After “The Skinny Cow” debut, I received a wealth of feedback, so I am certain it struck a chord with many of my readers.  The issue of weight management is nothing new for women, and it’s definitely not a novel concept for me either.  Talking about it however, has been extremely difficult for me over the years.  It is just recently that I have felt the courage to skim the surface of such an in depth and emotional topic.   

Part of what I set out to do with this blog is find out who I am as an individual.  Who am I, aside from being my children’s mom?  A huge part (no pun intended) of who I am  revolves around my weight.  When the numbers on the scale are down, my confidence is up, and thus my social calendar is full.  When my numbers are up, my confidence is nonexistent, and thus neither are my social commitments.

 I know to any of you who do not suffer from negative body-image issues, you may think this sounds insane, and I’m sure that it is.  However, truth be told…I honestly avoid social situations when I feel fat.  I feel as if everyone at school, at the bank, or at the grocery store is looking at me and judging my weight.  I cannot even express through words how self-conscious I become when we are eating out at a restaurant.  I find myself explaining and justifying every bite I put in my mouth.  “Well, I only ate X, Y, Z today so I really need to eat something for dinner!”  And as I listen to myself “justifying” my meals, I wonder if anyone else feels the compulsory need to do the same. 

 As I mentioned in the post “The Skinny Cow”, I avoid the camera like the plague… so you should see how nervous I get and how ridiculous I look when the camera comes out in a social setting, and I disappear under the nearest table.  Honestly, when I am out in public or around friends and family…and even when I am left alone with my own thoughts…my weight issues are all consuming!  “Obsessed” might not be a strong enough word for what I put myself through every minute of every day.  

I equate it to being an addict…although I’m not sure you can technically be addicted to Oreo’s.  I am addicted to the obsession over my weight!  At times, I am addicted to the food, but not in the way you might think.  I am overweight, but I eat far less than many thin people I know.  I consider it an addiction because of the mind control food has over me at times.  I think about every bite I put in my mouth.  Sometimes I am obsessing about only putting healthy food in my body…and other times I am obsessing over how fat I am…so what the hell…please pass the cake!

 It consumes my every thought.  It dictates what I eat…either good or bad.  If the number on the scale when I weigh myself for the 5th time today is a 1/2 a pound less, then I am motivated to go eat something healthy or walk another mile.   But when I weigh myself for the 10th time today and the number is up by a pound, I am just as motivated to say, “Screw the extra mile!”  Then I head straight to the kitchen to indulge in some chocolate to make myself “feel better”.  It’s shear madness!

I believe the most difficult part of managing my self-proclaimed “addiction” is that we cannot live without food.  An alcoholic who swears off drinking doesn’t ever learn how to drink in moderation.  To grossly understate the process….he/she quits cold turkey and never consumes another sip of alcohol.  Unfortunately for me, I have to eat.  I cannot swear off food, which is what makes this kind of an addiction so difficult to control.  

I have to learn how to use food in moderation…even healthy food choices.  I decide I am going on a diet and all of a sudden, all I can eat are salads.  I get on a tomato kick and I’m eating 6 tomatoes a day.  There is no moderation in my vocabulary when it comes to managing my weight.  I am an “all or nothing” kind of girl and regrettably, for as many years as I can remember, food has been either all…..or nothing….for me.  

So what is the solution in breaking this cycle and ending the madness in my thinking?  Good question.  If I had the answer, I wouldn’t be in this insane roller coaster of a body with the mental health of a schizophrenic!  However, I do know that finally writing about it has brought forth some clarity for me.  Hearing from women across the country who tell me that they understand…that they too struggle with these same issues…makes me feel more normal than insane for the first time in my life.  

Bottom line….I’m going to keep writing about my weight struggles.  I am going to muster up the courage to put it out there for the world to see all my inner most thoughts and feelings about my weight, body image, and self esteem demons.  

And by doing so….perhaps someone out there can relate and breathe a deep, much needed sigh of relief if for no other reason than…you are not alone!

My brother Bradley and me

This past weekend I had the distinct honor of joining my brother, Bradley,  for the grand opening of his nightclub in Chicago, Loft Six Ten.  It was such an amazing experience and an evening I will cherish forever.

I’m sure this will shock you, but I’m not much of a socialite.  As a SAHM with 5 children, my version of a “night life” is a bowl of popcorn and a good Disney flick.  Needless to say, I don’t get out much…especially out in downtown Chicago. However, the grand opening of my little brother’s dream come true was something I wouldn’t have missed for the world.    

