I want.  There's no counting calories or portions.  The main focus of Whole 30 is to allow your body to heal and reset the signals your hormones receive.  At its most basic, food carries signals that tell your body what to do.  Good food gives good signals; bad food signals mayhem and chaos.  Think of that guy in the Allstate commercials who wreaks havoc.  Sugar, gluten, and processed foods are "mayhem" wreaking havoc on your body.  Whole30 is Allstate, coming in to help repair the damage.


So, that's how I ended up beginning Whole30.  For more information on specifics of the diet, Melissa and Dallas Hartwig's It Starts With Food and more recently, The Whole30, outline the whys and hows of the plan.  The purpose of this post is to recount my first week of the program in an effort to share the pitfalls, frustrations, and victories I experienced.  The first two days are not fun, as in root canal, someone ate your last cupcake, you misplaced your I-phone, not fun.  For two days, you feel as if you have the mother of all hangovers, at least that's what I've been told it feels like....  This, apparently, is your body fighting your denying it of sugar.  It's in essence throwing a hissy fit.  This passes, so hang in there.  Really, keep telling yourself, the good stuff is coming.  I allowed myself green tea with its small amounts of caffeine.  Once, when I attempted a shorter version of Whole30, I gave up caffeine entirely.  I will not make that mistake twice.  Dallas and Melissa do not require that from me to be successful on this plan, so grab a cup of black coffee and ride the first few days out.

The third and fourth days I found myself rather moody and irritable with a lingering headache.  I tend to believe I am upbeat and optimistic.  Those were not words I found others using to describe me on days three and four.  Part of what led to my desire to throw things was the inordinate, overwhelming amount of planning it requires to plan and implement meals that don't come out of a box or bag.  Seriously, women apparently once spent all of their twenty-four daily hours in the kitchen.  So, heads up, this plan takes planning.  It's worth it, but it's overwhelming.  You've been warned.  Another aspect that makes this frustrating is that it's difficult to grab something and run out the the door.  Even snacks require planning.  It. Can. Be. Done.

I found it helpful to plan my breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for the week then shop at the beginning of the week.  It was critical to my success.  I also did much of the preparation at one time.  My crockpot and I became best friends in the process.  I roasted an entire chicken then made homemade bone broth in the crockpot, which I then used to prepare three different soups.  I spent much of my morning in the kitchen but in a few hours, I had lunches for the entire week.  I also chopped vegetables for meals that I planned to make later in the week then stored them in the fridge.  Make a large pan of cauliflower rice (enough to last the week), throw in a meat and veggie, and you've got a "rice" bowl.  You're welcome.  For breakfast, I relied on eggs, a meat, and fruit.  So to sum it up, prepare, prepare, prepare.  Depend on the crockpot.  Soups make great make-ahead lunches and dinners.  Also, sugar hides everywhere, so if you used canned broth or tomatoes, read your labels.  Pom tomatoes are fantastic; the only ingredient is tomatoes.  Imagine that!

By day five, I was beginning to feel human and on days six and seven, Eureka!  I finally felt a surge of energy. I also found myself sleeping more soundly, though oddly, I kept dreaming that I was cheating on Whole30.  I'd wake up feeling guilty for raiding the cheese counter and the deli, which fortunately, didn't happen.  Again, the biggest obstacle I overcame on days five through seven was making sure I had meals planned and prepared ahead of time.  For me, I found it difficult to eat out, so I made all my meals at home.  I am also attempting Whole30 solo.  While my husband and children are not officially participating in Whole30, they are beneficiaries of the meals I'm making.  They eat mostly gluten free anyway but not strictly Paleo, but we are inching toward that goal, so I tried to find recipes that we could all enjoy together.

Some of my family's favorites are beef stew (my kids thought the parsnips were white potatoes and loved them), roasted chicken, curried short ribs, sesame orange chicken, and we are discovering more.  (Not all of these are Whole30 compliant but are Paleo.)  My children also love this beef jerky recipe, which we use for snacks.  I've found the cookbook Eat Like a Dinosaur to be an invaluable resource in getting my kids to accept Paleo without complaining.  Seriously, at one point, my crockpot was like Pavlov's bell.  Every time I placed it on the counter, my children would lie in the floor and cry, "Not gluten free again, mommy!" It was delightful.  While they haven't fully accepted Paleo, they are curious and often pleasantly surprised by what emerges from mom's giant slow cooker.

So, while I'm still eagerly awaiting the full energy surge, and I'll admit, weight loss, that should accompany Whole30, I did see positive changes in the first seven days.  My body apparently got over its hissy fit and is now accepting a month of no sugar, though there are moments where I'd love a piece of dark chocolate.  My skin has already cleared up and my tummy is noticeably flatter.  For me, though,  the biggest benefit has been a return to increased energy and improved mood.  I feel more upbeat and peppier than usual.  I'm even eager to see what challenges and changes week 2 will bring.

