Category Archives: Intellifluence

fitness tracker

Fitness Trackers: Who Uses Them and Why?

Fitness Trackers: Who Uses Them and Why?

fitness tracker

Back in the day, I used a pedometer as a fitness tracker. It was always fun working toward those 10,000 steps a day. Well now, of course, the gadgets are much more sophisticated and technological. I tried a Fitbit for less than a day and decided it wasn’t for me. It was as simple as not wanting something on my wrist. I had given up watches a long time ago. My skin had become increasingly sensitive to all sorts of jewelry.

So, it got me thinking. I seem to be the only person in the world who doesn’t use some sort of fitness tracker. That can’t be true, so I conducted a little survey of my Facebook friends to find out. They were asked the following questions:

  • Do you use a fitness tracker and why?
  • If you don’t use a fitness tracker, what is your reason?
  • If you would like to use one, but haven’t purchased one yet, why not?

The overall results came to this:

  • 15 people answered my survey
  • 4 people have never used one
  • 1 person used to use one and doesn’t anymore
  • 10 people use one and love it

What they said about NOT using one:

  • “I heard they aren’t really as accurate as they claim. I also don’t want to become obsessed with tracking.”
  • “I know if I am fit. I know myself well.”
  • “I try to live in the dark ages without technology tracking my every move.” (my personal favorite response)

The response I found interesting was the one from the person who used to have one and got rid of it:

“It gave me a false sense of working out which led to entitlement eating.” She went on to discuss the difference between the benefits of walking versus focus on body composition. She wanted to pay more attention to weight lifting, cardio, yoga, and Pilates.

Of those who use them, there were six with Fitbits, two with Garmin Vivos, and two with Apple Watches. Fitbits tend to have charging issues. Those who have the Garmins switched because they were tired of charging the Fitbit or had gone through so many. Apple Watch looks like the most comprehensive and convenient, doing much more than tracking fitness activity.

One responder mentioned that her husband’s insurance company gives them points for using their Fitbit Flex 2, which they can convert into cash. She almost has me sold!

This is one of those instances where the phrase to each his own is appropriate. Whether you use one or not and which one you use all depends on personal preference. And that’s what makes the world go ‘round.

fitness tracker

Thank you to Fitness Jockey for the opportunity to chime in on the subject of fitness trackers. Hop on over there for this article:

10 Best Fitness Trackers of 2017 – Full Buyers Guide

sometimes

Sometimes You Just Have To Press Pause

 Sometimes You Just Have To Press Pause

I cried because my daughter ate my breakfast. Then I cried when she yelled at me for ruining her picture. And again, I cried for something equally ridiculous. Sure, I knew my period was coming and that always makes me a bit weepy. But this was different. This felt way too familiar. The fear and hopelessness was settling in and I knew we had a problem. Hiding a panic attack from a four-year-old is impossible. So, I called my husband and he came home.

While I waited, sitting on the stairs, crying, I quickly started to cancel everything I had on my calendar for the next few days, all via text. There was no talking to anyone. And when you tell people you’ve had a panic attack, they don’t question you. And you don’t really care if they do. It happened and all you can think about is crawling into bed and shutting the world out. So, that’s what I did.

Of course, when the dust settles, it’s important to think about what brought this about. I know my triggers and some of them were definitely the culprits this time. I had overwhelmed myself with work. My marriage was a wreck. My daughter was sucking the life out of me. I felt like a horrible mother and wife. Your usual stuff.

Except for one thing. Something unusual had happened and I didn’t know until it was too late that it could have ever been a trigger.

In October of last year, I started the process of writing a book. I’m working with a publisher and editor. It is a collaborative effort with a small group of yoga friends and mentors who played a huge part in my journey toward motherhood. They taught me how to manifest my dream of becoming a mother, even at the ripe old age of forty-four. My first draft is due on April first and the release date is November first. The working title is Kula Talk.

Sounds great, right? It has been. What a treat it is to look back over the last ten years of my life and see how far I’ve come and the amazing things I’ve accomplished. When I remember who I was then and see who I am now…mother, wife, writer, artist…the transformation is amazing.

But, what I didn’t realize in doing research into my own past was that I would be reliving it. I’ve read through old journal entries, found old books I read, looked through old pictures, and struggled to remember intimate details, many of which are painful. My path to motherhood was not an easy one and although it all turned out beautifully, the way I got there was physically, emotionally, and mentally draining.

Psychologists talk about theAnniversary Effect’, which, according to Psychology Today, is defined as a unique set of unsettling feelings, thoughts or memories that occur on the anniversary of a significant experience. Now, the actual calendar date of my panic attack holds no significance that I’m aware of, but I strongly feel that the dredging up of past experiences for my book played a large part in my feelings of fear, hopelessness, and anxiety. I felt like I was there again and I was scared. Not a terribly ‘happy’ anniversary.

It’s really no wonder. I’ve been reliving bad relationships, fear of never being a mother, fights with my husband, the pain of fertility shots, pre-natal and postpartum depression, and a few other struggles to finish the long list. I’ve never been one to hold my feelings in and the evidence surrounds me in books, journals, pictures and letters.

