The Year of No Nonsense

How to Get Over Yourself and On with Your Life


By Meredith Atwood

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In the vein of How to Stop Feeling Like Sh*t, a practical guide to acknowledging and getting rid of the nonsense and bs in your life

Exhausted and overworked lawyer, triathlete, wife, and mom Meredith Atwood decided one morning that she’d had it. She didn’t take her kids to school. She didn’t go to work. She didn’t go to the gym. When she pulled herself out of bed hours later than she should have, she found a note from her husband next to two empty bottles of wine and a stack of unpaid bills: You need to get your sh*t together.

And that’s what Meredith began to do, starting with identifying the nonsense in her life that was holding her back: saying “yes” too much, keeping frenemies around, and more. In The Year of No Nonsense, Atwood shares what she learned, tackling struggles with work, family, and body image, and also willpower and time management. Ultimately, she’s the tough-as-nails coach /slash/ best friend who shares a practical plan for identifying and getting rid of your own nonsense in order to move forward and live an authentic, healthy life. From recognizing lies you believe about yourself and your abilities, to making a “nonsense” list and developing a “no nonsense blueprint,” this book walks you through reclaiming yourself with grit and determination, step by step.

With targeted, practical chapters to help you stop feeling stuck and get on with your life, The Year of No Nonsense is equal parts girlfriend and been-there-done-that. The best part? Like any friend, she helps you get to the other side.


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“When you have something to say, silence is a lie

—and tyranny feeds on lies.”

Jordan B. Peterson

12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos

Introduction: Your Time to LIVE

I CAME ACROSS SOME PICTURES THE OTHER DAY, TUCKED AWAY IN A drawer. Photos, discolored by time and hidden in an envelope as if to say, “No one should see what’s inside. Like, ever.”

Photos of me, standing in my underwear.

Photos taken from the front, the back, and the side. I was holding a newspaper. Clearly a timer had been involved because the photos were off-center, the camera clearly on a chair or a dresser. I wasn’t smiling.

Classic “before” pictures.

I squinted at the newspaper in the photos. I couldn’t see the date. But I remembered the underwear. Victoria’s Secret, circa 1999. I also remembered the room—in my first apartment. My first place in the world that was (sort of) my own.

This “before” picture was beautiful.

Age nineteen. Flawless skin. Boobs pointing more or less upward. A body devoid of stretchmarks. A belly, but nothing that cutting back on the beer could not have “fixed” easily, seamlessly, forgivingly.

My size? Perfectly healthy.

My sadness? Insurmountable.

My fears? Tangible.

Self-loathing? Deep and endless.

The path to destruction? Imminent.

Substantial pain and trauma? There it is. Holy…

Back then, the focus of my criticism was “fat.” But twenty years later, I notice mostly my eyes. The hollow, pained eyes—the eyes that reflected the foreshadowing of nearly two decades of addiction, suppression of unidentified trauma, pain of disappointment, and fear of the future. The camera lens reflected eyes of anger, maybe even rage.

Only I never saw it that way—until now.

I see it all now, not because I am older or wiser but because hindsight is 20/20, and that’s one of Life’s greatest bonuses—and downers. We have the luxury of seeing things differently as we age and grow, sure. We have the capacity to remember, to relive, and to experience the pain of the past in new ways.

But merely time passing was not all that allowed me to see. After all, time can pass and pass, and we can still remain utterly blind.

Somewhere along the recent way, I stuck a stake in the ground, and I said, “No more. No more of this. No more of ALL of THIS.”

This? This what? What is this?

I bet you know what I mean, though. Because I had a “this,” and you have a “this”—and these are the things that plague us. These are the things, habits and behaviors, gut-sickening feelings that are making us freaking nuts.

“This” has a name: Nonsense.

I see “this” now because I have chosen to embark on a Life of less Nonsense. This Life of less Nonsense began with my experiment that I aptly and obviously dubbed The Year of No Nonsense.

The Year of No Nonsense was not about me curing or fixing or surviving mental illness… or addictions… or relationships… or self-sabotage… or trauma. Rather, the Year of No Nonsense was (and is) about what can be done about these (very real, very difficult) things standing in the way of us becoming the best versions of ourselves.