Dear Mom of a Strong-Willed, Spirited Child

Dear Mom of a Strong-willed child,

Hi, I see you there hiding in the bathroom with the door closed, crouched in fetal position, rolling back and forth on the floor, cataloging every rotten thing you ever did to your parents, wondering if any of those are the cause of this madness, while your child rampages through the house like a little Napoleon charging through Europe.  The question "why" scrolls through your mind like the ticker on the bottom of the nightly news.  The voices, those outside your head and those inside, condemn you for not being good enough, strong enough, disciplined enough.  I know you watch in horror as your sweet angel goes from compliant to defiant in a nanosecond, leaving you feeling baffled and ill-equipped.

You battle insecurity, wondering if you are the only person who ever feels this helpless, hopeless, inadequate, unprepared, unequipped, unhinged, alone.  Is it you?  Is it something she ate?  Is it something you ate during pregnancy?  I see you sobbing into the soft fold of your elbow as you collapse face-down into the dining room table, tears rolling gently onto the well-worn copy of The Difficult Child, wondering if your child will ever outgrow this stage.  You look at your shoes in shame when she comes unglued in public, stealing glances at all the other moms, wondering how they
manage to keep their children on the straight and narrow.  Your child is five and you already wonder how you are going to handle those tricky teenage years, if you can't even handle a kindergartner.  I see you, and I'm here to tell you that you are not alone.

I am the mom of a difficult, strong-willed, spirited daughter.  There's a litany of terms to describe the 10-15% of children that drive their parents to their knees at least once a week in defeat or in prayer.  I prefer to refer to my girl as spirited, so that's my term of choice from this point forward.  Listen, 85-90% of the population cannot relate to us, so for now, let's just leave them to their angels and discuss ours.  This is not a post to let you know that I've got this all figured out.  No, friend, this is a post of camaraderie, an I've-got-your-back sister, I'm here for you.  And, ultimately, it's a post to share some insight into what I've learned along the way.

First of all, your dear darling was wired this way.  For most spirited children, it's a matter of temperament.  Sure, parenting can exacerbate or decelerate some spirited tendencies in children, but for the most part, to quote Lady Gaga, your baby girl or boy was born this way.  Let me share my experience.  My daughter throttled out of the womb and into the world with an intensity that said, "I am here; hear me roar."  My spirited child could shatter glass with her vocal chords at two weeks.  I do not exaggerate when I say that I did not sleep a full night for over two years.  Friends suggested cry-it-out.  Five days later, I had my arm draped over her crib, head languishing on my arm resembling a cast member of The Walking Dead.  My little bit lay red-faced and screaming with as much vigor as she had on day one of our little Ferber-izing session.  The only one crying it out was me.  A-1. Mommy-0.  My husband and I would lie her in the crib then crawl out
on our stomachs like navy seals exiting enemy territory only to sleepwalk back in five minutes later when her wail raised the roof.  I remember visiting my pediatrician who commented on my zombie-like appearance.  When I explained A's behavior, he commented that I had my work cut out for me and recommended a medication for reflux.  Needless to say, the only person with gastric issues was mommy.

Once I dropped her off at a friend's so I could grab a few seconds of a coveted nap, but before my
head could feel the sweet embrace of my pillow, the phone rang and my friend's desperate plea on the other end sounded, "I can't do anything with her.  She won't stop crying.  You have to come get her."  I don't remember the drive there or back, but I'm pretty sure I was bawling.  My husband and I would seek sweet relief at church only to have the sermon interrupted by the nursery pager and the desperate, "You have to come calm your child."  I attended bible study at a local church, where without fail, before Beth Moore's big hair could fill the screen, a haggard nursery attendant would whisper from the door, "Mrs. Johnson, A won't stop crying."  For the love!

Rather than calming down as she grew older, my spirited wonder's temperament intensified.  Now, at bible study, nursery workers called my attention to her aggressive behavior toward other little ones and she was only 18-months-old.  This is the child who ran up to another toddler on the playground, grabbed her hair, and would not let go despite the desperate pleas of me and the other child's mom.  When one of my best friends brought her sweet girl to visit, A pushed her down.  My husband and I read and studied and attempted a variety of discipline methods.  Eventually, my girl matured and grew into a really delightful girl, but her temperament continued to be wild shifts of intensity followed by periods of calm.  Fast-forward to age nine, where her tantrums now appear only once every few months, but when they do, bless the parent who crosses her path.

What I've learned about spirited children is that they are very sensitive, intense, persistent, and impulsive.  The Difficult Child presents the following questions in its introduction:  Do you find your child hard to raise?  Do you find your child's behavior hard to understand? Are you often battling your child? Do you feel inadequate or guilty as a parent?  Is your family life sometimes affected by your child?  I can answer most of these with a "yes" on many days,  and I imagine you can, too.  What has been freeing for me is understanding that my child is normal, perfectly normal, she's just more impulsive, distractible, intense, irregular, persistent, less adaptable, and more sensitive than most children. Research has shown that this 10-15% of children require a different approach in parenting than the more easy-going 85% out there, those like my son.

