This is hard for me to write about. If you’re looking for rainbows and butterflies, this isn’t the one for you today.

For a while, it seemed I obsessed about a finding love.
I’m no longer obsessing about men, being in a relationship, getting married and having babies. What happens happens, and I have no control over that.

It seems like my “obsessing” has jumped from one ship to another. Instead of my heart, I’m obsessed with my body. One of the main reasons I haven’t been blogging/reading/commenting is because I’ve been working out so much, and while that’s a great thing, I can see, and feel myself slipping to the dark side. Another reason I’ve been avoiding blogs is because I compare myself to everyone, and I do that enough in real life, or watching TV, movies and reading fashion mags. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, and in a sea of fashion bloggers-I just felt it better to distance myself.

Talking about weight is taboo, and also so annoying, so I’m sorry. But it’s eating me alive, and hopefully by purging all of these toxic thoughts now, I can wake up tomorrow in a better place.

I’m supposed to be skinny because I used to model. I’m supposed to be skinny because companies send me clothes so I’ll do lookbooks, and then hopefully you’ll buy their products. I’m supposed to be skinny because I’ve been super skinny before, and because I live in the most superficial place on earth (or at least top 3).

I started this journey to be healthy. I started working out with a trainer and a friend (hiiii HEATHER), I overhauled my diet and began eating extremely “clean.” It didn’t happen over night, but my body started to change. Not just dress sizes, but muscles began appearing-GUN SHOW, yo. (Not exactly, but whatev.) My energy is soaring and my anxiety has been amazingly diminished.

These are all great things, and I’m damn proud of myself. My family and friends who see me all the time are proud too. I used to sleep in til 11 on Saturdays, now I’m up at 730 doing running mans and planks. I can wear things I haven’t felt comfortable in again, and this weekend was the first time I wore a bikini this year…and I felt good, with no need to cover up in a tank like I might have before.

But I’m terrified to go out to eat. I’m terrified to eat, period-but I know, I KNOW my body needs the fuel. I avoid social situations because of the food or alcohol, I find myself tossing and turning at night wondering if the 2 hours of cardio I did at the gym was enough. I get a little too happy for my liking that my collarbone is visible. I plan my day around the gym (sometimes twice a day) and getting in enough protein after my workouts. Meaning no, I can’t meet up with you after the gym even though you need to talk because I have to go home and have a protein shake and I’m sorry I’m a bad friend right now but if I go to Starbucks I’ll miss the “golden hour” during which I HAVE to have protein. I actually said that to one of my friends! Like a crazy person! Makes me want to burst into tears right now. I was invited to Vegas this weekend and my first thought was ohhhh I bet the hotel has a nice gym. WHAT THE HELL. Heather and I had plans to see Sex and the City 2 on Friday night and I almost cancelled because I felt I needed to go run stadiums-the anxiety was debilitating. Luckily, I got a grip and we had a fabulous girls night out. Thankfully, I have friends like Heather who I can tell what I’m feeling and she can drop kick me (nicely) back to reality.

If you’re close to me, as some of you are, most of our conversations, at some point circle back around to my new “lifestyle”…I love you for not telling me to shut the hell up. I also love you for telling me to take care of myself. If you’re REALLY close to me, as in see me everyday-I ask you multiple times a day how I look. I hate that I am that girl now.

I’m dating a personal trainer, and I can’t be the only one who find this oddly ironic. Life, stop it with your silly shenanigans! On our first date he went to town on some gourmet mac and cheese and I picked at a salad. (I guzzled the wine though. I mean, I haven’t completely forgotten who I am.) His body is ridiculous and now I feel the pressure is on even more. Of course, I’m completely disregarding how he mentioned he doesn’t like girls who are “too thin” and told me, “you better not lose your boobs!”

When did I go from healthy to a woman obsessed…was it when the big changes started happening? Was it 2 weekends ago when I went out with six guys and realized I held all the control, and somehow convinced myself that they would have held all the control 3 dress sizes ago? I don’t want to stop-I’m not going to stop-but I know myself enough to realize that I’m nearing a dangerous place. A place I’ve been before and a place I never thought I’d be again. A place where there is no such thing as good enough.

