Fat Girl

I got three pages into Jen Larsen’s “Future Perfect*” when the panic attack, and tears, began. I’ve been fat since around the time puberty began. Prior to that I was normal sized, average size.

Then the hormones kicked in and I began to grow. I was chubby at age 12 when I decided I needed to lose weight. Off I went onto the diet treadmill. Now, at 12 you don’t know much about nutrition, food, or what is required to keep you healthy.

I was surviving off half sandwiches, a cup of popcorn, and half an apple here or there. The weight was coming off of my ass, slowly. At that time a friend of my Mom’s sent me a basket full of eggs. Plastic ones, with trinkets inside of them.

Each egg had a number of pounds on it, or a “you followed your diet for a perfect week” note on it. I could open an egg as each goal was made.

I got to open multiple eggs and then I got sick. Very sick. So ill that I ended up hospitalized for more than a week. At age 12, due to the way I was eating. I lost weight, but I made myself ill.

Not only did my Mom’s friend reward me for disordered eating (and that is what it was,) but my Granny offered to buy me new clothes if I kept the diet up.

Yeah, our society is so anti-fat that a 12-year-old who puts herself into the hospital by improper eating is told how great of a job she was doing.

I’m now 40-years-old, still fat, disabled (due to multiple reasons, none of which are my size,) and happy, most of the time. I’m loud and proud. I’m not ashamed of my body any more. I’ll eat in public, because you have to eat to live.

I’ll take up space, because I am worthy of space on this planet. I’ll wear loud colors, dye my hair pink, talk loudly with friends. I’ll be fat and a public person.

I will roll up to people (cause I have the scooter of whee) and introduce myself now. I’ll order dessert if I want to, because everyone deserves to have a treat once in awhile.

Yet, that fat little girl, who was picked on not just by her peers, but by one particular teacher, and made to feel less than. That little girl who felt she had to starve herself to be accepted and loved. That little girl who was afraid to eat in front of people, who was afraid to take up space, who was afraid to be herself…  she’s still in there.

Today, that little girl came out and cried for all she was, for all she is, for all the other little girls and teenagers and women and men, for that matter, who think they are less than because they are fat.

You are not less worthy, less loved, less capable. You are worthy of all you want and dream and deserve. You are loved. You are wonderful. You are amazing.

*Note, I know Jen, she is an amazing writer and wonderful person.  I will read the entire book and review it soon. Buy it now here or here or here.

A Grown Up Bag

IMG_1450I love purses, typically the larger, wilder, or nerdier the better. However, I do have a “grown up” job as a reporter and need to look the part sometimes. When I was in Pennsylvania last week with Tony for his job, I stumbled upon the outlets there.


Then, I wandered about as they had a Peeps outlet (way overpriced, but cute Peeps brand items,) and a Coach outlet. Now, every woman on my side of the family has at least one Coach bag. I have held out and carrying my different purses, changing them quite often as I said I love purses.


I decided to wheel into the Coach store and saw two bags that drew my eyes in immediately. A bright orange one and this pink one. The orange one was Coach orange, and cute, but it just didn’t feel right. Then, I grabbed this one, tested out the shoulder strap (which is a necessity for a disabled woman as I don’t typically have a free hand to carry a bag.)

This one came home with me. It was much cheaper than your typical Coach bag, but still more than I have ever spent on a purse, but I love it. It is smaller than my normal bag, but holds all the stuff (including my kindle, which goes everywhere) that I need with me on a daily basis.

Now, I just need one of those fancy camera bags (currently I use an Amazon basic bagpack) and I’ll be set.


Thanks to an incredible teacher.

As school in Westmoreland County ends, my favorite teacher, Trudi Ficklin?, is retiring from teaching. Mrs. Ficklin taught me home economics when it was still called home ec.

When I started at W&L I knew no one, I was scared, I was lonely, I was dealing with a drinking problem that most people had no clue about, in fact, this will probably be the first time my Dad knows abou tit.

My depression and anxiety issues started about the time I moved to W&L. Mrs. Ficklin took me under her wing, taught me things I would truly need in real life, things like balancing a check book, how to wash clothes, how to cook, how to take care of a family, and make a house a home.

However, she taught me so much more than that. She taught me that I was worth the time. She taught me that I was a good strong woman. She taught me that I could be picky about my future spouse (I was engaged in high school to an older guy, we were not a good fit. However, we are friends, now.)

Trudi Ficklin brought me into FHA, got me involved as the reporter for it, and writing my first articles for the Westmoreland News? about vocational education at W&L. Yes, that means I have come full circle now.

She taught me to believe in myself, to defend what I believe in, to learn from my mistakes, pick up and move on from them.

She taught me leadership as I moved into the role of President of FHA my senior year.

When no one else believed in me, she did. When I was done and ready to quit school, permanently (I didn’t bother going to school for most of a year at CBHS,) she listened to me, and helped me to realize that was a mistake.

W&L will be lesser without her. I’m glad Kyrstin? got at least one class with her.

Good luck in your next endeavor, Trudi! Thank you so much for everything you did for me, and for all your students, in your time as a teacher.

