This is me after running (okay, mostly walking) my first 10k last month.

I look a lot better than I felt, believe me. It took three days for my hips and ankles to forgive me, and I practically had to buy them flowers to make that happen.

But the fact that I could run at all amazed me.

A few months ago, I wrote a post about how I was about to embark on a journey to reclaim my health. I have been doing just that. I haven't been posting publicly about it very much, because that journey needed to be really personal for a while. I wanted to make sure it became entrenched in my everyday before talking about it too much. The idea of starting something - again - and letting it go - again - was a worry for me. Doing so publicly would have been an extra kick in the shins.

But I'm ready to talk about it now. I want to share why it is so damn important for me - and, frankly, everyone - to make self-care a priority.

It's no secret I have a lot going on these days; three kids, raising a trans youth, lots of advocacy work, my day job as writer and editor, volunteering, and all the other pieces that make up my highly rewarding - yet busy and often challenging - life.

For a lot of people, including me, busy is the new black. I'm not trying to glorify it, It's just a reality. But busy can lead to tired, and tired can lead to overwhelmed. And what does overwhelmed lead to? Stress. Heaping, steaming piles of it.

Stress.  It has spread its little tendrils all over my life. In the last two years, I have clenched my teeth so hard in my sleep that I've cracked one, chipped two, and literally crushed the side of one in way my dentist is fascinated with. "I've never seen this before," he said when I was in his office yesterday. "I shared a picture of it with hundreds of other dentists, and nobody has a clue as to how you managed to do that."

So my teeth, just like my life, are atypical. That's how I roll.

Stress. I was eating it. I don't drink, smoke or do drugs. But I ate my feelings on the regular. I have an anxiety disorder that hasn't been managed well. So every emotion went on my plate. Big stress? Big portions.

I'm not someone who is fixated on a dress size or needs to be under a certain number on the scale to feel good. That's never been me. BMI charts are bullshit, as far as I'm concerned. 

But this Spring, I started realizing just how uncomfortable my body was. My joints hurt, I had major digestive issues, worrisome blood pressure, an overworked heart, and no energy.

When I did eventually get on the scale (my lifelong nemesis), I realized I was the heaviest I had ever been. Ever.

And I got angry. Angry at life and angry at the scale and especially angry with me. Because what I suspected had just been confirmed by a means of measurement: For years, I had stopped taking care of myself to take care of everyone else. Like many parents do, I had put my own needs aside. And when you have a child with extra challenges, it feels like all the more reason to do that. 

Unfortunately, I was paying the price for that self-neglect with pain and sickness and out-of-control anxiety.

Enough.

Stress. Ok, so my body was screaming at me and a change had to be made. Got it. But I have a lot of responsibility. Whenever I've tried to carve out time to take care of myself, one of the reasons I'm not successful long-term is I inevitably drop what I was doing to take care of everything else.

But Amanda, you can't take care of everything else if you're not alive to do it. Duh.

That totally dramatic and yet completely accurate statement was what came through this time, loud and clear.

I have a lot of responsibility on my plate, but I won't be able to manage that responsibility without my health. Period. And therefore, my health has to be the priority, not the other responsibilities.

As a parent who has always prioritized the little people in my life, that sounded both insane and impossible. But it's not. Not if I incorporate small changes over time. Yes, my days are full. My calendar already has so much red ink on it that it looks like a murder scene. But I hoped, like all habits, that once I learned these ones, they would become second nature.

And so I started working with professionals: a supportive team including a bariatric doctor, nutritionist and trainer. I started seeing a psychologist to learn the tools to better manage my anxiety, as I know how big a role in plays in my physical health.

I had tried diets and fads before, and they never lasted. I love fat. I love carbs. I want them to have a place in my life. So I adopted an anti-diet approach: no off-limit foods, no shame, no fitspiration memes, and no quick fixes. 

I would eat for nutrition and taste. I would only do exercise I enjoy. I would follow my body's cues each day and treat it accordingly. I am not a machine, and will not treat my body like a machine. Some days I would have more energy, and some days I would be a raging hormone queen who needs ALL THE SALTY THINGS. That's reality. This was going to be maintainable and enjoyable or it wasn't going to work.

Instead of removing foods from my diet, I focus on what I can add in. Am I getting enough protein to stay satiated longer? Did I eat enough fiber today?

I journal all my food and portions in an app, which made me want to pull out my hair at first and has now become something I don't even have to think about doing anymore; I just do it. As of this post, I have recorded every meal and snack for the last 188 consecutive days. Most days I stay within the goals I've set with my nutritionist, and occasionally I don't. But I'm aware of what's going into my body, and that is so much better than the mindless eating I was doing before.

In those 188 days, I also learned how to walk long distances and run short ones. I started circuit training 2-3 times each week, and I do yoga nearly every evening for both stress-reduction and flexibility.

You know what else I do nearly ever evening? Eat some chocolate because chocolate is life. I weigh out a portion on my kitchen scale and I enjoy that bad boy like it's Brad Pitt in the 90's.

In these 188 days, I have over 40 pounds. That's like removing four 10lb bags of potatoes from my body, and then some. My weight loss has slowed in the last couple of months, but I don't mind at all. Because I have no weight goal and don't make weight itself the priority, plateaus do not frustrate me. I'm providing a healthy environment, and my body will do what it does with that. How I feel is so much more important than what the scale says.

No more joint pain. No more foot pain. No more gallbladder attacks or heartburn. Better stress management. No guilt or shame. Muscles I keep making people touch because I'm so amazed they're on arms. My life has changed so much in the last few months, and I couldn't be happier about it. 

Stress. Self-care is my number one tool against it. And it's hopefully going to keep me from crushing more teeth in a weird way and turning me into some kind of dental celebrity.

I want to be around as long as I can. I have children to raise, words to write, human rights to fight for, and so many people to love. I have a daughter who will face many challenges. If I can model self-care for her, she stands a far better chance of being able to ride those inevitable waves with resilience.

But most of all, the person I'm doing this for is me. I'm worth it.

So keep watching this space, folks. I'm not done yet. Actually, I feel like I'm just getting started.