I Guess I’m Beautiful?


I don’t often look in mirrors. Therefore, I am sometimes that gross person who goes into work with toothpaste smeared somewhere on my face. Even when I am brushing my teeth or brushing my hair, I don’t often LOOK at myself – because I don’t want to.

I know what’s there. I know what my body is. If you look at the picture above mine resembles the one second from the left the most. The biggest one. But she’s beautiful, right? Look at those boobs, that hair, that smile on her face.

I know what’s there, but often I forget it.

I remember myself, and think and refer to myself, as my self at the pre-baby weight. I gained an awful lot of weight after having Squido – over fifty pounds. I went from a size twelve to a size twenty, and even after years of being fat, I am still adjusting to looking at myself in the mirror.

I don’t have a full length mirror at home. I don’t see the point in getting one. I don’t care much about fashion and I sure don’t want to look at myself in the mirror every day.

So, when I catch my reflection somewhere – in a window or a door, or god forbid an actual mirror – I am shocked by what I see.

I don’t see ME.

I see a fat person.

Does that make sense to you? Because I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my body image is so skewed that I actually FORGET how big I am, and what I look like to other people.

Guys, I need to lose weight. Seriously.

I’ve been thinking of rejoining Weight Watchers, because I know it works, but sadly the one thing holding me back is that I am too broke this week to go out and do a big I’M DIETING NOW! grocery shopping trip. Because don’t we all know it, being healthy is kind of expensive, and I am poor.

But enough, Janie, enough with the excuses. Something has to be done.

I’m linking this up with today’s Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror.



I want to give a huge thank you to all of you who commented and messaged me about yesterday’s post. Your support was not expected, and I was blown away by the kindness of all of you practical strangers that are quick becoming friends.

It took me a day to reply to comments because the first time I read each one I shed some tears – there were a lot of tears yesterday and today, but now, my god, I am feeling so much better.

It’s amazing, the weight that has been lifted off my shoulders. Admitting it. Letting it go.

Everyone seems to think that I should forgive myself and move on.

It isn’t as easy as it sounds, for sure. But I’m working on it every day.

Every day except for today, a day in which I’ve done nothing but laundry because it’s cold as a witch’s tit and snowing heavily outside. Another 6-8 inches of snow again tonight. I’m so sick of winter I could scream.

Til tomorrow friends, thank you again for being so kind and all sorts of wonderful.

My Secret: I Was the Other Woman

truenobilityI’ve started and stopped this post countless times today – there is no good way to segue into what I have to share, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to. I want to share a secret on this blog – I want to open and candid and honest and true – and I can’t do that without being completely honest for the first time in my life about something:

I slept with my best friend’s husband. And not just once.

I was the other woman.

Oh my god, it’s out. Are you still there?

I’ve never told anyone that before besides my therapist – I am too ashamed.

I came very close to not sharing this on here because I just picture all of the women who I’ve commented with and come to know over the past few months turning their heads away from me and unfollowing my blog without a second thought because I am THAT WOMAN.

That woman that you probably hate and are scared of and wish didn’t exist.

I am her.

I did this.

And every day since I’ve struggled with guilt and shame and self loathing so deep its nearly driven me to suicide – because I can’t bare sharing my truth with anyone – because all this guilt and shame are too much, sometimes, to bear.

I did a terrible thing. Repeatedly. I lost friendships over it. I lost myself over it.

I try to listen to my therapist when he tells me that I’m not a terrible person.

“You did a thing you aren’t proud of, what some might say was a bad thing, but you aren’t a bad person because of it.”

And I wonder every day if he is right, because I just can’t get over this.

I don’t want to go into any details about the affair – it’s not fair to anyone involved, whether they will ever read this or not. It’s been over and done with for over a year now and I just want to put it behind me but I can’t let go of all the emotions and all this guilt and shame for what I did.

I need to be able to write about it. I need to be able to get it out of me – finally.

I did a terrible thing, and I think I’m a terrible person because of it. I am telling this story now so you can make your own decisions about me – I’m being honest now so that down the road no one can call me a liar or a fake.

In the real world, in my real life, this secret’s staying safe, but here in blogland I want to be true to myself. I want to be able to write about the things that are really on my mind, and how can I possibly do that if I am holding this terrible thing back? How will anyone understand my depression without knowing how I got here?

