For the record

So I have two theories on my dad; and by dad I mean my biological father. 

I think he is a piece of shit to my sister and I. I feel he has no care, nor desire or fight to be a part of my life. I blame my step-mom for the majority of it, but at the same time, he is his own person and I feel it is his fault. I think he is a coward. And a deadbeat. Cruel, but true. 

And then I see the side of him, that reflects in me. His artistic nature, his passion for [most of] those around him. His love to cook, and those wrinkles in his forehead he gets when he makes the faces. I have those too. His round blue eyes, and the way he used to sing me to sleep when I was younger. Much younger. 

I was talking to my dad (my step dad) the other day about it. I realized i have no positive memories of him, after the age of, oh I don’t know, 8? Actually, I retract; The last positive memory I have of Sam was when my Papa passed away. the amount of compassion and empathy he had for me, still moves me. Regardless, I am 25. And the last positive memory of Sam was when my Papa passed away. When I was in 7th grade at the age of 13. How….. ridiculous. 

I did inherit my love and ability of music from him though. I remember being younger, like 4, and him playing the piano or guitar as I am dancing around to the Shirley Temple songs that I just couldn’t get enough of after visiting my Papa. Man, I miss my Papa. 

You know, I strongly feel that if it wasn’t for that man, I wouldn’t know Sam. He would have backed out years and years ago when he found his wife, and had their kids. That’s when he disappeared on us. After he had his new family. And I hold an immense amount of resentment towards him for that. 

I resent his inability to parent me and be there for me. I am betrayed that he never showed up for my award ceremonies, or soccer games. Or dance. 

Dance….dancing is my passion. My whole entire heart is filled with the joy of my child and dancing. The way my body moves to emote the anger and hurt. I think that could be why I love it so much. I emote. I express. I never realized how healing and therapeutic dance was/could be for me until my Papa passed. I went to rehearsal the next day, a little sulky, and spoke with my teacher. She pulled me aside during warm up and stretch and told me how to use my emotion to portray the story in dance. I had danced for 11 years at that point, and had never realized that dance was the oxygen to my life. That day, in class, was probably one of the most emotional for me yet. 

Back on track! He was never there. Sam forgot me at school more than my hands can count. He would agree and promise, and then fail to follow through. He was so disingenuous with his actions and words to my sister and I- I just kind of lost hope in him. I lost hope in having my dad. How sad. 

Two major events, I remember vividly. At daycare one day, it was a Friday and my mom had let us know Sam would be picking us up. Obviously excited, 6pm rolls around, timing to 630p and then 645. Around 7pm (30 minutes after the daycare has closed) my uncle walks in and we leave with him. Still being young, I asked where Sam was, Richard mentioned he was picking us up later, and we carried on. Still excited I might add that our uncle picked us up- because kids are like that. Getting excited about the small things. 

Dinner time rolls around….bedtime rolls around and low and behold at 1145pm Sam RINGS THE DOORBELL. Sister and I jump out of bed, waltz into the living room and are immediately instructed to go back into our room. Sam showed up almost 5 1/2 hours late, drunk….to pick us up. Nice one. Needless to say, we spent the night with my grandmother. 

Another time, my dad takes me to dance practice. Super big deal by the way, because its the first night for Daddy Daughter Act dance practice and Sam was going to join me. (Right? haha.) I go through my normal set of classes….and into the first 15 minutes of DDA practice….still…no Sam. I called my dad and he was already downstairs. Like he even knew he needed to be there for me. Sam never showed up…to any of those practices. I danced for 19 years and the man only came to ONE recital. 

My dad, he stepped up and he stepped in. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to. He was always there, and still is. That man has never let me down. 

The more so pathetic part of all this, is Sam has three other children. I love my brothers and sisters, so very and incredibly much. But it is so hard at some points, to not envy them for the fact that he is there for them. Never missed a band show, soccer game, basketball or dance practice for any of them. He takes them hunting, he takes them on family vacations and never once invited us. Call it envy or call it hurt. I still struggle with those emotions, and not resenting them [my brothers and sister] for that. I get angry that He can be there for those kids at the drop of a dime. I may be over-reacting and dramatizing the situation in whole in this aspect, but how do I have a sister, who does dance and cheer and anything else that could possibly make her happy, and he is there for HER. He never lets HER down. He put her in dance, she almost has my name, she is the “baby”, and here I am. Its like she copies me. Ridiculous and immature sounding I am sure, but it sucks. 