My town

This was addressed to others who live in/around Colonial Beach. Our town won a $747,000 grant to help with financial and physical blight in the downtown area.  The next closest town won the same grant a year earlier and looks incredible:

If you haven’t been to/through Montross recently, you need to go see it! One year before CB did, Montross received a grant to help with the economic and physical blight in their town.

It looks amazing. New facades, murals, old buildings being razed. Montross has a fresh coat of beauty all over it.

That’s next for CB. As the revitalization group continues its work, CB’s downtown waterfront area will improve as well! I can’t wait to take pictures, and report on it, as it happens.

Our little town can be better on the outside. Now, if we could learn, as a community, that the gossip and hatefulness does not help us. Colonial Beach is a beautiful, waterfront town, with the second largest beach front in Virginia.

We could be something astounding, but, it takes not only money from grants, volunteers, but also a willingness for the citizens to accept change and see it as a good thing.

We need the tourism. I know that we swell with people during the summer, we need those people to spend money. We need them to buy food, lodging, souvenirs, and gas. (also, note places that sell souvenirs, the correct spelling of that word. Also, bikinis, not bikini’s)

We can be the great destination we used to be. Accept the people, enjoy the summer when we fill with those who don’t have the joy of living in this small, beautiful, waterfront community.

Everyone of us is lucky to be here. We have the amazing river passing by our windows, a school that is the backbone of our town, many who volunteer their time, and so many others who just love this town.

Support it, support progress, and also, go see what CB will look like!

Yeah, at least it’s a post…

I remember anniversaries of things, good, bad, or otherwise and they stick with me. Tony and I celebrate our dating anniversary, our wedding anniversary and other days of our firsts. Those are the good kinds of dates. 18 years together, 16 years married.

Then there are the anniversaries of bad things. My cancer diagnosis, the date a friendship ended, the day Michael took his life.

Today, December 16th is four years since Michael died.

To back track a bit, Michael was my best friend and my first love. He and I had a brief intense relationship in which we had a lot of good, then quickly tremendous amounts of bad things.

Our relationship, and friendship, originally ended on a bad note.

We avoided being in the same place for years as it was just intensely uncomfortable for either of us.

In August of 2010 we both ended up at a birthday party for a mutual friend’s son. His then girlfriend, Jenn, and I hit it off immediately and begin chattering at one another.

He stood behind us, scared of what I might say, while we talked.

A few days later we talked online. I had taken pictures of his stepdaughters, he saw them, asked if it was okay to share them.

Then, he apologized for all the bad things, for how poorly he handled the pregnancy loss, and everything surrounding it.

We discussed the past, told one another about everything that had gone on in our lives over the years. He told me all about his ex-wife, the girls, his Mother’s death, and caught me up on his family (whom I love, they are all wonderful people. After his funeral, at which I was hysterical, his sisters came to me and just hugged me. <3 you Kelly and Dawn.)

I told him all about Tony and our lives. How I had gotten hurt, my cancer, my life, how I was writing, and the nieces and nephews.

We fell back into a friendship again. A good one without the other baggage of a relationship.


On the day he died, it had snowed, a lot. He got home from work early.

I was housebound as I try not to take a chance in the bad weather with my leg (cold is not good for a limb with lymphedema in it.)

We talked on facebook, texted a bunch, he called me at one point. Just chattering.

He was drinking a lot. Bad rotgut tequila. Depressed due to being alone for Christmas, worried about money, drunk and with a handgun in the home were bad things.
Michael asked me to come over. He needed someone to talk to. I couldn’t. Not only was there snow on the ground, but I drove a very low car at the time, we lived 15 miles apart.

I didn’t want to upset Tony by going to his house.

So, I didn’t. He said he understood.

Then, the texts got more depressed.

He sent one last one, “love you, love Jenn, love my girls.”

I knew as soon as I saw it what was about to happen. My soul knew he was about to die.

I called, I texted him, I messaged on Facebook.


No answer. Nothing at all.


After a few minutes, I messaged Jenn on Facebook for her to try, or to call the police as I didn’t know the address of his house.
She and I messaged back and forth while she sent the police and we waited for word. As the time drug on and a friend of showed up at Michael’s and wasn’t let passed the police and ambulance, I knew.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, she messaged me, “he’s dead, he shot himself.”

To this day, I am so incredibly grateful that Tony was home from work and of how amazing he was. The sound that came out of me as I read that Michael was gone was not a sound that comes out of a human mouth.

When I calmed down somewhat, or more correctly went into shock, I had to call our mutual friends and ended up having to repeat it to several of them. I can hear the words still, “Michael’s dead. He shot himself.” over and over I had to say that.
I had it easy though, I didn’t have to call his family like Jenn did. Nor did I have to tell the daughters that he had raised for most of their life.


His funeral was one of absolute worse days of my life. As was the day previous to it when the detective who was investigating his death questioned me.

I was out trying to finish my Christmas shopping when he called me. I answered his myriad of questions and then had to go in the final store.

Let me tell you, people avoid you if you are crying while shopping. They tend to run in the opposite direction.

All of this is to say, I miss my friend. I will never understand why he took his life. I will never understand why I was the last person he talked to that day.

I will never understand why he would renew a friendship only to take his life.

He will always be missed. I will always remember this date. Even as time marches on, I will keep his memory alive.

168864_10150115743851563_3925331_nMichael and I, 1995 Colonial Beach Boardwalk