From the star of TLC’s My Big Fat Fabulous Life and the YouTube sensation “A Fat Girl Dancing” comes an empowering memoir about letting go of your limitations and living the life you deserve. Right now.

Whitney Way Thore stands five feet two inches tall and weighs well over three hundred pounds, and she is totally, completely, and truly . . . happy. But she wasn’t always the vivacious, confident woman you see on TV. Growing up as a dancer, Whitney felt the pressure to be thin, a desire that grew into an obsession as she got older. From developing an eating disorder as a teenager, to extreme weight gain in college, to her ongoing struggle with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), Whitney reveals her fight to overcome the darkest moments in her life. She holds nothing back, opening up about the depths of her depression as well as her resilience in the face of constant harassment and mistreatment.

Now Whitney is on top of the world and taking no BS (Body Shame, of course). And she’s sharing the steps she took to get there and the powerful message behind her successful No Body Shame campaign. She even reveals her favorite “F” word (it’s probably not what you think), the thrill of doing it with the lights on, and the story behind the “Fat Girl Dancing” video that started it all.

Exuberant and utterly honest, I Do It with the Lights On is the inspiring story of how Whitney finally discovered her fabulousness when she stepped off the scale and into her life, embracing herself unconditionally—body, heart, and soul.

Advance praise for I Do It with the Lights On
 
“Whitney’s story is one of radical vulnerability. She is a vibrant example of what it means to choose confidence when insecurity beckons from every corner. She is cool, funny, and shameless—in the best possible way.”—Kelsey Miller, author of Big Girl: How I Gave Up Dieting & Got a Life

“Soaring above expectations, I Do It with the Lights On delves into the complicated relationship between a woman and her body. With her trademark charisma, Whitney emerges triumphant, plucking from the mire some of the most important realizations one can hope to have. If you have a body, this memoir is a must-read.”—Linda Bacon, PhD

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So here’s the thing: Full House represents a more innocent time. A Friday night tradition where the half hour spent with the Tanners was something you looked forward to, and when the clock struck TGIF, it was just you and the TV. And maybe other people in your family. And that was it. No phones, no distractions, just doing one thing at a time and enjoying it. This was childhood in the late 80s and early 90s.

Long before the Fuller House Netflix reboot became a reality, I was awake at all hours of the night with my newborn daughter, battling postpartum hormones and severe sleep deprivation—a potentially lethal combination. An anxious, crying mess, I turned on the only thing I thought my fried brain could handle during yet another 2 a.m. feeding. Full House reruns on Nick at Nite. With my daughter downing her 10^th feeding of the past 24 hours, I watched the Tanners. “Watched” might be a stretch. I allowed them to share our sacred early morning space. Because reruns of this show I’d grown up with had become the visual and audio equivalent of comfort food. It kept me company and made me feel good when I was otherwise a wreck.

Fast forward to the premiere of Fuller House on Netflix. The decades-awaited spinoff. It’s so easy, so simple to hate on it. The original was panned by critics, and here we are in round two, those who hated the show the first time around gleefully taking their swings again. One overriding theme: It’s nothing but nostalgia.

But what’s wrong with nostalgia?

If something can bring you back to a time in your life where everything made sense, your loved ones were alive and well, and everything about your existance was just simpler, why not embrace that? It’s like yoga, or therapy, and you can dole it out in whatever 30-ish-minute increments you see fit.

Seeing D.J., Stephanie, Kimmy, Uncle Jesse, Aunt Becky, Danny and Joey sitting around the table makes me smile and I’m not apologizing for it. Which is why I pitched and relentlessly pursued the Tanners’ reunion for People. Walking on to the recreated set in Los Angeles was the best convergence of a childhood dream and a professional pursuit that I could ever imagine.

Now that newborn is now a very busy and opinionated almost-3-year-old, and I’ve introduced her to the show. She loves “E.J.” and “Uncle Yesse,” as she calls them.

“Mommy, they are hugging,” she astutely points out to me.

And then we hug, too.

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First meeting Whitney, almost 1 year ago

To start, I’m just going to blow right past the fact that I have temporarily abandoned my poor little blog. I’m back and we’re moving on. K? K.

For the past few months I’ve been working with Whitney Thore, star of TLC’s My Big Fat Fabulous Life, on her upcoming memoir.

Whitney is a joy in every sense of the word. As someone to collaborate on a book with, as a writer and just as a human being. She has influenced how I look at myself and think about my appearance and I truly believe she’s changing the world with her No Body Shame campaign. This woman is infectious and empowering.

As fans of her show know, Whitney often refers to other women as “sister.” I’ve always found this cute and endearing, a sweet little southern touch in her personality. But the more I’ve gotten to know her and come to understand the depths of her message, the more I’ve learned what it means to call each other “sister.”