The road to healing or changing the big things—like a bad relationship or even a rotten career—starts with making room for change. We make room for change, for recovery, by seeing the Truth. Once we see the Truth, we create a path. And once on the path, we can begin the process of forward motion. One day, one step at a time.

Here is what I found: most of us are living lives full of Nonsense.

Small, silly Nonsense that we can laugh about.

Huge, catastrophic Nonsense that knocks the breath out of our lungs and makes the bile rise in our throat when we remember it, experience it, relive it. Nonsense that’s totally our faults; some that is tragically and inexplicably put upon us by someone else’s disgusting or ridiculous Nonsense.

“Nonsense” is a lighthearted word for some deep, dark bullshit.

We have so much suffering going on inside us that we don’t see the Nonsense for what it is. We don’t understand our roles in it either—what is 100 percent our faults or what is 100 percent not our faults. We are wandering. We don’t see the Other People, we don’t see ourselves. We don’t want to see ourselves. We don’t want to feel either—not our feelings or our bodies; we want out of it all. We don’t recognize ourselves to the point that we choose darkness over light, pain over peace, anger over love, loneliness over forgiveness, and sometimes death over Life. (Again, Nonsense: such a light word for dark stuff.)

Of all the lessons I learned in this process, however, one lesson stands out to me the most: THIS is the Year to Live. In this Year of No Nonsense—starting right now—we are here to Live.

No matter where we came from, what we have experienced, who hurt us (intentionally or not), who tried to break us, we are here to Live. We are here to wake ourselves up, to grab Life and Live. We are here to feel—even the hard things. We are here to embody our bodies, to take up space we are worthy of and be. We can and must feel the emotions. Even those destructive urges toward perfectionism, emotions of unworthiness, failure, and disappointment. Because we are here to live, we must feel, and we must see. Even when we don’t want to feel or see.

The Year of No Nonsense teaches us that we can overcome—even the seemingly impossible. We are here to walk (run) through the pain, prosper, and live with the irreparable cracks. We are not here to fix everything—we are here to thrive despite all the fragile, colorful, and wild fissures—because we are not broken. Despite what the world wants us to believe—we are not broken. And we will not be broken. We are alive. We are powerful. We are strong. We are here to see; we are here to Live.

Maybe you are mostly happy and don’t see what’s so hard about Life, and you’re wondering what’s so glum. That’s okay—and that’s great actually. But you can be mostly great and still have Nonsense. (There’s also the chance of having completely numbed yourself and your feelings into a state of complacency.) We are here to Live.

You picked up this book for a reason. And I will assume that the Universe makes no mistakes. So you and I? We’re bonded now. In this Nonsense quest. Welcome.

Look, we don’t need sophomore year “before” pictures. We don’t need age forty or sixty “before” pictures either. We aren’t a “before” now, and we weren’t a “before” then.

We are a now. One day we will look back on this now—even if right now is painful—and we will wish we had been grateful for this moment.

We are here to Live.

We can make this the Year that changes everything—starting today. Whether it’s January or June, today is the day to reclaim the person you are—the person you were born to be.

The person you have always been… before Nonsense got in the way.

Stay with me. Stay with you.

This is your time to Live.

This is YOUR Year of No Nonsense.



Nonsense Is Real

Types of Nonsense

Childhood Matters

Names and Numbers Hurt

Lies Are Everywhere

You Are Lying, Too

We Can Do Something About All of This


Start Where You Were

NEARING THE END OF 2015, I WAS THIS PSEUDO-INSPIRATIONAL, Z-list social media character—with just enough of an audience to be dangerous. I was a former-fat-still-fat-girl who slogged through triathlons, authored a book, lawyered, and helped people live their best lives.

I was inspirational as fuck.

I was also a bit of a fraud.

After changing my Life “big time” through triathlon and acquiring all sorts of coaching certifications, a growing business, and race finishes, I had ended up in a similar place to when I started the whole shebang—isolated, overweight, tired, sad, and angry—only with “triathlete” and “author” to add to my ever-growing résumé of bullshit.

And worse than that, I knew it.

