If You Need a Boost
If nothing ever
changed, they’d be no butterflies ~ Author Unknown
In celebration of International
Boost Self Esteem Month, I wanted to give anyone out there who’s thinking
of making a health change in their lives something to think about. When I
started writing Weighting for Mr. Right,
I wanted to create a story where the heroine, Megan, offered something more
than “fat girl got skinny and she lived happily ever after.” In fact, I wanted
to make sure she didn’t become anything smaller than a size ten so she focused
more on her health and wellness. Kind of like I had, but I’ll get to that in a
minute.
When Megan discovers her awesomeness, then she’s able to open her eyes to her happily ever after with a very hot, sexy, hot, intelligent, (did I mention hot) hero who falls in love with her when she’s in the before stages. You know the before stages: Before she can see how incredible she is. Before she can realize what she can accomplish. Before she understands how she got unhealthy in the first place.
I mean, who doesn’t want that? A hero that sees you as fantastic as you want to feel about yourself?
Problem is, with any sort of change, even with fictitious characters, it causes conflict, chaos, and confusion.
It’s no different for Megan. Not only does she have to battle food cravings and the want to quit torturing herself on the treadmill, but she finds that some of those around her are having a very hard time understanding what she’s doing and why.
I had the same experiences as I’ve lost and gained pounds over the years. My relationships with those around me have changed—some for the better and some, well, let’s just say they fizzled out.
Change can be very difficult for some, but necessary for
others and I put Megan in a situation that she had to change or stay her
miserable self for the rest of her life.
Over a year ago, I found myself in the before stages of me regaining my health. Like my heroine, it came at an incredibly busy time in our lives, but it had to happen. I’d completed final edits on this book and planned to submit to Soul Mate Publishing.
My weight had topped out at 230 pounds and being only 5’ 3”
tall, that’s well into the obese range. I felt tired all the time, miserable
even, but as much as I wanted to be healthier, I didn’t know if I had the
physical and emotional energy to do what I needed to be successful, but I
couldn’t stay the way I was.
Sucky and suckier—those were my choices. That sucked.
With the encouragement of a friend, I tried to regain my health and for five months, I worked my ass off (literally). Right around the time I found out I’d sold Weighting for Mr. Right, I got on the scale and discovered I’d lost a total of 40 pounds!
With the encouragement of a friend, I tried to regain my health and for five months, I worked my ass off (literally). Right around the time I found out I’d sold Weighting for Mr. Right, I got on the scale and discovered I’d lost a total of 40 pounds!
Fortunately, my weight change was met favorably with my
family. They applauded my success and wanted me healthier, but that’s not
always how it works out others or Megan. When she embarks on her journey, she
isn’t sure how she’s going to reach her goals. In fact, she may not even be
sure what they are or how to get there, but she knows change has to happen. She
welcomes the idea and her cousin, Sam, boosts her confidence by encouraging her
every step of the way.
That’s where so many of us begin. Unsure, scared, terrified
of falling flat on our faces and that’s okay. The unknown is a scary place, but
it can also be one of the most amazing decisions and lead to incredible
possibilities. Keep people around you who’s cheer your successes and push you
to get back on the path when you fall down.
When I started my health path, I topped at 230 lbs. I’m now
down to 190 lbs and well on my way to 150 lbs by September. I know not all women need a size two backside to find happily ever after and I
know I never will be, nor do I want to be. In fact, in writing Megan’s story, I
realized just how many people out there have been through the same image and
weight loss struggles I had. I hope this story gives them a good laugh, but
also makes them realize they can regain their health and understand just how
strong and amazing they truly are.
You can read more about Patricia, her books, and her works
in progress at her website or
find her on Facebook, Twitter, or Pintrest.
To purchase Weighting for Mr. Right, check out Soul Mate
Publishing, Amazon,
Amazon
UK, Barnes
and Noble, or Kobo.
And now for that excerpt.
Tears began to pool, again, as a few ran down
my face.