You know how the more time you spend with someone, the more you pick up on their patterns of speech? When I spend time with my Texan friend Lindsey, I find myself dropping a “y’all” here and there, which I wouldn’t ordinarily do. #proudyankee

As I worked more and more with Whitney, who typically starts texts or calls with a friendly “Hey, sister,” I found myself wanting to do the same. I hesitated at first — would she think I was just mirroring or copying the way she spoke? (How’s that for a childish insecurity? I’m not copying you, I swear!) But I quickly got over myself and started calling her “sister” right back. And not just because it’s totally charming.

Whitney’s message goes beyond body positivity. She’s opened my eyes to the extent to which a woman’s societal worth is wrapped up in her appearance. This is not the case for men. Even as children, boys are praised for their strength and skills, whereas one of the first things people will tell a little girl is how pretty she is.

I’m not about to ramble on about the social implications here. I’m just trying to get my blogging legs back, after all! For now, let’s just celebrate the fact that the societal pressures on women open the door for sisterhood. For us to band together and celebrate one another in ways that transcend our bodies and our looks.

Whitney has helped me to see this and to celebrate myself, rather than scrutinize. If that is sisterhood, I’m all in.

So, Whitney, if you read this … thanks, sister.

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To be completely honest, I did have two Cokes while battling a nasty stomach bug in early March when I couldn’t eat or drink much of anything else and it made me feel a lot better. But I figure medicinal-only Coke is okay. That experience really showed me how much I crave it when I’m drinking it. Once I was over the bug I would have killed for another, but a day or two after that, I lost most interest in my former carbonated infatuation.

Who knows how much cutting soda has contributed to my weight loss, but I’m happy to report that along with keeping a daily food diary, and upping my Bar Method to 5-6 days a week plus a little cardio has all added up to 13 lbs. lost since late December. Hooray!

Even better news? It’s no longer so much about the number on the scale or the size of the clothes for me. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been thanks my beloved Bar (check out my transformation story in the link), and I’m 3 months in to what I truly believe will result in lifelong weight maintenance. Everything in moderation, as many whole foods as possible, tons of water and a weigh-in once a week to keep myself honest.

Boom.

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But these pounds are not going to lose themselves. I’ve written about body acceptance after baby and while I still do believe that weight loss shouldn’t be a new mom’s top priority, now that my “baby” is a year and a half, it’s time to get serious about those last few lbs I’ve been ignoring.

Thus began my great plan with D. It’s so simple but has been really effective since we started it six weeks ago: We write down everything we eat, all day, and text it to each other at night to be accountable. Now that it’s become a habit, if I am thinking about an extra snack or latte, I ask myself, “Do you really want to send that to D tonight?”

It only took me a decade to realize that depriving myself of my favorite food and drink has a boomerang effect. It’s ALL about portion control and moderation. Hello, what took me so long? But there’s one issue that still needs addressing.

My Coke addiction.

Yes, I mean Coca-Cola, and it’s funny that I’m hooked on the stuff considering the fact that I am a former Diet Coke drinker. After a good 12 years as a diet soda devotee, I woke up one day and decided it was time to stop pouring chemicals into my body. (See a theme here? You really figure stuff out in your early 30s.) My amazing nutritionist, Keri Glassman, also deserves credit for helping me kick the habit. I haven’t had a Diet Coke, or any artificial sweeteners, in 2+ years. I’m proud of the switch and don’t miss them at all. In fact, if Dunkin puts a Splenda into my decaf iced coffee instead of a sugar by mistake, I can’t stand to drink it and wonder how I ever did.

But here’s where things went awry: While pregnant with baby K, I had horrible heartburn, and my father-in-law once mentioned that regular Coke can help with stomach upset. Boy, does it ever. I probably had a Coke a week during the last weeks of my pregnancy.

After K arrived, I still had a Coke whenever my stomach bothered me, as well as on other occasions, like when I was eating something salty, or could feign some stomach upset in order to feel okay about drinking pure sugar. Before I knew it, Coke had taken the place of Diet Coke and I found myself hooked once again.

What is it about this stuff? I’ve seen the videos about how well it cleans your toilet (so who knows what it’s doing to my insides) but just the sight of that red and white label sets me up for single-minded obsession. And don’t even get me started on a fountain Coke in a clear cup with ice and a straw. Carbonated BLISS.

Hello, gorgeous

This is where my little health club with D has come in handy. I thought I was drinking a Coke a week, but once I started writing down everything that went into my mouth, it turns out that I was closer to once a day. A 12 oz. coke is 140 calories. Of SUGAR. No redeeming qualities when it comes to nutrition.