But actually I had come far from where I started—a jiggly, can’t-run-a-mile-out-of-shape mom to an IRONMAN finisher. I had built a community and shared my story. I had made some changes. Life became better, but it was like a weird airplane upgrade. I had a seat closer to the front and a few cheap perks, but everything else was still middle seat, economy class, with a crying baby kicking my headrest.

I had upgraded, but I was still suffering. Yes, suffering.

And I was suffering in the exact same ways that I had always suffered. My suffering at age thirty-five felt the same as my suffering at age five, fifteen, and twenty-five. Unworthy. Enormous. Disappointment. Failure. Crazy. Hard to Love.

I made good money. (So why was I broke?) I worked out all the time. (So why was I still “morbidly obese” according to a chart?) I was a triathlete. (So why did I hate my body?) I had a kind, hardworking husband and two healthy, beautiful kids. (So why did I feel unloved? Unsafe? Unhappy?) Am I crazy? became the drumbeat in my head.

On the outside, I was (still) the wife and mom who held it all together. Even when I drank a martini and two bottles of wine and ate a large pizza (after a substantial dinner), I appeared okay. I never said I felt wonderful, but I made Life happen even though I felt miserable, struggled with depression, and wore pants that kept getting tighter and tighter. No matter how destructively the night before had ended, however, I would spring out of bed with the sun, throw on my workout clothes, announce that it was time for school, and drag my hungover, swollen arse to the bus stop with the kids and a death grip on my coffee cup.

I would think to myself, I got this. I can do this. I will not kill anyone today. I can be nice to this annoying woman on Facebook Messenger (Ding! Ding!). I can smile at the bus stop moms. I can smile. I can smile. I got this. You got this, Meredith.

I was full of crap. I gots nothing, Meredith is what churned in my head. Deep down, I knew the bottom was coming. But I was deep in the River Nile as well.

One particular morning, I saw the bottom.

I got smashed the night before and stayed up too late listening to Tori Amos and wondering what had happened to my Pretty Good Year. When the alarm went off—on a school day—I did something unprecedented: I turned it off, rolled over, and went back to sleep. I did not get dressed for the gym. I did not get the kids ready for school. I did not whisper to my husband an excuse like, “I am sick.” I did nothing.

I did none of my duties.

Hell had clearly frozen over. I always did the required things, no matter what.

Except on this day, I said, “No.”

I said no to Life, to my kids. I said no to my job, my workout, my husband, my responsibilities, the teachers at the school, and everyone. Literally, if Oprah had called me, I would have said no to her too. I pulled my puffy middle finger out from under the covers, shot a massive bird into the air, and said, “Not today, Life. Fuck you.”

And I meant it.

A few hours later, I woke up in a sweaty ball of covers, crusty-faced and surprised at the mere experience of waking up. Where am I? Oh yes. Home sweet crap horrible Life home. I pulled my heavy body out of bed and slogged downstairs. The desire and need for any workout had vanished. The kids were gone, so I assumed they had made it to school (or were missing)—in that moment I shrugged at either outcome.

I saw a note on the counter.

The note was strategically placed next to two (empty) bottles of unoaked chardonnay, a pint of ice cream (also empty), and (one of the many) overdue credit card bills.

The note contained one line. One sentence, in my husband’s bitter, scientific-smartypants handwriting:

I blinked. I read. I reread.

I pulled my phone from the dirty back pocket of the sweatpants I had been wearing for a few days (weeks). I began texting the tirade of anger that righteously flies from the fingers of a wronged, amazing wife and mother. I wanted to reach deep into my résumé drawer (not that I have one) and pull out my résumé, text it to my husband, and say, “I am amazing! Look at all the things I do! And am! And have done. Look at this! Look at this one! And this! What about this one? Oh, and I do all of these things FOR YOU and THOSE KIDS!”

I was mad—an understatement. I lived with this guy. He was witness to all the things on paper that I was. And this was what I got? This was the thanks? Harumph.

I finished composing the longest, angriest text with accompanying violent emojis, and I almost pressed send. But something caught the corner of my eye. It wasn’t the downed wine bottles or empty ice cream container. It wasn’t the blasted sticky note on the sticky counter.

What caught my eye was a wrinkly, kid-stained poster board. A poster with purple and black marker scrawled across it.

My heart lurched into my throat.