“Ever wanted a do-over day?” I dried my face,
only to pull away a makeup-covered wad of paper. Ugh.
“We all do.” Pause. “I guess this is one of
those days?”
An escaped giggle filled the room. “Man, you’re
good.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Show off.” My phone vibrated, again. I
ignored it.
“Bad day, huh?”
“Yeah, but I’m sure his is worse.”
“Why?”
I took a slow, deep breath. “Why? He’s a nice
guy and I left him at the altar. He’s still there, dealing with everyone, while
I’m in a car wash bathroom confessional.”
“Hard to say. Neither of you had good luck
today.”
Shaking my head, I almost broke the beading
off my gown, as I wrapped the lace accents around my fingers. “It’s not his
fault, really. It’s mine.”
“Why?”
I stomped my foot. “Why? Why? That’s
the sixty–four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?”
“But you didn’t answer my question.”
“You sure you’re not a priest?”
“That’s not my question.”
“I know that, but you play the guilt card so
well.”
“Believe me, I’m far from being a priest.”
My stomach knotted as the image of a very
hurt Travis flashed through my mind. More tears. “When the preacher asked if ‘I
do’, all I could think of was ‘I don’t’ and ‘I can’t.’” I sniffed and dabbed my
wet face, again. “Please don’t ask me why. I truly don’t know.”
Enough time passed that I figured he thought
I was some histrionic or spoiled bride–to–be and not worth the effort of an
answer.
“You said he was a nice guy.”
I rested my head against the stall door. “He
was.” I hiccupped. “I mean, he is.”
“But you said no. Maybe he’s a nice guy, just
not the right guy.”
My heart slammed in my chest as I heard the
words out loud. This guy couldn’t be more on the money. All this time I kept
telling myself Travis was such a nice guy, but I never asked if he was
the right one. “You sound like a chick flick movie.”
“I’ve got three sisters. I’ve been forced to
watch my share of them. And Oprah.”
I liked the way his subtle, southern drawl
lengthened his ‘I’s’. “I’ve got three brothers, so I’ve seen everything to do
with aliens, losing your virginity in high school, the military, and
superheroes.”
He chuckled. “Coming out of there anytime
soon?”
“I probably should.” My tears finally slowed.
After wiping my face again, and knowing I’d ruined the two–hundred dollar
makeup session I had not three hours ago, I needed to look in the mirror. “All
right, I’m coming out.”
“Wow. You’re coming out already? I am
good.”
I could feel the corners of my mouth lift.
“No. My vanity has taken over.”
“What?”
“I need to look in the mirror, because I
think I might resemble a drunken circus clown after smearing all this makeup.”
“That sounds ... interesting.”
“Okay, I’m coming out.” I tried to straighten
my overly beaded and ridiculously poufy dress. At least I’d opted not to wear
the stupid petticoat before the service, much to my mother’s dismay. If not,
I’d never have fit through the bathroom stall opening without getting snagged.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Only if you don’t want to see a spazzed–out
bride who probably looks like a circus freak.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the lemon
scented cleaner, stood up straight, and unlocked the door.
When I looked out, I saw him standing against
the opposite wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“You’re actually sticking around?” My hands
fiddled with my phone. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
I paused as I caught a quick glimpse of him.
He stood at least six–feet, brown hair, nice frame. Before I could get a better
look, a glob of mascara and fake eyelashes clouded my vision. I pressed the
wadded–up paper against my eye in an attempt to keep the makeup at bay. “Isn’t
that a big no–no for confession? You’re not supposed to know what the confessor
looks like. That’s part of the decompression process.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a secret. The priest
knows who’s in the box, right?”
“You knew it was me in there, huh? Seems a
bit unethical.” I dabbed at my eyes with a ball of toilet paper, clearing my
line of sight for a second.
“You forget. I’m not a priest.”
Patricia, thank you so much for your insight and inspiration. You are certainly not the only one who fell into the same situation. Congratulations on the publication of your book.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Elaine. I really appreciate you inviting me over.
ReplyDelete