Guilt

Thinking back to my "Jealousy" post, I ended that with me feeling guilty.  Guilt has been a part of my life forever and in someways, I think it should be, but how long should guilt really stay with us?  And what effect has guilt had on my weight gain?

I remember as a child, probably in kindergarten, I hid someone's keys (maybe my dad's) or I saw another girl hide someone's keys.  I'm not really sure on the details, but what I do remember is my father looking for them and being very frustrated.  He always had a saying about us (my sister's and I) being the ones that had to live with our decisions and the choices we made.  At the end of the day, the only person we had to answer to when we laid down our heads at night was ourselves.  So, as long as we were being true to ourselves and could sleep with our decisions then we were honest-good people.  Now, I'm sure he didn't use that logic with me on the key thing.  That's probably something he said to us much later in life and I probably messed up the way he said it so eloquently.  What I do know is it stuck with me and so did hiding those keys.  I even remember that they were behind the couch cushion.  Now, I can't say that I still feel guilty about that, but I wonder if in some way I do?  Why did that even stick with me?

When I was in the 4th or 5th grade I had a bedroom window that faced out to see our dogs on the dog run.  I remember looking out and seeing my mom's puppy tangled up with our much larger dog.  Yet, I chose to take a nap and worry about it later.  By the time I woke up, my mom was in tears; the puppy had been strangled.  I killed my mom's dog.  Now, whether I killed my mom's dog or not, this was not something that I got over.  It still haunts me to this day.  What kind of person doesn't just take care of the dog and then take their nap?  Twenty-five years later I still feel an extreme amount of guilt over this and no one blamed me, but me.

Guilt has followed me my entire life.  After working very hard to earn a near 4.0 in college, I was one of two people in our graduating class to earn a full-time job right out of college.  Yet, I felt guilty about it.  Other people were deserving too and I just couldn't understand why I would get the job.  The other person who was hired said, "We deserve these jobs, we worked hard for them and there is no reason to feel ashamed for getting them."  I thought, "Yeah, she's right!"  Yet, deep down, I never felt like I deserved it more than those other people.  And it's taken me some time to get over it.  At least I think I've gotten over that one.

When I was approved to weight-loss surgery, there was a part of me that felt like I didn't deserve it.  I hadn't worked hard enough to lose the weight on my own.  I wasn't that big and other people needed it more than me.  These feelings stuck with me for the entire year leading up to my surgery.  Days before my surgery was scheduled I was struggling because I still didn't feel like I deserved it.  I felt guilty for taking this route when other people needed it more.  Thankfully my sister talked me off that ledge and made me realize that indeed, I did deserve it.

In no way do I feel that the words of wisdom my father gave us were harmful.  In fact, I feel like those words, along with many others, made me the person I am today.  I am proud to be a person who feels guilty for making poor choices.  It has made me a caring, compassionate person.  Without the guilt, I don't know how I could reflect and improve as a person. 

There is something about this whole journey that makes me believe that guilt may or may not have added some of my pounds, but it definitely won't be holding me back anymore.  I am a big (I'm using that loosely) girl and I can make my own decisions and it shouldn't matter what other people think.  My kids understand this, why don't I?  I'm still working on it, but I really hope this is going to help make everything in my life just that much sweeter.

Enough with the Lies!

Back to the boots! 

Remember the boots that I bought online for Vegas and I said that maybe that was part of what unveiled the secret of my obesity?  Well, it was about two months after that when I contacted my doctor and told her that I needed to do something about my weight.  I was tired of trying a program and then quitting it after losing weight in the first week or two and then plateauing.  Worse yet, every time I quit a diet plan, I would gain back twice as much as I lost.  

In a way, I think the boots opened my eyes to the secret I was living.  Although, it could have been when I stepped on the scale and it read 294 pounds.  It was so close to 300 and I didn't want to go there, not even a little.  So, I told my doctor I wanted to look into weight loss surgery.  It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done (admitting that I was large enough to need weight loss surgery).  Just 10 pounds lighter and I wouldn't even consider it.  I mean, that's where I had been for years and weight loss surgery never even crossed my mind.  So, why was 294 so eye opening?  Although I had contacted the doctor, I hadn't told my husband.  I didn't know how to tell him.  I know he didn't think I was too heavy and weight loss surgery would scare him; he didn't want to lose me.  Within a few days, I got a letter from the weight loss department saying I was approved for the program.  I was overwhelmed with relief that I was finally going to get some help.  To be honest, I was scared to try to lose weight anymore; if I tried and failed, I knew I would gain even more.  I was excited to be accepted into the program, but also surprised that they would take someone who weighed what I did.... I didn't think it was enough.  