I received a few INCREDIBLE emails this weekend, just full of support, for no other reason than they felt I needed it. Maybe to make me feel better after making such an ass out of myself on my vlog?! They all mentioned that I empower my readers, and while that warms my heart and makes me want to keep on going…I don’t feel very empowered at the moment. I’m smart enough to know that I’m obsessed with working out and eating like a bird because everything else is always so OUT of control.  Not in a bad way, I’m happy right now-but it could go away. And that terrifies me. This is one thing I don’t have to rely on anyone for. It’s all me. Nobody can let me down.

Goals for the week-
Post this very personal blog. Opening up about this very scary subject might be all I need.
Live my life. Go wine tasting this weekend with a bestie and EAT CHEESE. Omg I miss cheese.
Love my body. Appreciate how far I can run now, how much I can lift, be excited that my insomnia has been cured naturally, etc.
Put my relationships before my “obsession.”
Listen to my body. Give it the rest, fuel, appreciation it deserves. It is not the enemy.

It is NOT the enemy.  I am good enough-no matter what size jeans I wear. And so are you. xo

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“I believe in WONDERFUL THINGS, and GRAND GESTURES, and AMAZING PEOPLE and loving with reckless abandon and putting yourself on the line when it counts.”-From the post I put up on Saturday, and subsequently, removed on Sunday.
I have never, ever deleted a blog post in the year + I’ve been holding it down over here. I’ve freaked out after hitting publish, and asked friends, “Ohhh maybe I should take that down?” But I never have, because my thinking was, well this is how I feel NOW. This is what I’m going through NOW, at this moment. Maybe this will help someone, or maybe I’m not alone.

Saturday I posted-probably one of my most personal posts ever…and Sunday morning I took it down. Not because I was afraid of what you guys would say-because the comments I had already received were amazing and supportive, but because it is just too painful for me to read, over and over. Too hard to get your wonderful comments on my blackberry and be reminded of what a very dark place I was in Saturday afternoon.  Too much, too soon. I also want to protect this-him-it, if I can. I will always use this blog as my place to vent, cry, share, inspire, laugh, be inspired…and I’m going to continue to write very personal posts, but at the right time.

Timing is everything…a lesson I am learning, the hard way. I’m learning how to be patient, and allowing myself to feel things completely without it resulting in a dramatic, unhealthy knee jerk reaction because some feelings are just so hard to understand and I really like understanding, and I get off on putting things in their respective boxes and handling shit and getting it done and making sure nobody is upset with me ever, and wanting answers NOW, and wanting him to love me NOW, and I hate it when you think things are o.k, but they actually really aren’t, and I thought I knew how I felt about this or him or it, but oh oh oh look, I actually DON’T and it’s all very exhausting.  See?

I know this post isn’t any less vague than the one I took down, and I apologize.  I do thank you for the emails, comments and tweets from those of you who noticed something was a little off with me this weekend.  Never, ever think for one second they don’t lift me up.

What do I do now?  I’m taking all these feelings that I don’t understand and giving them the time they deserve.  I’m letting go of situations I have zero power over and allowing the cupcakes to land where they may.  Giving myself time…and I’m going to be kind to myself.  Think about what I ACTUALLY WANT. I’m going to work! And work out with Steven 5x a week starting today!  And cry if I have to-either from my feelings or from Steven ha.  And sooner, rather than later, this shitty weekend will be a distant memory-but hopefully the lessons I learned won’t be.  I hope they are front and center. No matter what…

“I believe in WONDERFUL THINGS, and GRAND GESTURES, and AMAZING PEOPLE and loving with reckless abandon and putting yourself on the line when it counts.”

Love to you all…and sending positive thoughts to us all for an amazing week. xo

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I wake up to this. Via

Lately, I keep having these mini identity crises, where I wake up in the morning and am not quite sure what hat to put on, and for the sake of  finally getting this post out of my head, can we, as a family,  just pretend that I- 1. actually wear hats and do not hate them and 2. do anything in the morning before mainlining at least 2 cups of coffee?  Also?  I am trying out something new and exciting and totally stressful…making coffee at home. With a French press.  And sometimes it’s just too much for me, so I usually end up grabbing my “hat” and going to Starbucks anyway.  In the meantime, my French press looks le chic on my counter.