Understanding how temperament plays into your child's behavior will help you better understand how to parent your little firecracker.  So, if it took you two years to find a pair of jeans your child would actually wear, ones that weren't too icky, scratchy, with a button that wasn't too hard, etc., or if you've ever spent four hours trying to find a pair of flip-flops that didn't hurt, or if exposing your child to a new experience can send her into a downward spiral, then welcome to my world, and here are a few tips that help me manage those days when I want to turn in my resignation as a mom, and yes, I've actually wanted to do this.  If anyone tells you it's wrong to feel this way or that they have never felt this way, then they are raising some kind of Stepford children, so ignore them and move on.

1.  Parent the child you have, not the child you wish you had. 

I know this may sound harsh, but it has been critical for me as the mom of a spirited child.  It is okay to mourn the idea of the child you had when you carried her in your womb, the compliant child who shared your interests and didn't complain about the way a grain of sand makes her shoes unwearable or lose it over the most seemingly insignificant things, those annoying things like her brother sneezing.  I have been blessed with an incredible daughter who I love more than life itself.  She is strong, bright, creative, intelligent, decisive.  She is a gift that challenges me, encourages me, and improves me.  I didn't expect to give birth to such a powerhouse.  I didn't expect a daughter who would challenge me every step of the way, who would question every motive, who would test every boundary, but that is who I've been entrusted with by a loving Heavenly Father, and I trust that He would not have blessed me with such a strong, spirited daughter if he didn't think I could handle what it takes to parent her.  For me, realizing that A requires a different parenting style helps me seek ways to understand her temperament and parent more effectively. She feels more passionately, worries more intensely, and behaves more impulsively than I would.  Those aren't faults to be bemoaned; they are traits she's been given for a reason, and it is my job to help her manage and mold that intense personality into one that will benefit the world.

2.  Ignore the naysayers.

There are people, people you love, who will tell you that this temperament thing is a bunch of hogwash and if you were just tougher, stricter, fill-in-the-blanker....then your child would never utter a peep of defiance.  They convince you that you are the problem, that you aren't a very good mom, that if that were their child, she wouldn't behave that way.  I encourage you to give them a call the next time your child is having a nuclear DEFCON-1meltdown and invite them to come work their parenting magic.  I'm sure you could destroy your relationship with yo
ur child by coercing her into compliance in an authoritarian my way or the highway sort of way, but people, until you've dealt with a spirited child on a tear, I don't know.  The second you draw that line in the sand, she's crossed it just like Caesar crossing the Rubicon, sword ablazing.  The thing is, I could take away everything forever and in the heat of the moment, my child wouldn't care.  She. Would. Not. Care.  For her, whatever consequence is worth those few minutes of expressing her intense frustration.  

Here's the rub.  Your child doesn't want to behave this way.  She doesn't.  My girl comes to me after trying to handle this firestorm of intensity and says, "Mommy, I don't know why I feel this way.  I don't want to, but I don't know how to control my emotions."  Yes, it is frustrating for me as a mom, but I feel my job is to teach her how to manage that intensity, to give her tools to calm herself and to more effectively deal with and channel that intensity and frustration, not push her further off the edge.   Most spirited children have very intense emotions and don't know how to handle those, especially in the heat of the moment.  When I asked my daughter what would help defuse her tantrums, she sincerely responded, "Mommy, I think a hug would help me calm down."  Amazingly, this simple tactic at the time my child seems the least huggable, seems to work miracles at calming her down and helping her regain control.  

Do not misunderstand.  I'm not encouraging you to eschew discipline.  Your child needs effective discipline that teaches her to control her intensity.  Recently, my daughter threw a cup of tea into my Macbook destroying it.  I mean, even the computer repairman, was like, "Dude, I'm so sorry but she shorted the entire hard drive.  Aw, man, a 2015, too."  Once A calmed down, we reevaluated the incident.  I admit I pushed her by insisting she finish her schoolwork even though she was tired and moving closer to the emotional edge of frustration, not understanding the assignment.  I failed to recognize and respect her warning signs that she was losing control.  Rather than helping her manage her emotions, I intensified them.  Ephesians 6:4 reminds us not to exasperate our children, but to bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.  Colossians 3:12 admonishes parents not to embitter our children lest they become discouraged.  These verses are reminders to me as the mom of a spirited child. A still has to understand the consequence for losing her cool, though, so she is "earning" the cost of the computer through extra chores, and I'm working with my youth pastor to find opportunities for A to volunteer with elderly members of our church to help them in their home or yard complete tasks that are difficult for them.  She will work through volunteering to recover the cost of the computer.  My goal as a mom is to make this not a horrible memory for our family but a learning opportunity for A on the reality of consequences for poor decisions in a positive way that benefits her and others.