I went through months of pre-planning and learning how to eat mindfully.  The program was good and it taught me to slow down and use all of my senses when I ate something.  It also taught me to keep a food journal.  Although these were great lessons, I thought it was enough to eat mindfully and write it down.  Maybe it was at the time.  I mean I had been making poor food choices for years and maybe I needed two months to slow down and actually enjoy the foods I was eating while being honest about what exactly I put in my mouth.  By the end of the program, I had managed to gain weight.    

At the end of June, we took our family on a two week vacation to Hawaii.  I knew the plane ride would be a challenged.  On this trip, we would have our children and asking for a seatbelt extender was embarrassing.  Especially when my 10 year old was sitting next to me and was trying to make sure my seatbelt was going to fit.  It was emotionally overwhelming as it was, but when my husband had to ask the stewardess for the extender because he was on the outside (I never sit on the outside because I'm afraid people won't be able to get past me) I could no longer hold back my tears.  I pulled my sunglasses down and turned my head to hide my tears.  Once we landed, my secret was safe with me again.  I spent nearly every day of that two week vacation in a swimming suit.  I could spend all that time in Hawaii, living in a bathing suit carefree and feeling fabulous and there on the plane ride home I am snapped back to reality and exposed to my secret once again.  

Near the end of July, I weighed 306 pounds.  I had broke the 300 pound mark and it wasn't a secret anymore.  I no longer tied my shoes when my husband was in the room because it took so much effort and heavy breathing to accomplish this simple task.  I didn't want him to see me that way.  It wasn't just tying my shoes, everything had become harder and I realized how much I was depending on other people.  I asked people to do everything for me.  They even filled my plate and brought it to me on the couch (I'm so embarrassed to write that).  I had become so reliant on other people without even realizing it.  

It was in July, at 306 pounds and 50% BMI that I realized I was killing myself and ruining my children's lives.  I had become lazy.  My husband and children deserved a better me, but so did I.  If I wanted to give my family a chance at a better life and me a chance to live a better and longer life, I needed to take this more serious.  I couldn't keep going in and out of knowing that was obese.  I had to realize it and care enough to do something about it.  That didn't mean I couldn't still love myself the way I was, but that also meant I needed to make some changes; starting with being honest with myself.    

It was also in July that I read an article that Russell Wilson (my favorite QB) wrote (or talked in or something) about drinking soda and how bad it is for you.  So, I quit drinking soda.  Just like that!  We had given it up before, but we could never stick to it and I was drinking about 2 liters of diet pop a day before the day I decided I was done with it.  I just quit it.  It wasn't hard either.  It's been 8 months and I don't miss it at all... well, I miss it a little in alcoholic drinks, but I don't usually have a lot of those so it's not all that challenging.  

I wonder what gives us the ability to quit something we are addicted too?  Why is it so hard sometimes and easy others?  What makes us start those habits in the first place and how do we replace those habits with good ones?

Fear and Anxiety

I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder when I was first diagnosed with postpartum depression.  As a result, some things are extremely hard for me.  Planning times to meet with other people is challenging for me, even planning to meet family is tough at times.  I don't know why.  I think it's more about the anxiety leading up to the event.  Usually once I'm there I do okay; especially when my husband is there to calm my nerves.  However, I don't always realize that it's anxiety that is holding me back in life.

Hanalei one of our puppies

Exercise is no exception.  When I was younger, I was bit by a dog just under my right eye - the scar is still visible sometimes.  To this day, I am still scared of dogs.  If I know the dog, I'm okay, but the thought of going for a walk and having a dog run up to me is frightening.  This is something that has kept me from walking with my children for their entire lives.  If my husband isn't there, it is really hard for me to go (I don't think I've gone on a walk more than 5 times without him).  This may be an unrealistic fear now that I live in the city, but in my home town, dogs ran free a lot of the time.  It wasn't uncommon to encounter them in your own yard and definitely if you went for a walk.  However, in the city there are fewer dogs running free and rarely do you see one just walking the streets.  Still, I can't even park next to a car with a dog in it and I know they can't get me.  So, although it might be unrealistic, it's very real for me. 