So, there’s that. But for the record, just so there isn’t any confusion and a hat company wants to like…sponsor me or something?  I don’t “do” hats.  I look like an idiot.  I’ve never met a hat that looked good on me, besides maybe a beanie in the snow, but that’s more functional and I still feel like I have a condom on my head.  So no hats.

I woke up today totally intending on getting a Liz is Loving up by 12, because I actually do have products I want to share with you guys and I was thinking of how I could put them all into a nice lil collage so I wouldn’t even have to say anything, and it would be more of an article, all precise and tied with a bow maybe, than the word vomit I’m actually providing today. I wouldn’t have to get personal, or reveal what I’m really feeling or thinking about anything other than beauty products. And I could do my “job” over here, and then send you on your way to guzzle green beer if that’s your thing.  But instead, I’m just going to compare myself to a coffee maker. You’re welcome.

Have you guys ever used a French press?  I should be able to do this, I am a mother effing badass.  It’s a total balancing act-if you put in too much water, it will end up all over you and your counter, if you don’t put in enough, the end result will be mud.  Sometimes when I’m pushing down on the “thing” (because I don’t know wtf it’s called), I get scared that I’m pushing too hard and it’s going to spill and why can’t I do this and why.is.everything.so.hard, and why am I crying? I know so many of you are domestic goddesses and are probably thinking, um using a French press is easy, Liz-but just stay with me.

I feel like I keep pushing myself, pushing through, pushing forward, wearing the hats I am supposed to, all the while not completely letting go, because I’m terrified I’ll lose control and make a mess I can’t clean up,  and it will become all too apparent that I actually don’t know how to process certain things and some days I just don’t have my shit together and then maybe the tears won’t stop, and the mascara I was planning on telling you guys about will run and it might get all over his shirt or my friends will get sick of hearing about it-whatever, IT may be. Or maybe, even worse, I’ll keep pushing and pushing and still feel absolutely nothing, like I’m stuck in the mud, which is even more terrifying than feeling everything all at once.

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(Before I get into it-I got my “blojo” (blog mojo haha) back, according to a friend. Thank you for all the sweet emails, comments, twitter-love? twits? huh? For the record, I missed you too!)
I have a lot of expectations.  Of myself.  Of others.  Of things.  I know some of you may think that if you have no expectations, you will never get let down, and while I get that, I don’t think, for me, it’s a very realistic way to live.  I like expectations.  I like standards.  I expect that if I spend 45 minutes curling my hair…my hair had better be curly.

But see, sometimes life happens and you have to run outside your condo and help your lovely friend find parking, because parking is a total cluster of a nightmare at your house, and you want to help her, and it’s raining.  And your hair gets wet, and it’s not curly pretty princess hair anymore.  Sad.

For example.

I expect the brakes in my car to ya know, stop my car. I expect a pair of Paige’s and some 5 inchers to make me feel like a sexy badass, even when I’m convinced I have.nothing.to.wear. and my life is, actually, over.  I expect a venti skinny vanilla latte with a triple shot to perk me up in the mornings, I expect the trackball on my bberry to roll around like it’s supposed to, and while we’re on the subject, I just have to say that I expect way too much from technology in general, but I digress. I expect my birth control to…control and I expect the guy I am using said birth control with to be my best friend too.

Easy, no? What about when you hydroplane and your brakes don’t work?  What if your birth control fails? (OMG NO I’M NOT PREGNANT) What if you’re still a zombie after even 2 venti’s? Is there anything we can count on? What if it turns out he’s not my best friend and just…some guy?

There are very few things that are for sure.  I might hydroplane and my brakes might not work.  I might have on the best jeans ever that make my ass look PHENOMENAL and LOUBIES and still wish I was home in yoga pants and a wife beater.  Technology will fail us some days-might even drive us to tears when we’re totally pmsing.  And the guy I wake up next to in the morning might not be my best friend…yet.

One of my nearest and dearest said this tonight (and made me that cute picture) when I told her what I was writing about-“Expectations are sorta like mini little hopes and prayers.” So with that, I hope and pray that our cars keep us safe, and our phones, computers and birth controls do their respective jobs (or not, if that’s what you want!).  I hope and pray that the next guy I fall asleep with is my best friend, and he’ll definitely think a wife beater and yoga pants is just as sexy as jeans and stilettos…most of the time.

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“Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live”-Anais Nin (My absolute favorite)

Maybe I’ll get my shit together in time for round 2

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