There it was: a first-grade science project that I had promised to help complete that morning. A poster that meant something very important to a very small, yet important person in my Life. I had not only failed to help our daughter finish her project, but I hadn’t even gotten out of bed to fake a reason why I couldn’t help her.

I didn’t bother to show up.

Worse than that, I didn’t care.

I was angry, yes. At myself. At the world. But I was most angry at the fact that my husband had called me on the giant greasy bucket of Kentucky fried bullshit I had been selling myself and the world. I wasn’t holding myself together—my mind, body, and soul were as if Scotch-taped together by a kindergartner. I was disappointing people left and right. Mostly, myself. I was pretending to be all inspirational—when I was a damn liar and a fake who couldn’t even get out of bed on a random weekday.

I had created a mess for myself.

It was all there—before me in black and white, with my foul cactus mouth, poster board, wine bottles, empty Ben & Jerry’s, and soggy pizza box. My choices had turned my reality into a real-time frat house: a messy, stinky box of bad beer and worse ideas.

My sour stomach turned on me with a vengeance, and the Truth shined in with the power of a search-and-rescue spotlight. I backspaced the text message. I called in sick to work (as if that was even necessary at 9:30 a.m.), and I began to clean the kitchen.

All of the sudden, I was awake.

And deeply, darkly, and dangerously ashamed.

I could not live this way, not a second longer. I couldn’t live with the current bad habits, thoughts, anger, and addictions. I couldn’t live with the shame and regret of it either. I couldn’t live with the same suffering I had been experiencing year after year, decade after decade, for as long as I could remember. I knew something (else) had to change.

Unfortunately, that something was me.

Which meant, I still had a lot of work ahead of me.


Soon (but not that soon) after the famous sticky-note-pocalypse, I quit drinking.

Step one.

And a year after that, I hightailed it out of the legal profession.

Step two.

Two good and big things—yet I did not seem to have the time or peace I thought I would. Each month without a real and regular paycheck was interesting as well. I wasn’t sleeping (no news there). I had made strides with nutrition and body image, but I would still find myself on multiple-day food binges. Loads of resulting self-hate. Destructive cycle. Pain. Suffering.

Another shift began to shimmy and shake. I felt like I was living on a fault line, and the earth was going to crack open and swallow my ass whole. Something (bad) was going to happen—and it was going to rock my Universe. I could sense it. I began to live in a low-boil sense of dread.

I failed to start almost every major sporting race I registered for. My grandmother died—a loss of huge proportions. I experienced major betrayals, epic professional explosions and implosions, failures. I took over a struggling business and sank way too many loans into it, attempting to prop it up. Also, turned out that my friend circle was suddenly shaped more like the Ultimate Fighter Octagon.

I wasn’t innocent in all of it either. I did my fair share of fighting (wrongly and rightly). I could have handled things differently. But that’s part of the narrative now.

I call this particular time The Year That Can Kiss My Ass.

I realized I was at the bottom of my new bottom. My Life, the fraud, was in need of a complete overhaul. I needed to do something, but wasn’t sure what.

During this time, I stayed sober—I had to because there was much, much work to be done. Inside I carried the common theme of struggle. I still wasn’t getting it—whatever “it” was. I was missing pieces of something.

What was it?

My world felt like it was closing in. And when I feel like my world is closing in, I make lists.

The Going Well List was unremarkable.

This was not a gratitude list, mind you, but a list of objective things that I believed were going well in my Life: relationships, Health, and career sorts of things. Things that “on paper” I could tick the boxes and say, “Going well. Check.”

The list was scary short. I stared at it for a minute.

Then I wrote, in messy scrawl, across the page, “Ripe with Potential.” Welp, I thought. That was short and easy. Let’s make another list.

Across the next page, I scribbled at the top “Things That Suck Ass,” and I started writing—the TTSA List.

The main issue I gleaned from my TTSA List was how much time and energy I spent doing things like managing drama, pretending to be friends with people who hated me, and texting people I didn’t even like. Also on the list was eating food I didn’t like, then eating all the food that I loved and subsequently binged on and hated myself for eating. Giving copious amounts of money to those who never even said thank you—and then shockingly would ask for more. Giving folks my focus and attention and then watching them run over me with it. Saying yes to things and people who zapped energy from me. Taking on projects that I should have said no to from the beginning.