My brother is one of four managing members of a company that buys/renovates/reinvents/manages night clubs in the Chicago area.  He has ownership in several clubs but Loft Six Ten is his “baby”.  He named it after the large loft area in the building and his actual height…he is 6ft 10 inches tall!  Along with his partners, he bought an abandon building in Wicker Park and transformed it with vision like none I have ever seen before.  He gutted the building and turned it into a glamorous, vintage throw back of a jazzy 1960’s house of bourbon.  The exposed brick walls, black hardwood floors, vintage wallpaper, and large loft area that overlook the main level of the bar give it such a distinct vibe.  There is a DJ booth perched up in the corner of the club that looks like it is suspended in mid air.  The DJ has to climb a ladder nearly two stories to even enter the booth.  In addition, one of the most unique elements of the club was a large mural he commissioned a local artist to paint with an eclectic collage of Chicago history.  There are vivid and poignant images from Abraham Lincoln to the Chicago fire to a Maker’s Mark whisky bottle.   

The food…oh, don’t even get me started on the food.  It was to die for.   It was fine dining with an exotic and unique flare!

And if I’m being honest, I felt like a fish out of water.  Everyone attending the opening was so glamorous.  Men in suits and women wearing 6-inch heels were swarming the place.  It was “the place to be” on Friday night in downtown Chicago…and I was actually there!  I mean, I was pregnant at 19 years old and I have been a mother for almost 13 years now.  I never had a chance as a young adult to experience the sophisticated night life of a big city.  It was truly a unique and moving experience for me.  I might best describe it as…”We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy”…

What amazed me more than anything was that all this was created by my little brother. He may be a 32-year-old, 6′10″, hot-shot business executive now, but he will always be my little brother with the crazy curls who didn’t like loud noises.   Somehow…at some point…he turned into a man.   He had the vision.  He had the dream.  He designed the club from floor to ceiling and from kitchen to bar.  He chose the candles, the tables, the menu, and he even named a drink after his daughter (my Godchild)…the “Alexandra”.  No detail was forgotten and no stone left unturned.

And seeing his dream to fruition was no easy feat, either.   He ran into road block after road block in getting this place off the ground.  He had more setbacks that you can imagine and he fought through it all.  When he finally received his occupancy license, the city denied him the liquor license.  After over a year of litigation, he finally received the liquor license, and they said his occupancy license had expired.  But through it all, he never let go of his dream.  That kind of tenacity and vigor can only be met with admiration.  

Sitting there  on Friday night watching my little brother shaking hands with millionaires, directing staff, and managing  the few mini crisis’s that arose throughout the night…I was enamored with the  man he has become.  

I’m so proud of you Bradley…I’m so proud!

I will be back to my daily post tomorrow, but I couldn’t resist wishing all the women who may visit my site today, a joyous, relaxing and beautiful Mother’s Day.

 Everyone knows that my children are my whole world.  Without them, a part of my soul would be missing.  I’m certain that you all surely feel the same way about your children.  

So go hug them.  Tell them how much you love them.  Cherish your time together.  Embrace all those wonderful hand-made cards they give you today.

 And above all else, thank God for the most amazing blessing he can bestow upon us:  motherhood!

Well today was the big day!  My baby boy turned 7, and it was as wonderful and as exciting as he and I both believed it would be.  It’s hard to believe that 7 years ago tonight, at this exact moment, I was in labor about to welcome my fourth angel into this world.  I had gone in for a routine 36-week check up around 3:00pm on May 7, 2002.  By 4:30pm, I was hooked up to IV’s and monitors and the pitocin was flowing.  

What I thought was just another 15-minute check up turned into something a bit scarier.  There was protein in my urine and my blood pressure was through the roof.  I had pre-eclampcia and if the doctor didn’t get the baby out of me in a hurry, there could have been some serious, life threatening complications.  

It all happened rather quickly.  I remember making some phone calls to make sure my mom could stay with my other 3 children.  I also remember thinking the doctor was being a bit dramatic.  I mean, he wouldn’t even let me go home and pack a bag.  He admitted me immediately, and I just didn’t understand what the emergency was.  I felt pretty rough but no different than the day prior to my appointment…or even the day before that.  This was my fourth pregnancy.  I was in the home stretch…one more month to go…while chasing after 3 other little ones so feeling crappy just seemed to come with the territory.  