Dogs aren't the only thing that keep me from walking.  I am so scared of falling down and not being able to get up and some stranger having to help me that I don't want to walk alone.  I also don't want to walk with just my kids.  I'd hate to embarrass them or have them feel like they need to help me when I know that would be nearly impossible.  Unlike my fear of dogs, this fear hasn't been with me forever.  About 14 years ago,  I twisted my ankle pretty badly in a store and fell to the ground.  Although it wasn't broken, I did have to wear a brace and keep pressure off of it.  I had never twisted my ankle before that event, but ever since, I was twisting it all the time and if my husband wasn't there to hold me up, I usually ended up on the ground.  A few years later, my hubby and I went to a Blazer game.  As we were walking back to our car, I twisted my ankle about 7 times before we got back to it; each time my husband was there to hold me up.  By the time we got to the car, I was exhausted, in pain, and so embarrassed (I was probably crying too).  It was probably this walk that solidified my fear of walking.  However, another one still sticks with me too.  On my first day of college, I was walking out of class, stepped on a uneven crack on the sidewalk, my ankle turned and I hit the ground.  Some of my classmates stopped to see if I was okay and pick up my phone that had slid across the ground.  I was able to get up, but I was very sore and my wrist hurt for years after that.  

The fear of falling, compounded with my fear of dogs, has kept me in my house for years.  I still get very nervous walking on pavement and I can't stand to watch people run on the sidewalk or road.  I am so scared that they will fall and get hurt.  It literally makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. 

Are these rational fears?  No, probably not, but they are real fears that I experience still today.  These fears are holding me back from being successful and I know it, but I'm still not sure exactly how to get over them.  

There has to be a way to get over the anxiety that lives inside me.

Where did all this weight come from?

My Freshman Prom 110 lbs

I watch My 600 Pound Life.  I know that people who are really overweight generally have a problem from their past that causes their weight gain, but I don't.  To be honest, I've always blamed it on having four babies and bad genes.  That might be part of it, but more realistically it has something to do with poor eating habits.

I had an amazing childhood.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.  We had parents who loved us, grandparents who adored us, and siblings who have become our best friends.  We didn't have very much money growing up and therefore, we didn't have a lot of food.  I remember going to other people's houses and thinking they had to be rich because they had so much food.

I was a skinny child.  In high school I was probably average; although, I believed I was fat...don't all teenagers?  I didn't overeat, but then again, we didn't have a lot of food to overeat with.  I played sports and walked most places.  A lot of the time we were outside playing.

About half way through my senior year of high school, I got pregnant.  It was hard to tell my parents, I loved them so much and I didn't want to be a disappointment.  Still, I didn't wait.  I knew I couldn't sleep at night if they didn't know.  So, I told them right away and they handled it like the amazing parents they were (are).  They even talked with my boyfriend (now husband) and were wonderful with him as well.  We didn't quite have the same reaction from his family and that made it hard.  It wasn't planned, we were dumb kids, but we loved each other very much.

Senior Pictures 125 lbs

After three months of pregnancy, I had a miscarriage and it was very hard on my boyfriend and me.  It was one of the few times I've ever seen my husband cry (sorry babe for sharing that).  We both really cared about the baby and each other and he was there for me through it all (and so was my family).  After the miscarriage, I became depressed and put on about 50 pounds.  Graduating from high school at nearly 180.

In the fall following our graduation, we became pregnant again, got married 5 months later, and had a beautiful baby girl in the summer.  She was perfect and I had always wanted a baby.  I knew how much family meant to providing happiness and I wanted a large family of my own.

Almost three years later (210 lbs) I gave birth to my second daughter.  After moving to the big city, about 15 months later, I gave birth to a baby boy.  After losing some baby weight I was at about 220.  I stayed there for a long time.  For my final pregnancy, I boomed up to 264 before my largest baby was born (another boy).  Within 5 years, I had given birth to 4 children.  Not to mention, had been put on medication for Postpartum Depression twice (probably should have been three times) and been to therapy a few times.  Still, through all of that, I managed to hold my weight at about 220 for several years.

