Self Esteem

Welcome to my blog.  My guest blogger today is Patricia Fischer.  Patricia is the author or Weighting for Mr. Right.  She's going to talk to us about self esteem, and then we get to read an excerpt from her book.  Patricia, thank you so much for coming.

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!

 

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.”