And if I’m being totally forthright, I also felt a bit disappointed.  I had been induced with my other 3 children…labor stories I will spare you for now… so I was really hoping to go into labor on my own this time.  I wanted that moment so badly.  You know….that moment when your water breaks or when you feel that first contraction.  I wanted that moment that wasn’t planned.  I wanted that surprise and that “this is it…it’s time to go to the hospital, honey” moment.  Well….I guess I got the surprise part all right…just not the way I had envisioned it happening.      

I had cut my laboring times in half with each subsequent birth.  My first child took 20 hours to join us.  My first son took 11 hours.  My second son took 8 hours.  I am no mathematician here, but I was under the assumption that child #4 would follow suit.  I set myself up for a 4-hour labor…big mistake!  

Roughly, 7 hours passed before it was time to push.  And when it came time to push, it was like something out of a movie.  The nurses started sweating and frantically hussling about.  They threw my bed down in some meager attempt to stop the forces of gravity.  Avery was coming and he was moving fast.  They kept yelling at me to stop pushing because the doctor was still in the next room delivering a different baby.  But let me tell you…when that baby is ready to come out…good luck stopping it.  I wasn’t pushing….HE was!  He was pushing his way out and he wasn’t waiting any longer.  He didn’t care if the doctor was ready for him or not…he was on his way and nothing was going to stop him.  

So within 15 minutes of measuring 10 centimeters….Avery Joseph entered our world.  There he was….the tiniest little peanut weighing in at a minuscule 6lbs 12oz and 20.5 inches long.  He was pink, wailing, and as healthy as could be.  My fourth miracle had arrived and at that moment….changed my heart forever.  

It’s funny…with each pregnancy I always worried I would not be able to love my newest child as much as my other children.  I didn’t think it was possible to open up my heart any more than it already was…

and yet…on May 7, 2002 at 11:54pm….Avery Joseph proved me wrong once again.  

Happy Birthday Mr. A!  Mommy loves you! 

My youngest son….my Avery….turns 7 tomorrow.  It’s his golden birthday and he cannot wait.  Just seeing the excitement in his eyes makes me feel like a kid again.  He could hardly wait to go to bed tonight because the anticipation of his big day was just too much.  I’m sure many of you can relate to that feeling…it’s like going to bed on Christmas Eve and lying there as still as can be…just hoping to hear hooves on the roof top.  I still get those butterflies in my stomach when I go to bed on Christmas Eve…and my children get that same feeling when it’s the night before their birthday.  

 Honestly, I am overwhelmed whenever one of my children has another birthday.  It is always a bittersweet day for me.  While I am so grateful that the good Lord has blessed us with another year together, I also know that they are one more year closer to being an adult…to moving out and on with their life.  I want to cling to them like crazy glue and hold onto them for dear life.  I want to stop the hands of time and just love them at this age forever.

Avery must have sensed my melancholy this evening because he came over to me while I was sitting on the couch and without a word; he reached out his precious little hand for mine.  He took my thumb and started rubbing the top of my nail like he always used to do as a toddler.  He looked up at me and said, “See mom, I still like to do this”….and so began the water works!

Regardless of my reluctance to move forward the hands of time, I know that with each new year comes a new and exciting stage in our lives together.  There are new experiences to be had that only come with time and the rite of passage from one year to the next.  There are precious memories to create so that next year…on this same night…I can look back at my son’s seventh year of life with warmth in my heart and wonder where the time has gone.

 And without fail, I will do as I do every year on the night before their big day…as I did tonight with Avery….

I will tuck them in a little tighter…I will say prayers with them a little slower….and I will wipe away the tears from my eyes when I say goodnight to my little 6 year old…and look forward to saying good morning to my big 7 year old!

I cannot begin to explain how insane our daily schedule is around here.  Managing and maintaining a household of 7 has truly become a full time job.  Between soccer practice, softball practice, basketball practice, football practice, piano practice…and the subsequent games and performances that go hand-in-hand with said practices…it is no wonder I am losing my mind!

The daily feeding, cleaning, bathing, nurturing, loving, and enriching I am supposed to do on top of the running, reading, homework, shopping, appointments, and laundry on the list…well, let’s just say that not all of it gets done every day.  Actually, if I am being honest, most of it doesn’t get done on most days.  Perhaps only the loving…and the homework…and the running…and the feeding…and the bathing…well you get the picture.  My point is, how do you simplify things when most of it needs to be done.  I mean, I cannot boycott the laundry.  Believe me, that is not to say I haven’t tried, but the kids really missed wearing socks to school!