Many well-respected authors, psychologists, and parenting experts have written hundreds of books on the topic of strong-willed, difficult, spirited children.  It is not just your child.  This is a real concern for many capable, loving parents.  Know mom,  your child's temperament has a lot to do with her responses.  It is up to you to study her temperament, her moods, what pushes her buttons and lovingly, gracefully give her the tools to manage and control that onslaught of intensity that often culminates in a tantrum.  I know that is so much easier said than done, so treat yourself with grace, too.

3.  Don't be afraid to ask for help.

The episode we now refer to as the "computer incident" just about pushed me over the edge.  I've never felt like such a failure as a mom.  It was one of the worst tantrums my daughter had thrown in a while, and after months of smooth sailing, I was left blindsided.  I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.  I'm serious.  I frankly didn't want anyone to know what I sometimes dealt with in managing my daughter's temperament.  I didn't think anyone would understand, and if I reached out to someone, I believed they would condemn me as a mom.  Raising a spirited child will wear you out.  There are nights you collapse into bed after a day of battling everything from what you served at meals to handling the fact that her brother drew air and it bothered her.  Most of the time, my daughter is a delight to parent, but sometimes she is moodier, less optimistic, and more negative than most children.  She's easily discouraged with a task, she's slow to warm-up in a group, she's hesitant to try new things.  It's just who she is.  I'm a very optimistic, I can do anything kind of person, so there are days our personalities clash.  And, it's hard to admit that there are times when you just don't have a clue how to handle that dissonance, but my husband lovingly convinced me to call a friend who is a family counselor.  

I called my friend and began the conversation with a desperate, "I need help!"  She gracefully listened to my story and reassured me that I am not alone, that my child is normal, that this is her temperament, and that I am fully capable of parenting her.  She offered practical suggestions on defusing the intensity of a situation before it spiraled out of control and recommended ways to help A manage her emotions.  She even confirmed what I had read in so many books written about strong-willed children.  Rather than scold me for being a parenting buffoon, she acknowledged that I am not the only mom caught in this struggle.  That call changed me.  I know that seems over-the-top, but for the first time, I had professional confirmation that my daughter is normal, that she needs to be parented differently than my compliant son, and I had tools.  Just the simple knowledge of knowing you're not alone can give you the resolve you need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

4.  You and your husband are the best parents for your child.

You are enough.  You are capable.  You just need help and guidance sometimes.  You need encouragement.  Surround yourself with people who offer a shoulder to cry on, who call you to the carpet when you're being a wimp, who love you and your children unconditionally, who will take your little ones to the park so you can grab a pedicure or even a nap.  Know that yes, you have a child who is challenging to parent, but that doesn't make you a bad parent.  Dear mom, God has entrusted you with the 10-15% of children authors pen special books about.  Gra
nted, there are days you wish you had been given an easy, compliant child, but where would the fun in parenting that child be, right?  Your child needs you.  Not an expert, not someone who is cooler, prettier, more capable, you.  You are enough.

5.  Trust that God is equipping you to parent your child and through this transforming you into the woman He wants you to become.

Parenting my spirited daughter has changed me so much.....for the better.  She reminds me that life is meant to be approached with fire and intensity.  She sharpens me, as iron sharpens iron.  Through her, God is truly transforming me.  I'm more patient, self-controlled, compassionate, and humble.  Ultimately, I'm more dependent on Jesus.  This self-assured, self-righteous, prideful, got-it-all-together girl is anything but.  God is teaching me to run to Him and depend on Him to sustain me and fill me.  Then, I am better-prepared to parent A and C.  Even though my son is "easier," it doesn't mean he isn't challenging, as well.  He appears to have inherited my stubborn streak.  I'm growing to believe that no matter what temperament your child, one purpose of parenting is to drive us to utter dependence on Jesus, and in my case, it is working beautifully.

If it helps, I, too, was a spirited child.  My children love to hear the story of how when I was fourteen, my mom asked me to clean my bathroom.  I haphazardly wiped down the sink.  Upon inspection, my mom discovered my half-hearted attempt and called me out on it.  I responded by grabbing a can of Comet and tossing it wildly throughout the bathroom.  When the dust literally settled, I looked into the gilded-gold mirror hanging in the bathroom and saw reflected a look that resembled a portrait of George Washington, complete with the powdered wig.  It took hours to vacuum all the powder from the carpet, sink, and shelves.  My tantrum cost hours of pointless work, as did many others I threw as a spunky child and teen, so every time my girl lets loose, I remember that, I, too, was once the girl staring back at me, desperate for a patient mom who was willing to guide and help her gain control.

And, finally, dear mom, I don't have proof of this, but I believe the world is transformed by spirited children.  I firmly believe, based on some biblical evidence, that the apostles Peter and Paul were spirited children.  I believe Lydia, the competent business woman mentioned in Acts was a spirited gal.  The Proverbs 31 woman has spirit written all over her.  Margaret Thatcher.  I imagine she gave her parents fits.  All those gals in the Senate and the House.  Those are not weak women.  Jane Goodall, Abigail Adams, Florence Nightingale, Elizabeth Blackwell.  It takes spirited girls to challenge the system, to question the status quo, to fight injustice.  Weary moms, trust God to guide you in parenting your firecracker, and believe that He is using you to mold that girl's fiery temperament into a catalyst that will set the world ablaze for good.  That trust is how I get through those days that short-circuit not just my computer but me, as well.  You have a wonderful opportunity to rear a girl or boy who could, with their spirited intensity, transform the world.

