Why the sad face?

I had Bell’s Palsy.

Don’t know what that is? According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke, Bell’s palsy occurs when the nerve that controls the facial muscles becomes inflamed, resulting in facial weakness. However, the cause is unknown.

Yep. That. Happened. To. Me.

September 21, 2016. My twins were only 9 days old having been born 8 weeks early via emergency c-section. This date was also significant because I had prematurely delivered and lost my first son due to an incompetent cervix. I remember spending time with them in the NICU, cuddling with them and took a selfie. I looked at the photo and thought, “hmm, that’s weird” so then I took another photo. Something was going on with my face. What was happening to my left side? I texted my husband the photo who told me to talk to the nurse. I flagged the nurse and told her that I thought something was wrong. The nurse agreed and I was sent to the ER for testing. But what were they testing for? I went through a “stroke protocol” to rule it out. I was so scared. Ultimately, they ruled out a stroke and then got the Bell’s Palsy diagnosis. Ugh, so now what?

The photo I sent to my husband on September 21, 2016

The paralysis was going to get worse before it got better. My eye couldn’t close completely and I constantly had to apply eye drops to keep the moisture. And contacts? Yeah, forget that. I even had to sleep with an eye mask to make sure nothing got stuck in my eye. My mouth drooped which also caused a fair amount of drooling. So hot, right? It was a scary and confusing time trying to figure out why this happened. How long was my face going to be like this? I went to a neurologist who scheduled an MRI. It showed the significant damage and was told the nerve regenerates 1mm a day. I had read that acupuncture could help quicken the process, but the neurologist didn’t really buy into that. So I didn’t explore it. She said that it should resolve on its own in a few months.

I hated the way that I looked. I was already depressed before the twins and now, I was a mess. I felt hideous and didn’t want anyone to see my messed up face. I hid away from everyone but family and the NICU nurses. The twins were in the hospital for 31 and 42 days respectively. My face was still a hot mess and I couldn’t even fathom getting newborn photos. I’m sure the photographer could have been creative and not capture my “bad side” but yet I couldn’t go through with it. My hubby is a talented photographer and was able to take some beautiful photos of the kiddos. A true family photo? We didn’t have it. There were very little photos of me the first several months after the twins arrived because I didn’t want to be reminded of how my face looked.

Remember how the neurologist said it would resolve in a few months? Yeah, try almost 2 years. The first 9 months were the hardest and then slowly got better. Sometime in 2018 was when I was able to look in the mirror and actually start seeing the old me again. Even then, there were still some permanent changes to my face. My left eye is still slightly lower than my right. The dimple on my left side was gone. It was me, but different. Lastly, I wasn’t able to wear contacts again because my eyes were constantly dry. I was already wearing glasses so that was no big deal-ish. Then I got Lasik, hell yes. (BEST DECISION EVER).

Left: September 28, 2016 (one week post Bell’s Palsy diagnosis)

Right: July 2021 (almost 5 years later)

Almost 5 years has passed since that Bell’s Palsy diagnosis. Most people can’t see the subtle changes on my face, but I can. When I’m really tired, my left eye starts to droop a little more. Regardless, my mindset has shifted to becoming more accepting inside and out. Too many times, we’ve let our exterior appearance dictate our interior mindset. It’s a hard fought battle that I’m slowly working on each and every day.

The Chances We Choose to Take

Back in the day, I knew a guy named Scott. He was a successful business guy and he had a simple idea.

A business that was the first of its kind. But with this idea, he wanted to share it with others and allow them to be a part of it so they could reap all of the benefits of this idea.

A business in a box.

“There’s too much competition out there.”

“What makes you think this is what people want?”

“Why do you want to reinvent the wheel?”

“Who is going to buy into this business?”

Despite all of the naysayers and skeptics, Scott believed and forged on with this business……

And that’s how MOD pizza came to life.

In hindsight, if Scott offered you an opportunity to buy into the MOD Pizza business, would you have said “heck yes?”

Many times we are presented with these types of questions.

Do you automatically say no?

Do you rely on other’s opinions?

Or do you take a chance?

I have done all of the above, but I’m most proud of the chances that I decided to take.

These chances led to some of the most incredible blessings in my life.

I wouldn’t have had my twins after having such a devastating loss with our first son.