As I looked at the TTSA List, I wondered when the job description for my Life became “pushover,” “let me give you something else for free,” and “punching bag.” I certainly had a responsibility to be kind, to take the high road, to be an example or whatnot. Dude, I worked on that—a major challenge at this stage of my Life. But after several outrageous encounters, I struggled.

I had officially become a diplomatic, people-pleasing, high-road-riding punching bag.

A lot of it came with sobriety too.

When I was drinking, I would fire off my mouth or fingers (on social media) and pretend like I didn’t care. As a sober person, I had learned the art of keeping my mouth shut. Because I had so many drunken regrets. But as a lo siento, I became gullible, timid, ashamed, and somewhat pretendedly indifferent.

After I made the TTSA List, I felt nothing.

Then I felt everything at once. After reading and rereading my list, I panicked. My TTSA List was huge, and my Life was clearly not going as I had meticulously planned. I was “Ripe with Potential,” according to the other list, but yet, I was spiraling.

I took the time to stop and breathe for a hot minute. I looked at the things on the TTSA List and saw the whole list blob together like one of those weird “Magic Eye” posters from the 1990s.

I unfocused my eyes, refocused, unfocused—and BAM. I could see it.


My TTSA List was a list full of Nonsense. So much smelly, rotten Nonsense. My fault, not my fault, but Nonsense. Why had I not seen this before? How had I lost track of what mattered to me?

I immediately sensed, “If I can get rid of the Nonsense on this list, or this whole TTSA List altogether, then I will be able to breathe.”

Suddenly, I felt like a kid at Christmas—unwrapping present after present of Nonsense. Everything was revealing itself. Is this Nonsense—yes or no? Is this Nonsense—yes or no? Is this Nonsense—yes or no? So much Nonsense! Perhaps you have seen the YouTube video of a kid unwrapping an avocado for a Christmas present. The moral of the video is that he very politely shows extreme gratitude for his “gift” of an avocado.

He says, all gleefully, “It’s an avocado! Thankssssss!”1

Now, you can buy me an avocado any day of the week, and I will express true and heartfelt gratitude to you. However, as I opened the layers of my day-to-day Life, I was unwrapping Nonsense avocado after Nonsense avocado, like a Nonsense-avocado clown car.

As much as I love avocado, I was gritting my teeth at this point and saying, “Thankssssss.”

I intuited that all types of Nonsense had to stop. Not just some of the Nonsense but literally all of it. I was done. D-O-N-E in so many ways. The clown car was going to the junk yard, along with all the Nonsense avocados inside.

The late Dr. (Maya) Angelou,* in an interview with Oprah, reflected about a time when someone told a racist joke at a party she was hosting in her home. She ordered this person to leave the second she heard it. She said that nobody did that in her house, and she removed the guest.2

Why does that seem so radical? I wondered. But I knew why. We try so hard not to offend anyone that we literally let people run over us. That makes no sense, right? Our Lives, our energy, and our emotions are our houses, our homes. I was putting up with all sorts of crap in my house—real and proverbial. I was dishing out and participating in Nonsense. The combination of my texts and emails, social media interactions and friends—all of that was part of my Life too. Apparently, I had a lot of Nonsense going on in my house.

Channeling Dr. Angelou, I thought, Nobody’s gonna talk badly in my house. My Life is my house, and I don’t want a house of Nonsense.

Get out of my house, I whispered. The sensation felt strange. Powerful.

All the things I had made better, all the changes had mattered. But now I knew the magic. I knew exactly what I would be working toward. The magic? Well, the things I needed to change and eliminate now had a face and a name: NONSENSE.

When something has a face and a name, we can identify it.

We know it.

We can’t unknow it.

I was looking Nonsense in the eye. I could see it.

Likewise, because I could see it, I knew I could do something about it.

Get out of my house.

And that’s how The Year of No Nonsense began.


So I created a project for myself: What if I had an entire year with no Nonsense?

My Year of No Nonsense was epic.