Thanks to our plan — which we’ve dubbed B.S., for Bitches Shrinking — I’m down to just an occasional Coke now, as a treat to myself. Instead of a glass of wine with dinner, I’ll have a Coke with lunch, maybe once every couple of weeks. But D and I are curious about what will happen if we cut it out for a full month. No Coke, no cheating.

It’s pretty convenient that this falls on the shortest month of the year, but hey, it’s a start, right? My hope is that a month without Coke will help me move to a life without it. Here goes nothin.

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It’s a drink made out of kale. Come on. No one wants to drink kale. And I should have done what any reasonable person would have when the cashier told me the price.

Me, on an “I need to eat more greens” kick: I’ll try the One-a-Day green juice.

Le Pain Quotidien cashier: OK, your total is $9.69.

Me: I’m sorry, how much?

LPQ twit: $9.69.

Me: Oh, no, I actually only ordered one.

LPQ hell minion: <blank stare>

Me: That’s the price for one drink?

LPQ diablo: Yes, I’m afraid so.

Me, thinking a ten-dollar drink without vodka in it must have some kind of magical power and producing a credit card: OK, I guess I’ll see if it’s worth it!

The drink appeared on the counter within about 90 seconds. Surely it takes longer to concoct this super-juice that will make me look like Gisele and feel like a master yogi, no?

Walking back to my car, I cautiously take a sip. Green drinks and I have never really gotten along, but surely I just haven’t found The One yet.

Internal monologue:

Oh! This isn’t awful … <after-taste kicks in> … Hmm, I didn’t see anything on the ingredients list that would make it spicy. Why is it spicy? Must just be that first sip. My coffee earlier could be messing with the taste … <takes another sip> Oof, that’s rough. It’s bitter and sour and mulch-y and spicy and not quite cold enough. But hey, I’m just getting into my car and I’ve already had at least half an ounce. Only 11.5 oz to go for wellness! … <Drink sits in cup holder> … <Staring contest with the cup at red light> … Ooh, green light, can’t take a sip now, need to drive safely! … There certainly are a lot of red lights in this area … OK, OK, suck it up, Rennie, and try again … Good gracious, what is IN here, battery acid? My mouth actually tastes like the morning after a college party where no one could afford anything but bottom shelf booze and I fell asleep in my toilet bowl.

It took me 25 minutes to get home, and nothing eliminated the taste of that awful stuff. Not all the water in my giant bottle, not a handful of raw almonds, not even two pieces of the emergency gum stashed in my center console.

I could still taste it an hour after that, en route to a holiday lunch with one of my best girlfriends. I had to mask it with a Miller Lite and fries. How is that helping anyone, LPQ? You see what your One-a-Day drink drives people to do?

One a day is one too many. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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I have a friend who swears by meditation. Another friend wants to do it in a group setting with me (didn’t think that was the point, but whatever … being judge-y and ohm-like don’t seem to go together). I heard about it during yoga in Dewey this summer from David, a real gem who teaches on the beach at Swedes street.

And, most recently, an incredible medium named Anna Raimondi suggested I do it.

“I feel like you know how to meditate, you just don’t,” she told me.

She was spot on with that observation, and just about everything else she told me. But that’s another post for another time.

So. Time to meditate. Quiet the mind. Let me figure out a time on my calendar to do so … how’s three weeks from Thursday?

In all seriousness, I’m going to try. Obviously, I could benefit from a less chattery mind (see above). Anna suggested setting the stopwatch on my phone for ten minutes, and just sitting, breathing in and breathing out.

“Ten minutes is a long time,” she says. I wholeheartedly agree.

Am going to give it a go, but I have a strong feeling this is what’s going to happen when I do …

The post Meditation Situation appeared first on Rennie Dyball.

No, it was NOT fast.

It was a long, slow 365 days filled with more changes and upheaval than I ever could have imagined before having a baby. Is that a bad thing? Certainly not. But I felt each one of those days, weeks, months. Time took on a whole new pace, and life stopped flying by.

It’s not just those outside of freshly-formed little families who claim the year was a fast one. Many of my fellow first-time mamas also seem to think that days 1-365 of new life went by in a flash.

And I cannot figure out why I feel the opposite. Not trying to hard, though.

I’m just grateful that all the difficulties early on feel like a distant memory and I now have a sweet baby girl who plays little games with me and laughs and babbles and seems like the happiest creature in the world when she and her mommy and daddy are all in the same room.

I hope time moves this slowly for many years to come.

The post My 1-Year-Old appeared first on Rennie Dyball.

I only had time to see just a few people (chief among them my hairstylist … I don’t trust my hair to Bethesda yet) and have a bday dinner with my mom. All the more reason for a return trip.

Here’s how the day went down:

5:30 am: Oh, the sweet freedom of traveling with only a handbag on the Metro! Well, a handbag and my pump. I’ll take what I can get. Did I bring enough bottles …?