 I always promised myself that I would not be one of “those” moms who have over-scheduled, over-involved children, and yet, here I am.  While we try to keep a rule that the kids can only participate in one sport or extra-curricular activity at a time, we tend to break that rule for my oldest son who lives and breathes for anything that involves a ball of any sort.  And even when we stick to the one-at-a-time rule, we still have FOUR very active children, and a baby to keep up with.  

Take my oldest son’s basketball for example.  He has two practices a week and tournaments almost every weekend from October-May!  He goes from his school team, to his traveling team, to his AAU team and he is only in 5th grade!  Believe it or not, he has actually been doing this since he was in 2nd grade!  And obviously I’m not the only crazy parent allowing this….he has 9 other team mates running the same 3-ring circus I’m running and multiply that by all the teams he has been playing against for the last 3 years!  In today’s world of athletics, if you don’t allow your child to participate at such a young age, he or she will have no prayer of playing any sort of sport in high school when they actually have to try out for the team.  Now, I think it is incredibly unfortunate that it has come to this for our children.  We don’t allow them to be kids anymore; however, that is a whole knew topic I will discuss at a later date….staying focused….

I realize I am not the only woman out there with a family that needs to be managed like a fortune 500 company.  I want to know what do you do to make your schedules less hectic?  Or when things cannot be avoided, what do you do to make your days run a little smoother?  Do you use a particular organizer?  Do your color code your kid’s scheudules like you are using a paint-by-numbers kit? Do you just not allow your children to participate in the “extras”?

Please select “leave a comment” under this post, and I will gather all the suggestions I receive and update this post later in the month.  I think together, we can really generate some positive ideas and help each other manage these zoo’s we call “home”!

A subject I have been reluctant to delve in to is my struggle with weight loss/weight management.  It is something I have fought with my entire life, and it is an issue I grapple with on a daily basis.  However, I haven’t been able to bring myself to blog about it.  After giving it much consideration, I realize that it’s because it is so embarrassing for me.  Believe it or not, I have no qualms writing about my periods and breast feeding, but addressing my constant struggle with my weight is imaginable…until today!  I have decided that if I truly want to blog about my daily life, and be honest with my readers about my struggles, then weight loss has to be a topic I address.  After all, I cannot be the only woman in the world dealing with these feelings….so here goes….

I was always skinny growing up.  My entire family is inherently thin.  I never had to give my weight or what I ate any thought, but in 6th grade, I started skipping breakfast.  I just “didn’t have time” to eat in the mornings.  Harmless enough, you might be thinking, but skipping breakfast turned into skipping lunch…and skipping lunch turned into skipping dinner.  Before I knew it, I was a full-blown anorexic.

 By my freshmen year of high school, I was 5′ 8″ weighing in at a staggering 104lbs (and I thought I was fat!)  I was reduced to eating a  few pieces of fruit a day.  That was it.  I would allow myself to eat fruit and on days when I felt physically weak, I would indulge in a bowl of Ramon Noodles.  I was never the “exercise-until-you-drop” kind of anorexic.  I hated exercise.  I just starved myself because that took little effort on my part.  I took the hunger pangs I felt as a sign of strength.  I could fight through the urge to eat regardless of the pain.  I was actually proud of that.  As I write it now..it makes me ill to realize how sick I was back then.  But at the time, it was all I knew.  

It got to a point where my mom took me to the doctor and they both agreed, if I didn’t start eating immediately, they were going to hospitalize me.  Fortunately, my social life was much too important for me to miss, so I started eating.  And let me tell you, did that food taste good.  It was almost a relief for me to be “forced” into eating.  I was starving!  By the time I reached my senior year of high school, I would hardly say I had a well balanced diet…I lived off of Taco Bell…but I was eating regularly and had my weight up to a healthy 120lbs.  The unfortunate part was that while I did indeed started eating, I never dealt with the underlying self image issues.  I still had serious body image issues, but I can honestly say never chose to starve myself again in an effort to deal with those issues.  

Then life really threw me a curve ball.  I developed extremely severe asthma at the end of my senior year of high school, and I was put on a steroid, prednisone, to help me breathe.  This drug is supposed to be a temporary fix.  It has severe side effects when used long term.  Weight gain is one of the biggest side effects.  What was supposed to be a two-week dose, turned into EIGHT YEARS!! I saw doctor after doctor and every time one of them would wean me off the drug, I would have a severe asthma attack and end up back in the hospital…and back on the medicine.  