I wouldn’t have scheduled a consultation with a bariatric surgeon leading me to the decision to go through with the surgery.

I wouldn’t have started a small business, let alone start a 2nd one.

Looks like it all worked out in the end.

Now, what kind of chances will you choose to take in your own life?

Coming out of the dark

I have high functioning anxiety with a side of debilitating depression.

Yep, there’s no real way to sugar coat that shit. It’s something that I’ve been working through for quite some time, but as of late has consumed me entirely. As a result, I’ve been merely a shadow of my “normal” self. I’m not sleeping. My body isn’t handling food well. I’ve hid my struggles from others as a form of shame.

This is NOT okay and I’ve taken steps to address this with the help of my team of medical professionals, my husband, and others.

This is not a post to garnish attention for myself but more so to let others know that if any of the above resonates with you on any level, that it is okay to ask for help. Whatever help looks like for you.

Too many times, I get sucked into the comparison game and focusing on what’s wrong instead of what’s going well. That you need to put on a happy face to others when you’re barely hanging in there.

Today, I am slowly climbing out of the dark place I’ve been in. If you’re there too, I hope that you will use the tools that you have to do the same.

This post was originally posted on Instagram on 2/25/2021.

You Never Forget Your First.... (Troll)

When I started sharing my story on social media, I knew that I was opening myself up to positive and negative feedback. Who knew that a post about True Religion jeans would cause such a stir.

First things first, back in 2004 - 2008, designer jeans were all of the rage. 7’s, Paige, Rock n Republic, and my favorite: True Religion. Something about that crooked obnoxiously exaggerated white stitching with the exuberant Buddha dude just got me. And let’s not forget how low rise these jeans were. Where else would we show off our lower back tattoos and thongs? (BTW that was NOT me)

As I got heavier, I kept these pricey gems because 1) they were expensive AF and 2) I will fit into them again AKA “goal jeans.”

About 3 months post (bariatric) surgery [May 2020] , I was able to fit into them and I posted on Instagram about it. The heavens didn’t open up. There were no angels singing (aside from my then 3 year old twins and 7 month old puppy. There was most definitely no jumping up and down because #jigglymombits . They were simply a pair of low rise jeans that should have stayed in 2005. I even ended my post with “low rise jeans that this mama should never wear again.”

Fast forward to December 2020, a random person [who will now be known as Troll] snarkly commented on my May post with the following:

“Lol, low rises are for slender women trying to look curvier. I wear them all of the time. Not for you dear.” Wait, what?

This Troll searched through SEVEN MONTHS of hashtag content to find ME (a complete stranger) and critique me on wearing a pair of MFing low rise jeans. WTF?!?!

I share this ridiculousness with my husband and friends, who immediately came to my defense to tell this Troll to go “pound sand.” But it doesn’t stop there. Troll proceeded to report each and every comment as "bullying and/or abusive/aggressive/blah blah blah.” And somehow, their comments were hidden and/or removed. Yet, when I reported hers, I received a Dilbert response of that it wasn’t considered any of the above.

Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think? [Cue Alanis Morrissette]

I did have an incredible friend who is a professor in social psychology who came to my defense to identify Troll’s behavior as “defensive self esteem. It’s the people who always have a problem with someone else - they can’t have any self esteem unless everyone else who seems to be doing great, isn’t. So you see, take it as a compliment! She had to tear you down because you are doing something amazing and people are watching and soooo impressed.”

Troll decided to double down on her verbal assault saying that she wasn’t insulting me but rather stating a fact that “average bodies shouldn’t wear low rise jeans because it highlights their imperfections.”

Regardless, I didn’t respond to the Troll’s comments because I was taking the high road and gathering my thoughts. I wanted to end this nonsense once and for all. Several days later, I posted my response:

“Thank you for shedding light on my dreadful 2004 fashion choices. I mean, who even wears True Religion jeans anymore? It would have been nice if you searched through the hashtags to share your profound wisdom back in May 15th (the original post date) so I could warn the next “average body” to stay away from the FREE jeans of said low rise jeans that were donated soon after posting. You see, the last line of the post was “..overpriced, ridiculously low rise jeans that this mama should never wear again.” Life a fart in church, unsolicited advice never goes well. However, through this, I have learned more than you can imagine. I have an awesome tribe. My 4 year old twins learned the power of words and treating people with kindness. I am important. To those around me and to catch a complete stranger’s attention (ahem, that YOU).