I unearthed some major shit that I had been internalizing for, I don’t know, all of my decades. Ugly, hard stuff—new memories, uncovered beliefs. Honestly I was sort of sorry I embarked on this little project once I was in the middle of it. During this Year, I couldn’t help but think, Stupid me. Why did I feel that I needed to get rid of Nonsense? Why was this a thing? Whose idea was this? I wanted to run away. What a stupid idea—a Year of No Nonsense. What freaking Nonsense this No-Nonsense Nonsense is.

I went to the doctor because something was wrong about five months in. My whole body hurt. I was exhausted. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did sleep, the sleep was never enough. Doc took blood, and a week later she called me to come into the office, giving me no explanation why. (I don’t think that’s ever good news, right?)

The summary: I was amazingly healthy. My bloodwork, perfect. Inflammatory markers that had plagued me for years were gone. My blood pressure was 116/75. Vitamins, minerals, thyroid, cholesterol were fine. Even my allergy sensitivities were much improved. (Thanks for the heart attack, Doc.)

So what in the world was wrong with me?

Doc looked at me and said, “I vreally don’t know what to do with you.” She is from the Middle East and incredibly blunt—which I enjoy. “You are very healthy. But you are fatter than last year. You need to eat more vegetables.” Should I be offended? Well, uh. It’s true. I am fatter than last year. And I do need to eat more vegetables. Check, check.*

Okay, so Doc didn’t know what to do with me—her own words.


