Physical vs Mental Health: The Weight They Both Carry

Ahhhh! It’s January! So you all know what that means – New Year’s Resolutions – or more specifically, everyone in the world essentially, joining gyms and meal prepping.  Don’t get me wrong, I 100% root for these people! I really fuckin’ do! I hate when people are all, “Let’s see how many of you make it to February” or some shit like that.  Like my dude, these people got goals, why you crapping on that? This shit ain’t easy!


Speaking from experience, on the whole weight fluctuation – to my highest point in 2013 (greaaat times…) to finally hitting maintenance somewhere in 2015, this shit really sucks! And yeah, I’m gonna hold a grudge against people that never had to be fat! Trust, I respect that you never used food as a source of comfort, but for some us, that just wasn’t the case.

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For someone of an oversized stature it takes immense courage and bravery to make a life change.  I remember the days, fearing to enter the gym because I was afraid someone would post an unflattering photo (FUCK TECHNOLOGY), talk behind my back, or call me “just another New Year’s Resolutioner.”  Same would go for ordering food. Going out with friends and ordering a salad, getting sent looks from across the table as if I’m Judas himself.


I’d done it all.  Weight Watchers, low carb, starving myself (which led to binge eating), even attempting a vegan diet (Fuck. My. Life.).  But guess what yo? These were all just temporary solutions to a much larger problem. My brain was hella’ fucked up.

Which leads me to my next point, the ever so fun topic that everyone treats with the utmost respect (eye roll)… mental health…


These two coincide enormously.

Once I got myself to a more realistic mental state, I worked on the why’s of how I got so big, how’s, and the what the fuck am I gonna do about its? My mental health is what made my physical health attainable.

I realized, Caitlin, you ain’t dropping 20 pounds this month. It’s unhealthy, unattainable, and unrealistic. It’s a set up for failure. Accepting that was tough.  I wanted the quick fix, which just wasn’t going to happen.

I’m not going to lie, I’m hella proud of how far I’ve come.  I lost over 100 pounds, maintained a healthy weight for over 3 years, and have more physical and mental health goals than fitting into a certain size pair of jeans.

I want to be stronger, mentally and physically. I just want to constantly improve on me.

Dear World…

That being said, let’s get fuckin’ dark.

From about mid November to mid January, I was in a bad spot. Mentally. A lot had been going on in my life. Things I wasn’t used to. Things I tried to brave on my own. Things I didn’t want to talk about with anyone. Things. I tried to put on a brave front and to be fair other than one person in my life, no one would’ve known what I was truly going through.

My mental health was slacking. I’d finally “come out” to the world (even though everyone who mattered to me had already known), I was looking into moving out of my parents house, and work was brutally killing me due to the holiday season.  I had many more added stresses, which at the moment, I’d prefer to not get into.

Long story short, I wasn’t eating.  Every time I ate I had a pang of nausea. I would either physically vomit  what I had just eaten or barely eat because the nausea was unbearable.  Yet, no one knew.  I mean, people would comment on how little I ate, but it wasn’t too noticeable, especially since eating with company created a huge distraction to my problems.

I put on my happy fuckin’ smile, listened to peoples problems, helped where I could, and essentially, was me. Strong. Always strong. Forced to be strong. However, other than my one person I confided in. No one would’ve know what was happening with me.

Soooo I lost weight, a lot of weight. I’m talking in Christmas to my birthday alone I dropped easily 15-20 pounds.  It was noticeable. Thankfully, due to my average build it looked like I was just losing weight and not suffering from an eating disorder – but it still wasn’t healthy.  My mental health was seriously effecting my physical health.

And here is the sick part.

Everyone was complimenting me.  “Wow Caitlin, you’ve lost so much weight.” “I want to be on your diet plan.” “You look amazing.” Then everyone would get “mad” at me for having a negative reaction to their compliments.

Trust me, living a majority of my life as a big girl, I get it. Fat=Bad; Skinny=Good.  You’re telling me I’m skinny, why am I reacting negatively? Because I know it wasn’t healthy. But how do you tell someone that? Why is it shameful to have a mental health issue? And then I’d feel like shit for having my problems. I was literally consuming about 500 calories per day because my mental health was causing physical fucking pain.

I don’t blame anyone for these “compliments.” They’re doing what society has taught them for years. I just wish that it was different.