After several broken toes, (prednisone makes your bones very fragile) and a substantial amount of weight gain, we finally made a successful attempt to get me off the steroid…albeit, eight years later!  It seemed like some cruel joke.  Let’s give the anorexic chick a drug that will make her fat!  It felt like the powers-that-be were messing with my psyche!  But no matter how big I got, I still felt like I belonged to the rest of my family with the “great genes”.  I still felt like the “skinny” me was inside just crying to get out of the fat body it was trapped in….hence the title of this post…”The Skinny Cow”!  

Moving forward, it has been 15 years since I was put on that horrific medicine.  Although I cannot curse it entirely, it did keep me breathing for many years.  I still carry around most of the weight I gained from being on the drug, and I can only assume that 5 pregnancies have not done me any favors with my weight issues either.  My body image has simply become a daily obsession that is just part of who I am. I don’t think I even obsessed about my weight as an unhealthy anorexic, as I do today as an overweight mother of 5.  

Many women seem to get comfortable as they age with their body image and weight.  They have a sense of confidence about them regardless of what the scales read.  I am NOT one of those women.  I weigh myself daily, sometimes several times a day.  I have tried every diet and diet pill known to man.  Some of them were successful at the time, others were not.  My weight is a yo-yo like you have never seen before.  And right now…it’s up…WAY up…so I am obsessing more than usual.  I freak out on my family if they even think about taking my picture.  I don’t want anyone to document what I look like at this weight.  I get nervous going into public because I am so uncomfortable in my own skin.  I feel like everyone I bump into is thinking, “She would be really pretty if she lost 50 lbs!”  And listening to me talk, you would think I am obese.  While I am not insane enough to post my weight for all to see, I would say I am about 20lbs heavier now than in the picture I have posted on my “About Mother 2 Mother” page.  To me, that 20lbs is the heaviest monkey I have ever carried on my back!

I know…I know…how messed up can I possibly be??!!

Well, I am making progress.  I have come to realize that I have been struggling with my body image for as long as I can remember, and it has to come to an end.  I want to take all the energy I put into obsessing over my weight and stick it into something more worthy…which is part of why I started this blog.  I have decided that there is no easy way around this.  No diet fad or diet pill is going to get me to a healthy weight.  I need to do the work, if I want to see the results.  As cliché as it may sound, it truly is a lifestyle.  I have started filling my kitchen with healthy food options….LOTS of salads….and I have started walking with a friend.  I have to admit, the eating healthy part is much easier for me than the exercise component, but I know the two go hand in hand. 

Regardless of the number on the scale right now, I realize that this game is much more mental than physical.  As long as I can keep my thoughts right, my body is sure to follow.   

Yes, believe it or not, I am actually going to talk about menstrual cycles.  But have no fear, it will be tastefully addressed .  I guess there is no subject off limits at this point!

Anyway, As I get older, I am starting to notice more and more a pattern between my menstrual cycle and my inherent mood swings.  When I was younger, I used to think that all the hype over PMS was a bunch of excuses men used to explain away why their wives were always angry with them.  After all, it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with whatever their wives were actually mad at them for.  They make excuses for their “mess ups” by claiming they have done nothing wrong…it is just “that time of the month” for their wives.

However, I have to admit that my 28-day cycle is pretty clear-cut, now that I’m in tune to it.  This is not to say in any way that when I go off on my husband for being a jerk, that he isn’t genuinely being so.  I’m just pointing out that perhaps my mood swings don’t help the situation.  

I am like clockwork.  Allow me to give you a peak into the life of my 28-day cycle.  

Day 14…ovulation day….I am as sweet, snuggly, and soft as a bunny.  I love my husband soooo much.  I love my life soooo much.  All is right with the world.  It’s the best week ever!  I smell lilacs and roses and see sweet images of rainbows and lollipops!  I am euphoric to the brink of mania.  

Day 21….the week  before my period…well, lets just say things are not quite as rosy as the prior week.  All I can say is….my poor husband…my poor kids…and the poor woman at the grocery store who didn’t bag my groceries just right!  I mean, if I am being honest here, I am a downright tyrant!  I lose my mind.  I have zero patience.  My fuse is about an inch long.  And I have the tolerance of a pea pod.  Oh, and I would be remiss to not mention that my skin turns back the hands of time as to remind me of what it was like to be a teenager with raging acne again.