We would have to ask to come over, even on the weekends that we were supposed to be there. I had to ask sam if I could come over to his house because I missed him. His response…”Let me ask your step-mom,” generally leading to “Oh we have plans, not this weekend.”

Bitterness is starting to takeover. 

My ending moment with Sam was Easter weekend of 2013. I was 23 years old at this point. A grown woman. He sent out a text to sister and I saying Easter dinner at his house..blah blah blah, and would love for the kids and us to come. I replied back to him saying I didn’t have Addie but would love to be there…what time? He told me never mind. 

Yes, when he found out I wouldn’t have my child….he didn’t want me there. Ouch. 

I have attempted to go to counseling with him. He never showed up. I have set up dinner dates, or times to meet him at his house to talk through things. Bailed. 

He is my flesh and blood. But he is not my dad. I have a dad who loves me, cares about me and supports me. 

In 2007 I was in a pretty horrific car accident. fractured my L spine and C spine, had to be care-flighted to the hospital. My seatbelt broke, and I flew out my car. The entire way to the hospital, according to dr’s, I was screaming for my daddy. Once in the hospital, Sam walked into the room, I looked at him and said no, I want my daddy. 

That says a lot to me. I have no recollection of that. None at all. 

About three weeks ago, I was walking to my car at lunch, fell in the parking lot and started seizing. Again, in the ambulance…I was crying for my daddy. 

The one man I need in my life, and he has NEVER once left me. He has never passed me off or broken a promise to be there for me. He has always stepped up and filled the void I had for a long time. I am such a daddy’s girl. I am such a lucky girl. 

Going back to the conversation I had the other day with my dad, we were talking about him legally adopting me, as an adult. I want to legally have his last name. I want to have him as my dad on paper. I want him to legally give me away when I get married. Although I use Long for everything, I want my driver’s license to say it. I want my w-2’s and my paystubs to say it. And it will. 

Anyway, we were addressing concerns with doing such, and his biggest concern is that I am doing this for the wrong reasons. Out of spite and anger; to get back at Sam. And I get that. But that’s not why, those aren’t my reasons.

Then he asked if something happened to Sam, how would I feel. And I just sat for a few moments and pondered. 

I don’t think it would affect me to be frank. I know, I say that now. But honestly, how could it. I have not had this man in my life at all for how many years? When I have needed him to catch me fall and save me, the times I went running to him, hoping he would just hold me…he wasn’t there. He chose not to be there. I can’t be sad. I can’t hurt. I honestly don’t even think I have anything to say to him. I don’t have love for him. I have nothing from him or for him. He has given me nothing but anger, and emotional issues and sadness. Hurt, Sam has given me so much hurt. 

I was over on his part of town about two months ago…and ran into the store. There he was. And he just looked at me, then kept walking. 

And that’s exactly what I am doing. I am just going to keep walking. 

I have EVERYTHING I need for a dad, and more. 


For any of the family on his side, you may not agree. You may not believe and that is all you. He used sister and I as a trophy. He bragged about us and our accomplishments. He shared our pictures on Facebook and claimed to be so proud of us, yet never called or text. Never made an effort. 

The man never fought for me. 

I have such a struggle with allowing people into my life that don’t fight for me. I am so reckless with my actions sometimes, because I allow the struggle to win. And I am done with that. 

I have given Addison’s dad HELL because I am so afraid of her being treated and forgotten by him like I was. (Sorry JP but you know my struggles and issues on this) 

My dad shattered my heart. Subconciously, he broke me. And there is a huge, concrete and hardened wall of stone around me because of that. 

I don’t hate, but if I did, I would hate him. Instead, I am going to thank him. I thank him for the strength I have gained, the wisdom and self power. And I thank him for walking away so my daddy could walk in.



I have slacked TERRIBLY on here! My apologies.

However, due to some recent difficult times, this blog is brought to you in hopes to spread some awareness and insight on the battle of a girl trying to love who she is, her body and the struggles with eating disorders and self image.

