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A little more than two years ago, I would’ve rather spent my days making snow angels on a bed full of razor blades than go to work.

To escape daily psychological torture, I found myself spending my lunch “hour” (30 minutes) in the car, shoving fast food down my gullet and attempting to mentally disconnect from my daily interactions with the boss from hell.

Simply put, I was miserable. I was miserable and unhealthy.* I was miserable, unhealthy* and sarcastic.** All the time. In fact, I originally started my blog as an outlet for my snark.

*Unhealthy is a nice way of saying I was downright fat. I gained nearly 20 pounds in eight months.

**Sarcasm is my go-to coping mechanism for everything. I use it when I’m happy, but it really takes over when I’m sad. The more caustic I am, the more I need a hug.

The irony of it all is that I worked at a health center with a strong mental health focus. And it was this place that had driven me to such misery. I knew I had to escape about three weeks into the job. I started looking for a new job about six weeks in.

Seven months later, I had received a few job offers. But, something told me to be patient. I knew I was destined for better.

I stuck it out.

Here I am at a fundraiser. (And fat!)
I’m only able to force a smile because I know on that following Monday, I’m putting in my two weeks notice.

Two weeks after this photo was taken, I started my new job. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I felt like I’d made the right choice.

Then, they presented me with my nameplate.

I feel like there’s a typo.
Are you sure ‘Annie’ is spelled with an ‘A’?

Things were looking up. In addition to lacking the psychological trauma of my previous employer, my new company seemed to be a pretty healthy place to work. It’s a wellness company after all.

I was so pumped, I even jumped for joy from time to time.

Proof that fat girls can jump.

Then I started taking these nutrition shakes.

Dare me to drink this?

And working with these people.

I gave my new job a thumbs up.

The only drawback is we’re only allowed to wear purple and gray. Weird.

And I started to feel more happy.

Yearbook photo pose.

Did I mention they pressured me into joining a gym? And running? Running, like, without dribbling a basketball or being chased by a mugger. These people were batshit crazy.

Let’s pretend I earned that medal.

But I kept doing it. Working. Running.

And drinking my nutrition shakes.

Because it was about more than just losing physical weight. I was losing the weight of the baggage I’d carried around since my last job.

Weight lifted off my shoulders. GET IT?!
FYI, I’m hilarious.

And two years later and 35 pounds lighter, life is good.

Professional Pic

I’m wearing a shirt advertising a product that promotes healthy digestion. Because the best people are regular poopers.

That must be the secret.

4 thoughts on “Working Things Out

  1. Now I know the back story on why you look brighter and shinier every time I see you. Congratulations!

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