Most importantly, will anyone care? Probably not. Probably some of you are turning away from me now, thinking, whore.

It’s okay, that’s how I feel. Like less than nothing.

But maybe some of you out there will agree with my therapist – that I did a horrible thing but I’m not a horrible person – and maybe some of you could help me believe that, if you are so inclined.

I can’t believe I’ve written this post, I can’t believe I’m sharing it. I feel like I’m stepping up to a firing squad, I have no idea what to expect. But I’m scared of being this honest – it’s terrifying, actually.

I started this blog to be honest – tactless but true. Some may hate me for it, but by God here I am doing it. Being honest. For the first time.

Here I am. Just a woman trying to learn and grow and make up for all her mistakes – just trying to move on with my life – just trying.

Happy Anniversary, Johnny

John was the absolute love of my life. I loved him the very first time I saw him, when I was seventeen and he was twenty-three. I remember it sometimes, can actually recall the pang of surprise, the heart thrumming in my chest when I looked upon this stranger and thought (like in the movies) I’m going to marry that man.

I didn’t marry him, spoiler alert, but I still would if I ever had the chance. If, after five years four years, nine months, and sixteen days I finally saw him again, I would rush into his arms and tell him how sorry I was for the mistake I made, I would tell him I still love him, and will, forever.

Today is his birthday, so it’s a hard day for me. I woke up this morning remembering him, looking into the mirror when I was brushing my teeth and staring at all the gray hairs on my head, grays that weren’t there the last time he saw me. He would hate that I don’t dye my hair. It’s just the way he was, he wanted everything to be beautiful. He made me beautiful.

He was seven years older than me, and he hated his birthday, he hated getting older. The year he turned twenty-five he panicked that he was a quarter century old, and I, at a tender, new nineteen, couldn’t even imagine being his age. So John decided he wouldn’t have birthday’s anymore. From that day forward, every birthday would turn into the anniversary of being nineteen.

Today is his nineteenth anniversary of being nineteen. And I am nowhere near him.

All I want to do is touch him. Be close enough to tell him I love him.

But it’s over, and he’s long gone.

This is such a hard day for me.

Zero To Hero

In my little world, I’m a zero, I am a nobody. I’m single, I don’t have a lot of friends, I’m straight up POOR, I’m overweight, and I’m just a waitress. To anyone looking at me from the outside, that’s all I am, and it isn’t much.

This is why Janie Doh was born.

I have been a blogger since the days of Livejournal when I was in high school (that’s over thirteen years ago, FYI), but for all of that time I was a scared blogger. I never felt comfortable sharing my true self to people who I knew personally, because I always thought so little of myself, and I never really thought that anything I wrote online – whether it be a blog post or a piece of fiction – was worth reading.

I have a problem seeing and feeling my own worth, is what I am trying to say. I see the negative parts of myself and seem to block out any of the good parts, not feeling like the good parts are real. It’s a terrible affliction, having no self confidence or sense of self worth. It’s part of depression, which I suffer from daily, which is a constant battle in my life and has been for some time.

But, in my own mind, I am a hero.

Because I am a writer who creates worlds.

My strings of words are bridges that carry me to other people, my sentences are limbs reaching out to you – to YOU – to anyone who will listen.

I created this blog to let my hero shine through.

Janie Doh is the girl who lives inside me, the smart, tough, capable and lovable one who no one has ever seen. She’s funny and brash, honest to a fault, and completely bat-shit insane. She laughs maniacally as she cuts herself in front of you and bleeds her words onto pages, for she demands to be seen. Her head is full of stories and dreams and I bet if you stick around, you could get lost in them.

I am already lost in Janie. I am already enchanted by the wide open possibilities of letting Janie speak.

What will it feel like to be totally honest about how I feel and who I am?

zero-to-hero-badgeThis post was written for the Worpress’s Zero to Hero: 30 Days to a Better Blog.

I am committed to blogging daily this year, which is great, because every time I come to the this space donning Janie’s shoes I feel more like a hero than a zero.

To anyone reading and commenting: THANK YOU. You make me feel good. Thank you for that.