One year though, I gained 20 lbs in one month.  It scared me so I went to see my doctor.  He said, "You're a healthy overweight person."  He also asked me if I breastfed all of my children (while lifting my sagging boobs).  Let's just say that visit to the doctor was not very productive.  Instead, it reassured me that my weight was fine, but my boobs now that's where the problem was.

So, consequently, I met with a breast reduction specialist to see about that procedure.  I'm glad I didn't follow through on that one.  I wish I was never so insecure about my body to let a doctor get in my head.  Imagine the power these people have to make changes in our lives.  Instead of saying I'm healthy, why didn't he ask me to record a food log and come back in for a follow up consultation in a couple months?  Why did it end with me thinking my real issue was my breasts?  Instead, it took nearly 10 years and 66 pounds for me to seek help with my weight again.

Jealousy

This post may seem off topic, but I believe this is part of what lead to my weight issues.

I am an extremely jealous person.  I've grown a lot since my twenty's, but I still have moments of jealousy (like today).  I don't really understand where it comes from and I don't know how to stop it.  Whenever I experience it, I get very depressed and down on myself.  It's really hard to stay positive when I'm self destructing.  I don't remember any of my other family members being jealous growing up.  So, I feel like this is something I developed over time.  Yet, I'm still not sure why.

This Sunday, I will be celebrating 17 years of marriage with my hubby whom also happens to be my high school sweetheart.  I love this man more every single day.  Still, looking back I'm not sure how in the world we made it through our first 10 years of marriage let alone 17; especially when it feels like we are still newlyweds.  

My hubby and I were high school sweethearts and we were classmates since the third grade.  It's amazing how many wonderful memories I have with him from our lives before dating, between dating, and now as a married couple.  :)  

We had our first kiss during a game of Truth or Dare in the 8th grade at a friends birthday party (to be fair, I liked him long before that kiss).  He was dared to kiss me and without hesitation took the dare.  I thought it was sweet.  Of course, I wasn't the only person he was dared to kiss that night.  Ah, and so comes my jealousy.... and here's where I break into song:  Let it go, let it go.... 

Sixteen months later, after school one day, just before football and volleyball practice, my very good friend told him that he should ask me out and he did.  I was so happy and yet I was very shy.  During these two or three months of dating (sorry honey I forgot how long it was), we barely talked.  It was more like we were awkward friends.  Yet we did start to make a little progress.  Eventually, we held hands and I remember that moment.  We were on a field trip for Ag (I think) and we were on the bus when I began tying my shoe on the seat (yes, my leg actually bent up to my chest at that time).  He reached down and gently grabbed my hand and we held hands the whole way back to school.  In addition to holding hands, I learned the order in which he washed in the shower, which happened to be different than mine (Who doesn't start with shampoo?  That's just weird.).  We spent many nights standing under the street light hugging each other in a sweet embrace.  At the time, I felt like all those conversations we were having were meaningless.  I didn't see that we were building a strong foundation for a lasting relationship and so I broke up with him...by note.  Still not proud of that.  

It took me a few months, but I began to realize how much I really cared for this boy.  He was amazing and I let it all go.  My friends always asked me about our relationship and our break up and I told them repeatedly that I wasn't worried.  I had faith that we would get back together someday.  We had just started dating when we were too immature.  I knew in my heart that we were meant to be together forever.  Besides, I had wished on every 11:11, first star I saw at night, and full moon for as long as I could remember that we would be together (both before and after our break-up).

Sure enough, the summer following that year we spent a lot of time together and by the end of July, we were dating again and it happened so naturally.  We spent time reflecting on our mistakes the first time (immaturity and lack of communication) and made some real improvements.  Still, I let my jealously get the best of me many times.  I'm not sure how we survived high school....  Actually, I do.  It was only by the grace of him.  He had patience to deal with me and my craziness and boy was I ever crazy!  Anyone else would have left me long ago.  

After high school, we got married, had four children, both finished college, and bought a house.  Now, we are doing just fine, but there were so many times where my jealousy got in the way of a healthy relationship.  To this day I am still surprised that we are married.  

My husband is a good guy.  He's never done anything that should make me jealous.  If anyone is the bad guy, that would have to be me.  I have put myself in bad situations a few times during our lives together and still he forgives me and moves on like everything is okay.  I am left with this heavy guilt and the only person placing it on me is me. 