Thank you and I wish you well,”

But alas, Troll’s response was par for the course:

“this is a joke right? Fashion is a personal preference. Who cares if someone says a brand is out or if you got ridiculously expensive (they’re relatively cheap in comparison to other brands) jeans for free. The jeans weren’t made for your body. End of story. Facts don’t care about your feelings sister sledge.”

Soon after the Troll was blocked and all was right in the world again. At least in my world, god only knows who Troll has tormented next. Through it all, I’m happy how we (the collective voice) handled this unfortunate situation. It may be the first, but I’m sure it won’t be the last. As one of my dear friends told me, “Well, I guess you made it. You got your first internet troll.”

And to the next one, you’ve been warned.

Help is Not a Four Letter Word

Help.

You will always offer it to others.

You’re willing to do it.

However, receiving it?

Yeah, we’d rather go get a root canal before receiving it.

Do you feel me on this? I HATE asking for help. More times, I figure that the only person I can truly count on is me. Numero Uno. You don’t want to show weakness or neediness. You don’t want to impose on others. You just don’t want to ask for it.

Throughout my life, I’ve been hurt and disappointed in others. Partly because I never had a solid crew of people that I could count on. Instead, I settled for superficial ones where I would make myself small and allow someone else to steal the show. I know, crazy right? And like clockwork, these “friends” would leave. I’m not saying that I was completely innocent in these situations, but these friendships could not withstand anything outside the pretty little box with the nice bow.

It made me feel empty inside.

I wasn’t good enough .

People don’t want to be my friend.

I was flawed and could easily be tossed aside.

Over time, I sought out talk therapy to dive deeper into this fear of rejection. This inadequacy stemmed from my childhood, but I will leave it at that. Over time, I began to find my voice, to seek stronger, more fulfilling relationships. From finally finding my forever love Charles to friendships that could withstand the tests of time. Now, this doesn’t mean that every decision is a good one. You just don’t know if a person in your life is meant to stay there until you’re in it. Learning my true self and surrounding myself with amazing people. Surprisingly, these friendships were developed from being brand ambassadors for good skincare. Funny how the universe leads you to exactly what you need in life.

While I still struggle with asking for help with everything, its becoming easier to not think of help as a sign of weakness or failure. But giving me the opportunity to GROW. To become a better version of myself that’s flawed, unapologetic, and more kind.

Asking for help is not a four letter word.

It’s actually 10 letters:

empowering.

But What if I Get Caught?

Recently I learned about this thing called “Imposter Syndrome.”

Imposter Syndrome is a real thing and sometimes I struggle with it. It basically means that you feel like a “fraud” when it comes to your representation of who you are. Sort of like the persona is all puppies and rainbows but your life is really chaotic AF. And that people are going to find out the real truth.

The reason why I struggle with it is in this new season of improving myself, inside and out, I’ve been told that I’m “inspirational and motivating.” But I just don’t feel like I am. I’m just waiting for people to see that I’m really not what I’m chalked up to be. I’m no fitness guru, but then I post videos of me working out a ton on social media. I’m no health expert but I’m taking photos of what my daily journey looks like. I post adorable photos of my twins and puppy, sometimes my hubby, when we all know it’s chaos behind the scenes.

When I hear those two words, I have a sense of “yay people like me” and “what are you talking about..me?!?!” I mean, even if you tell me this, if I don’t believe it then it’s not true.at.all. Perhaps it’s all of those years of me dying to fit in and be liked to now being in a place where I am liked but it feels foreign and uncomfortable. But I must maintain this persona because heaven forbid that people change their mind about me and then stop liking me, which is the rationale of 15 year old Stephanie instead of 40 year old Stephanie.

Deep down, I know that I and should never try and portray that level of perfection. I feel like it’s actually worse for my self esteem instead of building it up. And as I venture into a new path of my life, I’m slowly starting to be more accepting of who I am, flaws and all, and not GAF (give a fuck) what people think. Some days I feel like a rockstar and other days, I’m that struggling insecure little girl searching for love and acceptance.