So, get up off the bathroom floor, take a deep breath, say a prayer, look at your reflection in the mirror and tell that puffy-red-eyed girl, "You can do this."  Remind yourself that you are capable and that your child needs you.....you.  One day, over a cup of hot tea, we'll laugh about how our doctors and teachers and humanitarians and ministers once left us in tears on the bathroom floor, and we'll marvel at how God used faithful, willing moms to influence these spirited children who grew up to become world-changers.

Let us know grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  Galatians 6:9  

Bathroom Remodel

After ten years in the making, our bathroom remodel is finally complete!  Here are the before photos to remind everyone what it looked like before.

Pink retro just wasn't working for us anymore, so we decided to go more modern......here's our new bathroom!

Going Grain Free

After eating a Paleo diet for six months, I've decided it's time for my children to join me.  My husband has gone gluten free, which is a start.  The next few months the blog will be dedicated to all types of writing, as usual, but I also plan to track our eating adventures pretty closely.  I will also dedicate a series of posts to why I decided to pursue grain-free living and condense the immense amount of research I've conducted into shorter posts.  And, while I don't believe there is one-size-fits all to much of anything in life, especially clothing, I understand different types of eating work for different individuals.  After extensive research and real-life experience, this is what I believe best fits my family, and I'm simply sharing the knowledge I've gained and the experiences we are encountering with you.

So, grain-free....that means no beloved goldfish, pasta, bread, quesadillas, cakes, cookies, pies, and the list seems endless.  Why would anyone give up soft, chewy, delectable rolls?  Aren't grains government-approved and endorsed as the crux of the American diet?  There are so many questions to cover that it seems overwhelming, which is why this will require several posts.  So first things first, why grain free?

I gave up bread and most grains almost two years ago and have never looked back.  Bread doesn't even appeal to me anymore now that I've read the science behind what excessive carbohydrates can do to your body.  I've never felt better.  My skin's never looked better....well....pre-puberty but whose didn't?  So part of the reason I've decided to take my children on this journey with me are the results I've seen in my own health markers such as energy level, sleep pattern, mood, weight, and many others.

I'd quickly like to address the food pyramid side of this, too.  It would be nice to think that the government created the food pyramid in a nice little, sound, scientific bubble, but that's simply not true.  The government creates no legislation or policy in a vacuum.  Not to rain on anyone's parade, but a lot of interest groups contributed to the contents of the current and previous food pyramids: the dairy industry, meat industry, grain industry, pharmaceutical industry, and all of these industries, though, we'd like to think they have our best interests at heart, they actually have a different bottom-line in mind, their own.  I'm a conservative, free-market, capitalist-loving girl, but I'm not blind to the influences that business and other interest groups (conservative and liberal) have on governmental policy.  If you'd like to learn more on how the food pyramid was decided or would like to learn more about food policy, Death By Food Pyramid, The Calorie Myth, and Fast Food Nation, among I'm sure many others, are good sources.  Be warned, though, you'll never look at a McDonald's combo the same.

I hear the grumblings.  Who do I think I am to try and completely overhaul the way my readers think about the Standard American Diet?  I'll admit that I am no expert, but in the past year, I have read over 30 books on nutrition.  Some were written by cardiologists, some by neurosurgeons with degrees in nutrition, as well, some were written by biologists, some by journalists, and some by nutritionists.  Please know, these books were not all written from a pro-Paleo perspective.  Most of the research I did was to prove that grain-free must be a scam.  Please don't tell me life without pasta is good for me.  Mama Mia!!  It's like the atheist who sets out to disprove the Bible and ends up an ardent follower of Christ.  The harder I tried the more the evidence I discovered that our American diet full of refined grains, refined sugar, and high omega-6 vegetable oils is most likely the culprit in our U.S. obesity/disease epidemic.  In fact, most research agrees that some version of the basic Mediterranean or Paleo diet offer the best health results.  The diets have in common that they focus on vegetables, fish, meat, healthy oils, and very few to no refined grains, refined sugar, and hydrogenated oils.

My entire nutritional perspective has been turned on its head.  For example, saturated fat and cholesterol aren't the enemy.  In fact, fat, the right kind, and cholesterol are good.  Pick your chin up off the floor, I'm serious.  For years and years, the belief was that bread made you fat then we were told to put down the steak, eschew the butter, and pick up a box of refined, vitamin-fortified carb-loaded Special K with orange juice.  Ancel Keys is to thank for the shift in perspective.  In the 1950s he studied diets and heart disease in 22 countries where he found that six of the 22 countries showed a link between dietary fat and heart disease.  He garnered a great deal of press, including a Time magazine cover story.  (Interestingly 64 years later, in 2014 Time ran a retraction of sorts, which stated "We were wrong about saturated fat.")  Keys selectively picked data that supported his hypothesis and in turn, transformed the way a society thought about nutrition and heart disease.  He adamantly believed that fat contributed to heat disease.  But, when all 22 countries were examined, there turned out to be no relationship between fat intake and heart disease death.  Other scientists taking the same data could have selectively selected six other countries and proven that eating more fat decreases the risk of dying from heart disease (Bailor).