5:45 am: I wonder if baby K will be happy to see me Wednesday morning. Is it bad that I’m not missing her?

6:21 am: On the  Amtrak quiet car with oatmeal for breakfast, phone charger, Kindle and headphones. Could I want anything more out of life? Song on iPhone: Montgomery Gentry’s “Gone.” That’s right–she gone!

Naturally, this song also came up on my phone while en route

7:45 am: due to my excitement, a nap is out of the question, which is a real shame because I really need one after getting up at 4:30. Am overthinking my bday splurge: Tory Burch shades w a pop of orange … So fun, but what about the ray-bans I was also eyeing? Until I lose that last bit of baby weight, shopping for clothes isn’t fun. Think of all the money I’m saving. All the more reason for another accessory purchase, no?

8:33 am: I can now add Amtrak train bathroom to the list of places I’ve pumped. <shudders> My sweet freedom only lasts for 4 hrs at a time these days.

8:46 am: Ah, reading. How I’ve missed you.

9:46 am: Just left Newark and I’m craning my neck looking for the skyline like a tourist.

9:47 am: there it is! Freedom tower looks amazing, so proud and defiant. I still remember seeing at the twin towers from my grandfather’s kitchen window as a little girl, unable to fathom how buildings could be so big.

9:50 am: still gazing lovingly at the city, but feeling the slightest bit indignant that Manhattan had the nerve to go on without me.

10:12 am: never been so thrilled to be in herald square. Pharrell’s “Happy” blasts out of old navy and I almost start dancing down the block

10:15 am: spot publicist Leslie sloane on the sidewalk.

10:41 am: color applied, and under the lights with my stylist, who came into the (empty!) salon just for me today. Feeling rather privileged.

12:00 pm: ready to conquer the world w freshly cut and colored hair. But first, a splurge lunch with D!

12:40 pm: ah, finally, a civilized menu. I’ll have all the things! Starting with the crushed avocado, blue crab, hearts of Palm, hot mustard and trout roe app. Mmmm (could I sound more pretentious?)

3:12 pm: everyone should have a 2+ hour lunch with a good friend. Benefits the soul.

3:15 pm: and cab rides! Hooray for not having to drive myself or endure the anxiety of parking!

318 pm: prep school kids crowd the sidewalk. I scoot through, and a helpful little boy parts the sea of children, shouting “excuse her! Excuse her, please!” Gotta love this town.

5:34 pm got in a quick visit to Central Park and a walk for coffee with one of my very first mom friends from my new mom’s group I joined at the Prenatal Yoga Center on 72nd street (a.k.a. my haven as a brand new parent). Just walking down the street in the city is feeding my soul and I’m soaking up what I miss so much. Loved hanging out with her little monkey too, having known her since she was less than 2 months old. Off to drinks with one of my oldest NYC friends next!

5:40 pm: hearing all different accents and languages on the subway — refreshing.

5:50 pm: Carrie Bradshaw wasn’t kidding when she said she was dating NYC. Feeling like the city is my date while waiting for my friend, sipping a cocktail in a bar all by myself. Something I never could have done in first several years living in my city fresh out of college.

9:12 pm: What a wonderful whirlwind. The day was like speed dating, fitting in some close friends and favorite city spots. And to wrap it all up, my mom and I have a fabulous dinner at Casa Nonna — who knew there was such great Italian food near Penn Station? Am back on the train, nearly ready to pass out, but feeling hopeful about future day trips. A day in NYC is like a short and sweet visit with my old life. Magic.

The post Escape to NYC appeared first on Rennie Dyball.

I wish I could walk out my door and be pulled into the tide of the city. I miss that energy and the buzz of being surrounded by fellow city folk so much. As a friend recently said, just going for a walk in NYC is a social experience, even if you don’t talk to anyone. I walk to the grocery store here and I’m the only person on foot as far as the eye can see.

But I digress.

Little things have made me happy about living here and given me hope that I won’t be miserable forever. That’s my constant fear in life: when I’m unhappy about something, that I’ll stay unhappy forever.

Chief among those little things that have made me smile: going to the movies here in Bethesda, MD. I hated going to movies in Manhattan. People found it perfectly appropriate to talk to the screen in the theater, send texts throughout the film, and basically sap me of any will to see a new release in a public setting outside of press screenings.

But here in Bethesda? My fellow theatergoers were SILENT. Respetful. I almost forgot they were there with me. It was such a delight. And the best part came when we left the theater.

A custodian, a small, sweet old man with twinkly eyes and a warm smile, greeted us as we left.

“Hope you enjoyed the movie,” he said, nodding kindly at us.

It’s like I live in the south or something. A girl could get used to this.

 

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