Who's That?

It isn't like anything has really changed as far as my misconception about my weight.  I still feel skinny the majority of the time.  Even looking back at pictures I will often think, "I'm not that big."  Of course we all know everyone has pictures that make themselves look smaller or bigger than they actually are.  I think I see it more in other people's photographs than I do in my own.  I'll see a picture of a friend of mine where they look really big or small, but I know what they really look like.  So, while looking at the picture I might comment on how the picture makes them look really skinny or it's just a bad angle.  I understand that angles and distance and relativity to other objects change our perception, but it doesn't seem to sink in when I'm looking at pictures of me.  

You know the saying about calling a person a negative thing and to undo that you have to say something positive to them eight times.  Well, maybe I'm the opposite of that when it comes to viewing myself in pictures.  I can see many pictures that make me look bad and of course I feel bad about myself and realize I'm way bigger than I thought, but then, I see one good picture of myself and BAM! I think, "No, I'm good!  I look great!"  Hiding the secret of my obesity even further.  

If you look back through the pictures my family has taken over the years, you don't see a lot of pictures of me.  Part of that is because I'm taking the photos and part of that is because no one took any with me in them.  I don't know if that's because I don't like having my picture taken or because they don't want me to know the truth.  Seems kind of weird to think it's the second one, but I will tell you that there have been times in my life were I question how beautiful my family actually finds me because they didn't photograph me.  I mean, I take thousands of pictures of my family and rarely am I in the shot if they are holding the camera.  Also, it's not like someone is asking for me to pose so they can take my picture.  Still, as I've become older, I've gotten over this insecurity.  However, I wonder if I should have.  Is there something more to the disproportionate amount of photographs of me compared to others or am I just being paranoid?

I have similar feelings about mirrors.  The mirror in my bathroom makes me feel great about myself.  The one in the bathroom at the gym also makes me feel pretty good.  However, there are those mirrors that make you look at yourself and think, "WHOA!  Who's that?"  Store fronts have the same effect on me.  Recently, I've been working pretty hard on losing the weight and I feel pretty good about myself, but then, there I am walking on the treadmill and I look over and see myself in the weight-lifting mirrors.  What the heck!  That is not the same person I saw in the mirror before I left my house this morning or the same person that smiled back at me as I washed my hands in the bathroom sink just before walking out and stepping on this treadmill.  And I wonder, which is the real me?

Forgive and Forget

It seems that these events where I realize that I am in fact overweight are the exact moments in my life where I have tried to make changes in the past.  It takes something like a little boy standing in the window next to his doorway pointing and laughing and saying, "Ha, ha. You're fat!" (the only time someone ever called me fat) to make the realization.  

I would bet that every time I made a real effort to lose weight came after one of these life events that unveiled my secret obesity to myself.  After an event like the one mentioned above, I would join a gym, begin a workout plan, go no carbs, or record my eating habits.  The problem with all of these times is that I would lose 8-10 pounds on average (sometimes more as you can read about in my other blog) and then stop losing weight, give up, and then gain back two or three times the amount that I lost during my effort to become the skinny person I thought I was. 

I'd like to say that the boots (mentioned in yesterday's post) are what made me realize I was obese once and for all, but I think there is more to it.  You see, on the trip to Vegas, that was the first time I ever had to ask for a seat-belt extender on an airplane.  It brought me to tears.  I knew the seat-belts were tight, but for some reason asking for the extender was just too much.  Yet, in the end, I somehow convinced myself that it wasn't so bad to ask for the extender.  Why hadn't I been doing that all along?  It made the flight so much more comfortable.  Again, I turned something that should have been a major clue into unraveling my secret into something positive.

On that trip, I went on to overeat and consume hundreds of calories in soda each day.  Never feeling remorse, but instead feeling happy to be so cute in my clothes and so in love with my husband.  I never took any sort of responsibility for not fitting into the seat belt on the plane; after all, everyone knows those things are tiny anyway.  Right?  Part of me was even proud of myself for being able to look past the plane incident and enjoy my vacation like it never happened.  It is the ability that I have to forgive and forget (at least in the short-term) that has allowed me to move forward in my life living carefree, happy, and in denial of ever being obese.

It isn't just me!