  • "This book is funny, honest, poignant and a helpful example in breaking out of your own comfort zone. If you're feeling stuck, it's ideal inspiration for making healthy changes."—Tony Hawk, Professional Skateboarder and founder of Birdhouse Skateboards
  • "Peace, happiness and freedom come from knowing what to care about -- and, most importantly, what to let go of. This important book is a testament to the idea that when we see and let go of the Nonsense in our lives we allow ourselves to step into true freedom. Meredith gives us a roadmap for peace in a Nonsense-filled world."—Annie Grace, author of This Naked Mind
  • "In The Year of No Nonsense, Meredith Atwood not only brings the reader along her raw and personal journey of healing, but also lights the way for the reader to come along and change his or her life as well."—Dr. Shefali Tsabary, author of The Conscious Parent and The Awakened Family
  • "Meredith has not only the passion to make a difference, but the ability to match."—Gary John Bishop, author of the New York Times bestseller Unf*ck Yourself
  • "A raw and refreshing straight shot of truth that will guide you to find where you are settling as a passenger and propel you into the pilot seat of your life."—Randy Spelling, author of Unlimiting You
  • "Meredith Atwood is a woman after my own heart. Her new book cuts to the chase and shows us how to cut out the bullshit in life -- starting with ourselves."—Lauren Zander, celebrity life coach, Co-founder and Chairwoman of Handel Group, creator of Inner.U, and author of Maybe It's You (2017)
  • "In The Year of No Nonsense, Meredith Atwood gets real, raw and honest and shares hard-won insights and advice guaranteed to help everyone begin dealing with -- and doing away with -- the Nonsense in their own lives."—Joyce Shulman, CEO Macaroni Kid and 99 Walks
  • "Meredith Atwood does a fantastic job of calling us out by her own example so we can begin to identify the easy steps to get to the root of our own excuses -- these excuses that are holding us back from achieving the health and well-being we all deserve."—Dr. Will Cole, leading functional medicine expert, IFMCP, DC and author of The Inflammation Spectrum
  • "The Year of No Nonsense is going to help a lot of people achieve greater success in sports and life by being a little more real with themselves, not only because it's chockfull of good advice but also because Meredith Atwood walks the talk, being ruthlessly, hilariously, and movingly real with herself throughout the book."—Matt Fitzgerald, author of Life is a Marathon
  • "If you're sick of the nonsense -- and who the heck isn't -- then this book is for you. Author, podcaster, mother, Ironman, iron slayer and all-around inspiration Meredith Atwood offers a roadmap for the rest of us on how to (believe it or not) do less, stress less and live better. Tough, frank, courageous and fun, The Year of No Nonsense will change your life. It's already changed mine."—Bridget Quinn, author of Broad Strokes, 15 Women Who Made Art and Made History (In That Order)
  • "Meredith has an amazing ability to deal with the truth, no matter how it hurts. Her matter of fact style and candor hits you directly in the gut and will help you open up to yourself. It is the pain and shame she is able to share in No Nonsense that will help you heal your life's wounds. "—Mike Reilly, voice of IRONMAN and author of Finding My Voice
  • "Atwood is both deeply human and utterly inspiring; reading her book is like spending quality time with your fun, supportive best friend who tells it like it is (but doesn't make you feel bad in the process). She blazes her own path and welcomes us all on her exhilarating journey of self-discovery. With tough love, good humor and unvarnished honesty, Atwood will help you finally take control of your life."—Erin Carlson, author of I'll Have What She's Having and Queen Meryl
  • "Every chapter took me by surprise and on a journey that I recommend everyone travel -- we all need The Year of No Nonsense."—Kris Gethin, author of Man of Iron and former editor-in-chief,
  • "A kick in the butt and a challenge to face the kind of life you really want to live, The Year of No Nonsense helped me begin to see the kind of nonsense I give space to in my own life -- and helped me devise a map for picking my way out of it, one piece of nonsense at a time."—Kim Dinan, author of The Yellow Envelope
  • "Meredith writes the gospel for how to get out of your own way. This book is a game-changer for anyone who is ready to face her own, personal Truth."—Kyrsten Sinema, United States Senator for Arizona
  • "There are books that crack the frozen ice of our own willful denial. This one utterly shatters it. You cannot read Meredith Atwood's unvarnished account of confronting her 'nonsense' without having to give your own BS a square look in the face. I found relief, humor, insight, and not a little bit of uneasiness in these pages. And for this, I'm am so very grateful and so very changed."—Sasha Heinz,PhD, MAPP, DevelopmentalPsychologist, Positive Psychology Maven, Life Coach, Human
  • "Meredith's frank, no-nonsense, honest style is refreshing. She lays a path that can be applied day-to-day in relationships at work, at home and when facing big goals or projects! It's clear she is living her message and I love that. Meredith, thank you for offering your journey so transparently to help me and others identify our nonsense and makes choices to life more fully!"—Susan Clarke, author of The Beauty of Conflict and The Beauty of Conflict for Couples
  • "Four-time Ironman triathlete Atwood (Triathlon for the Every Woman) calls out habits of lying, people pleasing, self-shame, and perfectionism, among others, as unproductive "nonsense" in this lively testament. She offers tips on how to recognize and eliminate different kinds of self-destructive behavior (nodding to Buddhism with a section on recognizing suffering); advice for rooting out the deep, subconscious reasons one allows nonsense in; and a road map for eliminating nonsense on an ongoing basis. Along the way, she includes self-reflection prompts to help readers build their blueprint for living a no nonsense life. Atwood's brisk, humorous, and often profane writing style suits the subject matter well. A combination of hard-nosed coach and wise-cracking friend, she extols the benefits of "grit" and "hustle" at one moment before describing herself as a "Trash Panda Dumpster Diver" who will eat nearly anything being thrown out. The book's numerous parenthetical asides and metaphors -- the "Truth Onion," the "Yard Sale Life," the "One Nonsense Thing" -- sometimes slow the pacing, but the short chapters and checkpoints help cement key concepts. Readers who appreciate their self-help with a wink and a healthy dose of pragmatism will appreciate this blunt and instructive work."—Publishers Weekly
  • "The Year of No Nonsense is part tough love, part a swift kick in the ass, and all amazingly useful. Meredith Atwood is the kind person you want as your BFF -- snarky, insightful, genuinely kind. With this book, there's little you can't tackle in life."—David Leite, author of Notes on a Banana: A Memoir of Food, Love, and Manic Depression
  • "A must-read for anyone who feels tired of living a life with not enough time and way too much drama. This book shines a poignant, down-to-earth and humorous light on your journey to change your life."—Emily Giffin, New York Times bestselling author of Something Borrowed and All We Ever Wanted

On Sale
Dec 17, 2019
Page Count
288 pages

Meredith Atwood

About the Author

Meredith Atwood is a recovering attorney, wife, mother of two, four-time IRONMAN triathlete who had never run a mile in her life until she tackled the sport of triathlon. In 2010 she started writing and created her Swim Bike Mom blog. Over 2.5 million words later, she has built a cult following of women (and men) who desired a change in their lives–but not at the expense of their health, family or sanity.

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