Based in louisville, kentucky, "hi my name is amos", is a blog and youtube channel about mental health, body image, and managing life. 


I haven't written in a long time, mostly because I haven't had anything to say that was positive. I don't want too many Negative Nancy posts. We've all had those seasons of this journey where you think nothing is working and you see nothing change (I owe Terri 20 push-ups so far in this entry). Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I jammed my toe on a book hidden under my dresser. This book just happened to be my high school yearbook from my senior year. After cussing at it and myself, I threw it on my bed and took a look. It's been awhile since I thought about it or high school.

I never allowed anyone, when I was growing up, to take photos of below my shoulders. I either stood behind someone, or refused to take the photo. I've never been a big fan of my body and I didn't want photographic evidence. As I looked through the pages, I noticed someone had gotten one of me and put it in the yearbook. Then I remembered Sam took it in the counseling office, on Valentine's Day, which was also pajama day. I had rubber ducky pajamas, that my mom had made, because there were not pajamas available for someone my size. I only participated in two pajama days at school. Once my freshman year, it was a traumatic experience. I refused to participate again until basketball homecoming my senior year.

TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE: My freshman year, I thought I'd give school spirit a try. I didn't participate in any school event, other than theatre or choir, but I tried out spirit week. Anyway, pajama day. Who doesn't love going to school and not having to change clothes?  Me. I had green/blue/red/yellow plaid pajamas. The day had gone pretty normal until 4th period. Mr. Woods Algebra 1 class. We were going about our work, when I got up to ask my friend, Drew, a question. I heard some snickering from the other corner of the room. I met eyes with them and they continued to laugh. I was used to people laughing at me. By 9th grade, it didn't hurt that much anymore. The jokes had gotten old. I flipped them off (sorry, Momma) and sat down. They kept laughing ALL class. Now I was annoyed. Class ended and I waited for them to leave before I did. As I got to the hallway, Tony (one of the boys who was laughing), yelled "AMOS SPLIT HER PANTS!!!" and started running and laughing. I called my mom and left school. The girls of the group never let me forget that day. Not even when we graduated. 

Back to topic. When I saw that photo, I recognized myself, but barely. I was instantly transported back. I remembered not fitting in desks. All the jokes. Struggling to get up and down stairs. Not being able to sit with my friends at the movies. I often sat on the floor, but it was a feat to get up. I didn't start trying to lose weight until I got to college. Every day at the gym was a battle. I couldn't last more than 5 minutes on the elliptical. I could only walk at a 1.4 speed on the treadmill. I was weak. I changed the way I ate, stayed active. The weight started to come off.

Lately, I have been having similar battles in the gym. I feel like I fail myself, my partner during workouts, and my trainer every. single. day. I haven't been seeing the results I want. Trace has me doing a lot of getting up and down off the floor. It kills my legs and my spirit. I so desperately want to be normal and be able to work like everyone else. I hate not being good at something at first go. I'm a perfectionist to a fault. My standards for myself at so high, only Jesus can meet them.

Then I found my yearbook. While I may still be frustrated and leave the gym crying every day for the next month, I have come a long way. And I still have a long way to go. I'm not failing, I'm learning and growing. I have to allow some room for that.



The Fine Line Between Self-Improvement and Self-Destruction