Even the American Medical Association declared, "The anti-fat, anti-cholesterol fad is not just foolish and futile....it also carries some risk."  In fact, there is an alarming correlation between the government's recommendation to consume more grains and the increase in diabetes and obesity rates in the United States  Regardless, fat's new role as public enemy number one continued culminating in a government recommendation for low-fat, high starch diets (The Calorie Myth, Bailor).  Cholesterol has also been touted as a heart killer but recent studies are disproving this, as well.  In fact, cholesterol is critical to normal brain function.

Two very well-respected studies are helping to shed light on the fat myth.  The Nurse's Health Study has tracked the dietary habits of 90,000 nurses over twenty years.  It has shown no statistically significant association between total fat or cholesterol intake and heart disease.  The Framingham Heart Study has also shown a link between LOW cholesterol intake and an increased risk of dementia.  In fact, those who had the highest cholesterol levels scored higher on cognitive tests than those with lower levels (Perlmutter, 34).  Scientist are discovering that it is actually inflammation not cholesterol that is the real culprit behind heart disease (more on this in later posts.)

So, exactly what's so bad about too many carbs and about the wrong carbs.  Well, here's the short, I'm not a scientist version.  Excess body fat is a direct reflection of the amount of insulin produced in the diet, combined with a genetic predisposition to store fat.  Moderate insulin is good, too much is not so good.  Insulin delivers nutrients to the cells.  When insulin levels are elevated we accumulate fat in our fat tissue; when these levels fall, fat is used for fuel.  Insulin levels are mostly determined by the carbohydrates we eat.  According to George Cahill, former professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, "Carbohydrate is driving insulin is driving fat" (Taubes, 231).  When your liver and muscles become filled with glycogen, any glucose remaining in the bloodstream that isn't used by your brain or muscles gets converted into triglycerides and sent to fat cells for storage.  When blood insulin levels are high, insulin signals the fat cells to hold on to fat and not release it for energy (Sisson, 73).  So, obesity is a hormonal imbalance rather than one of too many calories in, too few out.  Our bodies are intricate chemistry labs not algebraic equations.  The "stimulating of insulin secretion is caused by eating easily digestible, carbohydrate-rich foods:  refined carbohydrates, including flour and cereal grains, starchy vegetables, and sugars, like sucrose and high-fructose corn syrup.  Those carbohydrates literally make us fat, and by driving us to accumulate fat, they make us hungrier and they make us sedentary" (Taubes, 243).

Notice, I didn't say all carbohydrates cause this.  High quality, high-fiber carbs found in vegetables do not contribute to this phenomenon.  Low-carb mostly means fewer or no grains and replacing those with vegetables and seasonal fruits, plus adding protein from grass-fed beef and pork and wild-caught seafood, and by replacing hydrogenated vegetable oils, including canola, with coconut and olive oil.

So, this is the science-y part condensed from thirty books into a blog post.  I haven't covered specific effects of grains like gluten in this post, though.  I'm saving that for later.  My recent experience with a complete eating overhaul coupled with the extensive scientific research, including a host of well-respected researchers from Harvard, John Hopkins, etc., has led me to make the decision to change the way my family eats, too.

I used to think that what I ate didn't really affect me that much.  Because we often don't notice negative health effects until they sneak up on us years later, we often don't make the connection between what we eat today and our health in ten years, but I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it does matter.  My breakfast this morning not only affects my mood in three hours, it also impacts my health in one year.  There is a direct connection between what goes into my mouth and my health.  In fact, weight control is 80 percent diet and just 20 percent exercise.  Eighty percent!!  So, I've broken it to my kids that we are ditching the goldfish and chex mix and replacing them with beef jerky, fresh berries, and cheese slices.  Too many studies have linked diet to ADHD, mood, inability to focus, and overall health for me to sit quietly by and allow my children to continue down the road of the Standard American Diet.  I know I'm going to be known as the crazy homeschooling, Paleo momma, but I don't care.  I'm ready to endure the whining until my little ones also start to realize the benefits of healthier, cleaner eating., and I have no problem with the stares I receive when I say I no longer eat bread. In fact, after two years, I've grown quite accustomed to the "bless her" head shake.  So, stay tuned to our adventure.  Coming soon, I'll share my research on gluten, eating local, the importance of choosing grass-fed animals, etc.  Plus, I'll share recipe disasters and successes, like my recent Coconut Cream Pie with a divine almond flour crust.  I look forward to sharing this journey to a healthier family with you.