Being obese isn't just a secret to me; at least it doesn't seem like it.  There have been so many times when I've been with someone and they make fun of someone else for being overweight.  It always shocks me because although I think of myself as skinny, hearing the word fat reminds me that I have some extra cushion.  It's like these people don't see that I'm overweight.  I mean how do you make fun of someone for something that the person next to you is clearly suffering from?  It just seems weird to me.  It makes me wonder if these people actually see me as obese or if it's a secret to them as well.  Some of the things they have said are pretty harsh and it's like they expect me to join in on their jokes.

In addition to being told fat jokes or listening to people make fun of others for being overweight, people often invite me to do things that I am too large to do.  These are things with weight requirements (like skydiving).  How do you explain to someone who knows there is a weight requirement for the event yet doesn't understand that you are 90 plus pounds over that weight limit.  It's not like I can drop the weight in two weeks to join you on your adventure.  Again, more proof that other people don't see me as obese either.  Or at least that's what it seems like.  

People also tend to think I can borrow their jacket or other clothes!  HELLO!  I'm clearly not going to fit into your size 12 jacket.  I know that much, but do they?  One of the most common times I realize I'm obese is when I go clothes shopping.  I don't know why, but it's especially obvious when I try to buy boots.  I think shoes should fit because it's based on your shoe size.  The expectation that they should fit is exactly what makes it obvious.  When I grab a pair of beautiful boots off the shelf and try them on only to realize the zipper doesn't go past the ankle it quickly becomes obvious that I'm not skinny.  This can be avoided by picking ankle boots, but in the winter months those knee boots are just so tempting.  

To be honest, I didn't really try to buy boots until about 15 months ago.  My hubby and I were planning a trip to Vegas and I wanted to look good yet feel comfortable walking the strip (since the last time we went my feet hurt so bad I couldn't walk).  Boots seemed like the logical choice.  However, I quickly learned that you needed smaller calfs than the ones I was sporting.  So, to get around this issue, I began shopping on line for wide-calf boots.  They aren't that hard to find, but the styles are limited.  Still, it solved the problem of finding boots that would fit my beefy calfs.  

Still, not being able to buy boots in any store I wanted may have been the edge I needed to take a closer look at my actual size.  It was two months later that I contacted my doctor and said I wanted to do something about my weight.  I don't really know what pushed me over that edge, but maybe boots played a part in it.   

What's "Secretly Obese"

I've been overweight for more than 18 years.  Still, I never really see myself as being obese.  Most of the time, I don't even see myself as overweight.  Yet, for 18 years, I've been trying to do something about my weight.  Well, sort of.  You see, I would try to do something about my weight for a little while, but I always fell short of actually accomplishing anything.  The reason why I struggled so much was because most of the time, I saw myself as skinny.  Yes, skinny!  I know it's crazy to think that someone who weighs over 200 pounds sees them self as skinny, but that's exactly what I felt.  I never believed I was fat.  In fact, most of the time when I talked about my weight I still would say one hundred ------ whatever, I was so blind that I didn't even have the first digit right and it was a big one!

In my heart, in my mind, I view myself as skinny.  That is until I step on a scale, look at a photograph of myself, go clothes shopping, or try to squeeze through a small space.  All of these things are rather brief moments in time.  Something I can either avoid (don't be in photos or use a scale) or put out of my mind once the experience is over (clothes are purchased or airplane ride is over).  Then, I quickly return to viewing myself as skinny.  I would say I have a pretty healthy self-esteem.

The problem with this "healthy" self-esteem is that I never viewed myself as fat for long enough to do something about it.  I mean really make a change.  Something lasting that would positively impact my life both physically and emotionally.  Sure, I've keep weight loss diaries and journals in the past.  I've tried weight loss programs repeatedly, worked-out, kept food journals.  You name it, I've probably tried.  With the exception of weight loss pills.  Still, I always fell back into my old habits.  I see myself as skinny and I don't think I eat very much.  So, naturally, I convince myself that whatever weight I'm currently at is my "ideal weight."  Sounds silly right?  Well, not so much when you never really view yourself as obese.  

While I'm proud of my positive self image and willingness to try anything that isn't restricted by my weight, I am worried that this unrealistic idea of what my weight really is and what it's doing to me is going to be passed on to my children.  I think it's healthy to have a positive body image, but to what degree?



My Previous Blog:  Struggling With Weight Loss