I mean no negativity, and to be frank, I could really care less if you think I look like a twig or too little. As people who are overweight battle with their eating and health habits, I do too. This blog is to try and give you an insight, not a sob story.

SO here we go.

I hate my body. I don’t think I will ever be content with how I look; ever. I have my days and some days I am okay with it all. Others, well not so much.

A few years ago, I figured that if I just stop eating, and control my hunger, I shed pounds. So i did and it was to the extreme. It got out of hand, but I was OBSESSED with the fact that I was little. If i was hungry, I would allow myself lettuce, or water or tic tacos (crazy low in calories, but cured the hunger). Slowly it got to the point where I wasn’t even hungry. So if I did eat, I would get sick. I wouldn’t even purge myself, it just happened. Mainly because my body was not used to eating, let alone eating servings or plates full of food.

After some time, it obviously affected my health. I wasn’t healthy. Literally, I was losing hair, I was tired, my teeth were starting to break, I had no color to my skin. I was getting sick which has now chronically affected my GI and I now have no stomach lining and uncontrollable acid reflux. There are times it puts me in the hospital because it flares up so bad and nothing makes the acid go away. I will throw up blood, because my stomach and esophagus is so raw. It affects my colon, and my digestive tract. Its seemingly funny that when you choose to make this type of lifestyle you don’t think about the harm it causes to your body. But it’s understandable because the focus is on being skinny. Your life is revolved around the obsession of being little.

I never made the choice to do this because I didn’t feel good enough, or someone said I was fat. That shit happens all the time and it can easily be brushed off. I did it because my life was a spiral downward and it gave me control. I had control of what my body looked like. I could go buy a pair of size 14 kid shorts and in two weeks fit in them. It was never a concern of whether or not I looked pretty, or healthy. My concern was being skinny.

I know, ridiculous.

I don’t feel there is enough, whats the word- understanding? I don’t know. Awareness? I don’t think there is enough care in people to understand why people do this. The world will never 100% accept somebody for what they have. There will ALWAYS be an issue with something on someone. With everything that was happening in my life, I decided I needed control, and that gave it to me.

Now, here I am. 7 years later, and although it is a struggle, everyday, I look at myself and what I have gained (no pun intended) and I look at my daughter. What would I do with myself if she felt this way? If she wanted to just be little and skinny? I would overcome with guilt. I don’t want that for her. She is absolutely beautiful and perfect the way she is.

So here, after 12 weeks of being in the gym, learning to eat and eat correctly at that, working on myself, I am also teaching her the healthy way. I am teaching her self pride and positive self image. I want her to know she is beautiful and strong. (Trust me, it’s working). I don’t want her to think that its okay to be unhealthy and bony.

in the last two years my weight has fluctuated from 80 pounds to my max, which is where I am now. As I shockingly say I am proud to weigh what I do. I am proud of my progress. I fit in clothes I couldn’t fit in before. My clothes are too big. BUT I am healthy. I am toned. I have meat on my bones. I have a release.

Working out gives me control too. I am in control of my diet. I am in control of my gain. I am in control.


I don’t feel or at least see enough support for people like me. People don’t understand the battle of body dismorphia or anorexia. I have to force myself to eat. I have to learn that what I see in the mirror is not what I truly am. And everyday, I continue to grow stronger to do so. Healthy is okay. Weighing 140 pounds is okay.

It’s okay because I am healthy. Its okay because I’m happy. I am learning.


My lowest around 90 pounds.





THis picture above, I would say I was about 100 pounds. I see two different things when I look at this. I see my legs, wishing they were smaller, but the other part of me sees skinny. Bones out way too skinny.



This picture was about three years ago, and I wasn’t eating at this point. Either the week before or week after this picture, I remember I fell and passed out in target.

THis picture below is the recent of all, going back to two years ago. Here I see my legs being too big and the belly fat hanging over the jeans. I know, you probably don’t see it. How could you, theres not a lot of it. BUt i do. And thats what I would focus on,






New Years 2012




And here I am today. After 12 weeks of being in the gym, this is just the start to my new healthy lifestyle.


I am so proud to be me.