I wish that mental health was talked about more.

I wish I didn’t have to go through what I was going through essentially alone.

I wish I wasn’t always forced to be strong.

I wish I wasn’t so guarded.

I wish I wasn’t complimented for being “healthy” when I was so unhealthy.

I wish therapy and self help wasn’t so frowned upon.

I wish I didn’t mask my pain with a smile and a beer.

I wish society didn’t base someones worth on their jean size.

I wish we could all look in the mirror and be like “Damn Mami, you lookin’ fly!”

I hope for a day when all my wishes are a reality.





Hey everybody (or nobody), the names Caitlin and I’m here to discuss, vent, and overthink a variety of topics.  Let’s start with the basics.  Why now? Why am I starting to get into blogging now?

First of all, I’m hoping this is going to become a blog where people share or interact with my content, but realistically, I’m aware that this may just end up becoming a public journal consisting of the nonconventional thoughts of a possible sociopath. I’m taking a small chance here, while understanding that some people may just read what I write, scrutinize or mock my thoughts, kind of like a Live Journal. Anyone remember Live Journal? Live Journal was fuckin’ lit! But we digress…


Blogging is something I’ve always enjoyed.  And I’m definitely not talking about my Tumblr days where I’d waste time reblogging pictures, gifs, or funny videos. I mean “real” blogging where people share thoughts or ideas, giving others the opportunity to interact with or cyberbully them. Also, I figure, why not take a chance? I can be a 27 year old, gay, mail lady taking a chance on writing a successful blog, or I could be a 30 year old, gay, mail lady who spent 3 more years locking in my thoughts, feelings, and emotions causing mental turmoil and irrepricable damage to my psyche.


I remember watching a video once where someone on Taylor Swift’s “team” was discussing how talented she was. The interviewer asked something like, “What do you say to people who say she can’t sing?” And the interviewee responded with, “Her talent goes beyond singing. Who can just sit down and write a song because the feel like writing a song?”


Now, I’m not saying I’m Taylor Swift, but I’d happily accept her paycheck.  However, I really believe we all have something to say. Thoughts come in and out of our minds constantly.  Our brains are always moving, yet, most of the time we don’t sit back and reflect on what’s happening inside our heads or we hide our opinions behind what we’re “supposed to think.”

Personally, I have thoughts, quotes, phrases, “what’s that from?”‘s running through my head more rapidly than than a heart monitor attached to a shot gun wound victims chest. Working alone for most of the day will do that to you. And then I’ll think about it, overthink it, forget about it, then think of it again. An endless cycle.  It’s not always bad though. It gives me time to reflect on my thoughts or statements on whatever audiobook, podcast, or song I’m listening to at the moment.  I love to text my cousin or call my friends to hear their take or have a discussion on what I’d just heard or thought of. Take feedback, learn, grow.  That’s how we become better people.

I’m taking back my voice and seeing what others have to say (or not say).  Maybe I’ll get something great out of this or maybe no one will even see it. Who fucking knows…

“But blogging is becoming a thing of the past Caitlin, why not try vlogging or something in that metric?” (no one has said this, but I assume it is a possible question).

My answer is simple. My man, Richie Crocco didn’t talk about my vlogging skills for years to come at good ‘ol Kolbe fucking Cathedral.  He talked and used my writing to show the youngins how shit was supposed to be done.  My college essay was a work of freakin’ art.


Also, expressing your feelings and thoughts is a truly healthy form of clearing your mental state.  Not everyone has the ability to write a poem, paint a picture, or sing a song, but we all have the ability to form sentences and try to construct them into paragraphs only to bear your soul to strangers. Words are just so expressive and to limit them is absurd. We should use as many words as possible. Learn them, study them, and fucking use them!

Writing is also a form of venting. A release. It assists in the positive progress of mental health! I personally have had my run ins with mental health and didn’t always seek out the healthiest of ways to go about it. I’m working on it… Life’s a journey bruh, not a destination.  Every single thing in your life takes effort, consciously and subconsciously, so I’m just gonna take it for the ride.

And in the mean time, just gonna try to be the best possible version of me I can be.


So sit back, pull out the reading glasses, tip back your evening brandy, and enjoy.


Final Note: Mama wouldn’t hate if this turned into a side hustle, attempting to retire by 55 nah mean? You can hit me up on Venmo, or nahhhh.