Needless to say, I have pressed pause on my book for now. I tried to take a look at it a few days after my incident, but only felt the sadness rising again. The words looked disjointed, the story seemed incongruent. I know that it’s not and it certainly has the strength and merit deserving of a quality book, but to my eyes and heart right now, it doesn’t feel right. And that’s okay. For now.

I know I’ve got a story to tell and I will tell it. It is much too important. And I feel sure that it will touch others in a way that will make my struggle worth it. I’ll be back on track very soon.

sometimes
I wrote this several years back in response to a therapist who told me that I don’t have to identify myself by anxiety and depression. So, I took it a bit further and got really pissed at it.

Pressing pause, working on identity, and dealing with unsettling feelings and memories are all things I wish my brother would do to recover from alcoholism and his Co-occurring  Disorders, anxiety and depression. Many times over the years, we have tried to help him through this problem, but we can’t. He needs professional help.  And until he finally realizes that, nothing will change.

PPD and Me

PPD and Me…

I live in a rapidly growing community. In fact, we are ranked the third fastest growing community in the country.  We are surrounded by construction, moving vans, model homes, more construction, new residents, and tons of newborn babies! They’re everywhere!

Don’t get me wrong. I love it here. It is absolutely perfect for my small family. My daughter is thriving here and, since day one of her life, has brought me nothing but life itself. I just have to admit that seeing all these young moms with new babies is making me a bit sad. I feel like I was robbed.

I was 43 when I got pregnant. We went through hell and a good chunk of our bank account to get there. My pregnancy was not void of minor complications. My C-section and 6 day stint in the hospital almost did me in. Bringing my daughter into this world was hard as hell in a lot of ways.

And still, that’s not what haunts me the most. And I do really mean to use the word ‘haunt.’ When I see the happiness, glow, adoration, and purity of a mother with her new baby, I can only think back to the first four, extremely difficult, months of motherhood. It was rough. It was sad. It was scary. It was disturbing. It is unchangeable, yet I truly wish I could go back and do it again.

I lost half my blood volume from the C-section. This was discovered after the persistent vomiting that kept me from holding my baby right away. The nurses were told to prep me for a blood transfusion, but my amazing OB was able to control the bleeding. The process was disturbing and scary, I hear from my mother and husband. I was too far out of it to know. So, I was a new mother and severely anemic. I will never forget the struggle between the desire to sleep when I got the chance and the sadness and paranoia felt when a nurse, or even my husband, took the baby away. I cried one night because I didn’t trust the nurse who came in to take her for a bath, but I didn’t want to wake my husband. I was a complete mess. In addition to the anemia, I was headed for post pardem depression.

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When I look back on this part of it, I feel extremely pissed that no one saw it coming. I have been treated for clinical depression and anxiety since 2001. I had to go off my medication for the fertility treatments and had to stay on a low dose during my pregnancy. In hindsight, I truly believe that my doctors should have put me back on my normal dose the day she was born. My history had proven that the danger to me far outweighed the danger to my baby.

On about our third day of being home with our baby, even though I had three other family members to help me, I knew something was very wrong. I remember sitting in the glider, nursing my daughter, feeling so incredibly weak, not wanting to eat a single bite of food, crying frequently, still paranoid about my baby, shaking like a leaf, wondering how in the hell I was going to do this…I called my husband into the room, asked him to close the door, and insisted that he call my doctor.

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It took about four months for my anemia to dissipate and my depression to get under control. In that time, I lost 40 pounds (30 from pregnancy and 10 more); I only ate bananas and Boost drinks, if that; I worried constantly about my daughter and hated to leave her for any reason; I wanted no one around, especially my in-laws; I didn’t want to leave the house, even for a walk; I had a very hard time sleeping, even when she was; at least once a day, I retreated into my room to cry, often while nursing or trying to take care of my baby. I felt like a terrible mother. The one thing I am thankful for is that I still craved being with my daughter and taking care of her. I know that there are mothers who have PPD so bad that they want nothing to do with their child. I feel so sad for those mothers.

So, when I see the new mothers on my block looking healthy, young, happy, in control, getting family portraits, posting on Facebook, celebrating, feeling great, welcoming visitors, eating, laughing, sleeping, being confident, walking/running with the stroller, etc, etc, etc., I truly feel like I was robbed. And I feel a sadness that will probably never go away.

As part of the ridiculous (and mostly useless) preparation for the big arrival, my husband downloaded a collection of lullabies and soothing sounds to our Ipads to use to help put our daughter to sleep. The one we used mostly was the sound of rain. We started it in the hospital on day one and used it a lot. I don’t ever want to hear those songs and sounds again. They bring up the most horrible memories. I remember sadness, fatigue, depression, anxiety, paranoia, anger, weakness, mistrust, disappointment, jealousy, fear, fear, fear…the fear that I would never be normal again.

Thank God, thank treatment, thank therapy, thank my doctors, thank my family, thank my daughter, that I am normal again…as normal as a woman can be after having her first (and only) child at the age of 44.

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