List of books I've read (but not all) which include sources for this article:


The Great Cholesterol Myth Jonny Bowden
Brain Maker David Perlmutter
Why We Get Fat Gary Taubes
The Primal Blueprint Gary Sisson
The Calorie Myth Jonathan Bailor
Wheat Belly William Davis
Death By Food Pyramid:  How Shoddy Science, Sketchy Politics, and Shaky Special Interests Have Ruined Our Health Denise Minger  (Come on, the title of this alone makes it worth the read:)
Eat Like a Dinosaur Stacy Toth
Real Life Paleo Stacy Toth
Against All Grain Danielle Walker
The Homegrown Paleo Diana Rodgers
The Paleo Diet Loren Cordain
Good Calories, Bad Calories Gary Taubes
The Paleo Solution Robb Wolf
Perfect Health Diet Pail Jaminet
The Paleo Manifesto John Durant
Grain Brain David Perlmutter
It Starts With Food Dallas and Melissa Hartwig

Why Is It So Hard to Say No?

In the past week I've had separate conversations with two dear friends that centered around our inability to say no to basically anyone who requests our help.  We laughed about how we have no idea how to set boundaries or create margin in our lives then our laughter dissolved into silent tears of frustration.  Ok, maybe that was just me.  I noticed that what my friends and I share are careers that involve helping children, and seriously, it is very difficult to decline a request to help a child, but we also all genuinely love others and enjoy helping, yet each of us realizes that our failure to say no is costing us our well-being and in some small ways, our sanity.

I left my conversations wondering what it is about me that refuses to utter the word no when I desperately need to say it, and I came up with a list, which is quite an accomplishment since I fail to ever create one for the grocery.  I can't imagine that I'm alone, so I decided to share my list, a sort of kindred spirit expressing what I know many of us would like to say.  Because, frankly, I think this is a girl thing.  I think our taking on incessant requests goes to the heart of who we are as women, and girls, I think we need to realize that "no" is not a four-letter word.  So, here's why I can't say no:

1.  I'm afraid of what other people will think of me.

Yes, this one tops the list.  Who wants to be considered selfish, mean, unkind, thoughtless?  Each time I weigh wether or not to accept a request, I run through a litany of what the person will think of me if I say no.  I KNOW.  Shallow, weird, pathetic of me, but I'm aware of the problem.  I want people to like me, to think I'm nice, kind, accommodating, superwoman.....  It's easy to tell me to not worry about what others will think, but putting that into practice is difficult for me.

2.  I'm afraid if I say no once or twice, people will stop asking me.

I enjoy helping others; I really do, but there are times I really cannot physically or mentally handle another demand on my time.  If I say no, I fear that I won't be asked to be part of something that can really help someone else, and that saddens me.

3.  Sometimes my friends and family need me, and I really love my friends and family and don't want to let them down.  If my life is filled with 60 hour work weeks that leaves me no time to assist the people I love. 

4.  I'm afraid I'll disappoint someone, hurt her feelings, put her in a precarious situation.

5.  I'm afraid if I turn away clients my phone will stop ringing, and I love and need my job.

I've chosen a career path that involves helping others.  I chose it deliberately for that purpose.  I love teaching; few things bring me greater joy than seeing a child finally grasp a concept.  If I start saying no to new students, I fear word will get out and people will stop calling.

6.  I feel selfish and guilty every time I turn someone who needs me away.  It's as if I am personally responsible for his/her success and well-being. 

So there they are.  The top six reasons I have trouble saying no....but I need to learn to say no.  I've been putting in almost 60 hour work weeks.  Perhaps not physically at the office, but my jobs also require planning, research, grading, returning calls, etc.  Like all of us, I also have church and volunteer commitments, and my children participate in sports.  I also homeschool my children, and oh, yes, I'm married.  A nagging foot injury that's been slow to heal has added doctors' visits and physical therapy to a schedule that's already busting at the seams.  And you know what, I am just like every other mom in this country.  I'm not unique or special in my struggle.  This is our shared story of overcommitment which leaves us overwhelmed and overly-spent.  Why do we continue to do this to ourselves, girls?  Why?  It's time to stop, so in addition to my previous list, I've come up with a list of reasons we need to stop.

1.  Every time we say yes to someone else, we say no to our own families.

I am my children's mommy first.  They need me to be present, to be fully there with them and not distracted, annoyed, stressed, and overwhelmed.  My sweet little ones are not an item to be checked off the daily to-do list.  They are precious treasures entrusted to me by a loving God who expects me to reflect His love to them every day.  They and their father are my most important earthly priority and it is high-time I lived that truth.  