Have you ever felt like you were an imposter? How did you overcome it or how are you working through it? Share your wisdom with me because I’m all ears.

Have you seen a unicorn?

Self Esteem is defined as “confidence in one's own worth or abilities; self-respect.” For the majority of my life, I did not have confidence in my own worth or abilities with little to no self-respect.

Hi, I’m Stephanie and I have low self esteem. However, it’s slowly building up day by day.

I can’t even count on my hand how many times I’ve been told “If only, then that….” “If only you were skinnier, prettier, more quiet, motivated, blah di blah di dah.” Apparently, there’s this magical bridge that a unicorn greets you at when you’ve “made it,” I have yet to see this majestic creature and I’m pretty sure none any of us will either. But if you have, I bow down.

The thing is, the only majestic creature is YOU. YOU are the one who determines what you are worth. No one can tell you otherwise. And if they do, they’re a real asshole. Also, don’t be an asshole either.

But here’s the deal, it’s easier said than done, am I right? Comparison is truly the thief of joy. I’ve been guilty of looking at someone else’s story about their wellness, financial situation, fashion sense, or vacation and fell a little bit inadequate that I’m not “there.'“ Too many times, we get sucked into this loop because it’s so easy to do.

Nonetheless, WE are the author of our own story. WE determine what, how, why, and where we want to do all of the things, good or bad. It takes tremendous courage to simply try to do something different or scary. What if you try it and it doesn’t work? What if you do it and you don’t get the outcome you desire? What will others think of me? What if I change?

Friends, we’re supposed to change. We’re supposed to evolve. To live a more fulfilling life that is ours and not what someone thinks it should be. With every choice we make, we learn something from it. We grow just a little bit more even if it’s nominal. You are slowly become a badass, even if you don’t think you are. Others see it before you will.

Imperfection is Pretty Amazing

Flawed and Unapologetic.

That’s me in a nutshell. For the longest time, I was consumed with being accepted and fitting into society’s mold of who I should be. I didn’t have blue eyes, blonde hair and a small frame. I am Asian (Vietnamese/Cambodian/French) with black hair, dark brown eyes, and “big boned.” Living in a town with little diversity at the time, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

This feeling on inadequacy contributed to my low self esteem. I never felt like I was good enough. Naturally, I tried to fit in, wanting to be friends with the popular kids and have a boyfriend. But the more I wanted it, the more isolated I felt and filled the void with food.

In my family, we never talked about our feelings and challenges. Culturally, you just don’t share these things because it shows a sign of weakness. You are supposed to be quiet, study a lot, go to school, and become a doctor. Or lawyer. Or both - yes this is a thing. The son of one of my parent’s friends was this miraculous Asian unicorn.

I didn’t have the tools to fully understand and process my feelings. That led to a lot of choices and situations that exposed this vulnerability. I was assaulted on two separate occasions; once in high school and again in my mid-twenties. It wasn’t until the second incident that my then boyfriend “forced” me to go to a therapist because he didn’t know how to “fix me.”

Through talk therapy, I was finally able to unstuff the feelings that were so deeply hidden. To finally break free of the hamster wheel of my choices, but that doesn’t mean that they went away completely.

In my late 20s, I met my now husband Charles and has been one of the best things that ever happened to me. He taught me what true love is. It was built on open communication and we talk the feels. His patience, kindness, and love for me when I can be a real pill deserves the ultimate recognition.

My 30s was the decade of evolution. More years of therapy, life experiences and maturity have made me become the woman I am now. in 2017, I was introduced to Rodan + Fields skincare and partnered with their brand sharing my results with my community. But little did I know that this would be the catalyst of change.

I learned that empowering and uplifting others came naturally to me. Perhaps it was because I just wanted to treat others the way that I (always) wanted to be treated. I wanted to show how amazing each person was. To show support, both big and small. To be more empathetic and less judge-y. But let’s be honest, a little of that can peak through from time to time. I’m learning to forgive more, love harder, and share all facets of me - the good, bad, and in between.

My ultimate goal is to raise my twins with all of the love, support, showing them how spectacular and amazing they are. This is equally important to my friends and family.

It’s okay to be flawed. To show your imperfections and to share your successes when they come. By sharing all of this, you never know how it may impact someone else.