Day 28…the day I get my period…..it can go one of two ways.  I am either sobbing like a  baby for the entire week, or I am a raging b$%ch (excuse the foul language, but there truly is no better word to articulate what I become during this time…I’m really just calling a spade a spade).  The amazing thing is…it flip-flops every other month.  If my period last month left me a weeping willow, then I know this month that all hell will break loose.  But not to fear, by next month, I will be back to crying inconsolably because my children just don’t understand how hard I worked on making dinner….and for them to just take two bites and then walk away from the table…well, they just don’t understand…(audible sobbing begins).  

Day 7…the week following my period…aahhhh…..I can breathe again.  The dust settles, and I am finally normal again.   This week allows me the chance to regain my composure.  I use this opportunity, albeit a short-lived moment of temporary sanity, to do damage control.  At this point, I am busy making amends to all those that were hurt during the cross fire of the previous two weeks.  I also gear up for the inevitable “best week ever“!  

Which brings us full circle to Day 14…

So, all I really want to know is…

If doctors can take a stem cell from our bodies and produce an organ from it…and scientists can send people into space to live for periods of time…and we can split atoms….

then why in the world can nobody figure out what the chemical make-up is in a female’s body during days 7-20???!!!  I just want that combination of hormones…at those exact dosages…injected into my body during days 21-6.  

If science could just figure out that mystery, the world would be a better place…and I wouldn’t have to keep apologizing to the grocery store bagger!

I was at the dermatologist the other day when I had an “ah-ha” moment. I was just there to have a sunspot and a couple of moles removed that sprouted up during my last pregnancy, but I walked away with a deeper understanding of how women’s minds operate.

Me:  “I just need a couple of moles removed on my back.”

Doctor:  “It’s just like pulling weeds out of the garden.” 

Me:  “Yeah….something like that.”

 SIDE NOTE:  For anyone who knows me, they can attest to the fact that I am not the queen of small talk.  It makes me incredibly nervous and uncomfortable to try and chit-chat about stuff that really doesn’t matter.  After all, nobody even pays attention to what is being said anyway.  At least I don’t.  I get myself so worked up about finding things to talk about in an effort to avoid awkward pauses that I don’t even hear half of what the other person is saying to me.  And no… this is not my “ah-ha” moment.  And yes…there is a point to this story, which I will proceed with imminently.

Moving on, the doctor started engaging in small talk and brought up how his fourth grade daughter hates receiving compliments.  He was completely miffed by why she just can’t stand to hear anyone compliment her. 

Doctor:  “Who doesn’t like compliments?”

My reply was lengthy, and it flowed from my lips without thought which is why I am referring to it as an “ah-ha” moment.

Me:  “Well…in general, women and even young girls don’t like compliments.  Your daughter is getting to an age where she is becoming increasingly more self-conscious.  Believe it or not, but negative self-talk starts at a very young age for females.   And truth be told, the bad stuff we tell ourselves is always easier to believe than the good stuff other people tell us.”

Doctor:  “Really?  Why would she not believe me if I compliment her hair or her new shirt?”

Me:  “Because you are her dad.  You would say something nice to her even if it were not true because you love her and she is smart enough to know that.  Right now, she doesn’t believe the positive feedback you and her mother are giving her.  In the future, it will be the compliments from a boyfriend and eventually from a husband that she will struggle to believe.  Anyone close to her instantly becomes an unreliable source.  Now if the compliment comes from a classmate or even perhaps a teacher, it will carry its weight in gold for her.”

“It’s just my opinion and I’m speaking purely from personal experience so I could be way off the mark.  I just know that any time my husband or my mom give me a compliment, I think they are blowing smoke you-know-where.  Now if a stranger or even an acquaintance gives me the same compliment, I will walk around all day with my head held high and feel proud as can be.” 

Doctor:  “That is so interesting Sara.  I never realized that about her, but you just might be right.  Thank you.” 

And then he started zapping off my moles.  Hey, at least it got me out of the small talk, right? 

Now perhaps this is not your experience with compliments.  Perhaps for you, flattery moves mountains.  But for me, the negative monolog I carry on in my head each day somehow carries much more weight than that of a kind word from a loved one.  I have a deeper awareness of what a significant role my own thoughts can have on my self-esteem.  Realizing how unhealthy this is, I now have the ability to make a conscious effort to change it. 

I’m sure you are thinking at this point…she got all this out of a dermatologist appointment?! 

Indeed, I did.  So you better schedule yours today!  And quit the negative, self-berating small talk you have with yourself.  The complements…they’re true….start believing in them….start believing in yourself!