2.  When we refuse to say no, we might be robbing someone else the joy of saying yes.

I began reading a book titled The Best Yes about a year ago.  Perhaps, I should finish it.....but from what I managed to read, I gathered the basic premise is that we should be picky about our yeses.  Not that we should turn down everything and sit at home and do nothing, but that we should carefully consider when to accept a request and when to graciously say no.  The author made a point that resonated which was sometimes we rob the "right" person of the job.  It isn't our responsibility to take on everything and by doing so, perhaps we are preventing someone from serving God in a particular capacity that's meant for that person.  We accept the job grudgingly and resent the person who asked. What if there's someone eager and willing and excited about helping out in that specific way.  Your no may open the door to someone else's ideal yes.

3.  When we take on too many responsibilities, it is impossible to perform any of them to our best ability, so we end up giving less than our best.  At some point we are going to drop the ball.

I can perform a few tasks well.  When I'm tutoring thirty students a week, teaching six classes, and writing five articles, I'm giving my best to none of those, and ultimately, I let someone down.  The child who needs my all receives a distracted tutor who can't stop yawning, much less focus on complicated Algebra.  I wake up every morning in a cold sweat wondering what I forgot to do the day before or what I'm forgetting to do that day.  It's awesome.  Really, love living this way.

4.  We are hurting our health, and if we don't take care of ourselves, it is absurd to think we can take care of someone else.  

Our health and sanity matter.  My middle sister quietly takes on tasks and stoically performs each one, never complaining.  That gene skipped me.  I'm outspoken, verbal, and wear my heart on my sleeve.  Both of us are hurting our health each time we add a new, often unnecessary stressor to our day.  We each have physical manifestations of our inner struggles with stress.  Lately, I've find myself wavering between wanting to cry.....I mean sob like a baby.....and wanting to throw a tantrum....full-on lying in the floor, kicking, screaming.  I imagine it would take place in the kitchen, where my children's usually take place.  I'd kick the cabinet open and closed, maybe rattle a pot or pan.  If the foot injury would heal, much of this could be solved with a good run, but the point is it affects my health and my mood.  Depression and anxiety seep in to an already stressful workload,  my head aches, and I'm not my best.  I'm my worst, and that's not good for anyone.  

5.  When we say yes to everything, it leaves no time to say yes to the things we really want to do.   Plus, it sets a poor example for our own children to see us relentlessly occupying our days with nothing but obligations.

I've recently begun to write, not just for fun, but also for employment.  It's a dream of mine to write, and I've finally been given an opportunity to perhaps pursue it more seriously, but there's rarely time.  My children need to see me pursuing big dreams to give them the courage to pursue their own.  I need to take the time to nurture hobbies to share gifts that I cultivated in my downtime.  If I never have downtime then I don't have time to chase non-work related dreams and goals.  I need to set a better example of work-family-recreational balance in my life for my own children, so they don't
grow into careworn adults whose lives are filled with stress and commitments.  

6.  Saying no doesn't mean that we love the person any less or that we don't grasp the gravity of her need.

7.  Our inability to say no reveals a lack of trust in God.

This last one hits me between the eyes.  When I take on everything, as if the survival of the world depends on me, I'm telling God, either I don't need you or I don't trust you to handle it.  I say yes because there can't possibly be anyone else to handle the task.  How preposterous is that?  I'm not trusting God to provide for me or for the person who needs help.  Sometimes, I am the provision but not always.  There are times I take on a new student when I know my schedule can't handle it, when I know it puts my husband in a bind, and frustrates my children because I'm afraid we might one day need the income.  Rather than follow my gut and decline, I say no to God, no to trusting in His provision, and foolishly try to control every situation on my own.  If I truly trusted God, I'd trust His divine will, His provision, His leading, and graciously say no, but I don't.  At the crux of it all is a faith issue, a heart issue that reveals a lack of faith.  Sometimes, friends, saying no to others, even those we love, is saying yes to God.  

This struggle is real for me, and I know it is real for the countless number of friends I have who are flustered, frazzled, and haggard, who collapse into bed at night wondering if this is it.  Is life meant to be this overwhelming all the time?  Are we as moms never meant to enjoy the little things, to relish in the little moments, to cherish small snippets of quiet solitude?  I don't believe God meant for it to be this way.  He isn't harried, rushed, or frantic.  Look at the slow, deliberate, un-rushed patterns in nature.  God is never in a frenetic hurry.  So, I'm looking to the Creator who incorporated Sabbath rest into His own schedule.  

This summer I'm saying no.  I even have an accountability partner, my youngest sister, who I  texted last night a tirade of tiredness.  I usually text her in those moments of coming apart because she allows me to say anything I want and promises to not have me committed.  We agreed to hold each other accountable in this fight.  So, this summer, I'm doing what I love, not in a selfish-all-about-me way but in a restorative way that renews me to better serve in the fall.  I'm recharging my spirit and reprioritizing my no's and yeses, so I can serve where I truly believe God wants me.  I'm spending time with my husband and children and family and friends.  I'm writing, which I love.  I'm gardening.  I'm improving my home.  I'm choosing to live at a pace I can manage.  I'm choosing to help those who really, really need me.  And if I survive this quiet, sacred pace this summer, I may even continue it in the fall.  I hope you'll join me.....