I try to love and respect my body no matter what I weigh

My body and I have had a love/hate relationship for as long as I can remember. I remember when I was younger hating my body because it was different than the other girls. I was short and stubby. My mother would tell me to stand up and suck in, so as not to seem so fat. Around third grade is when I realized, I could change the way I look. By third grade, I started off my first course of bad dieting. Eating carrots, soup, and crackers for months at a time. I equated losing weight to being happy. When I lost weight, I felt great. People would comment on how good I looked or how pretty I looked. Eventually, though, I would gain the weight again, starting the whole process over again.

The time that affected me the most, though, was just a couple of years ago. I was a sophomore and junior in college. I was already a vegan, but I decided that being vegan wasn’t enough to lose weight. At the point, I started eating less and less. I would eat a banana for breakfast, gum for lunch, and iceberg lettuce for dinner. I continued to work out. I quickly noticed my body starting to change, but I still wasn’t happy. No matter what the scale told me, I found myself hating my body and who I had become more and more. This sadness oozed out into my everyday life. I found that I couldn’t connect with people anymore. I couldn’t have fun partying or doing random things with friends.

I hit rock bottom when my doctor explained to me that I was ruining my chances of ever having a child. I had lost my period the beginning of sophomore year and had never gotten it back because I was lacking too many nutrients. At that point, I decided to see a counselor.

This was a changing point for me. While you always hear “love your body” and “you are beautiful”, you never really come to understand how reality is distorted by things such as music videos, magazines, the internet, etc. Everywhere around us, we are bombarded with pictures of women who seem so happy. They are thin, tan, and beautiful. Psychologists sometimes like to call it the halo effect. The halo effect is the assumption that persons who are beautiful are perfect. They have great friends, they’re nicer, smarter, etc. That is what I was attempting to do. I was attempting to become beautiful in my body, so that I could achieve this sense of perfection. If I had a beautiful body, then maybe I would have a happier life.

Nowadays, I realize that this mindset was not going to work out. The way my body looked didn’t have to affect my happiness. I could control that. Since that point I saw the counselor and on, I have still struggled with my body. Now, though, I try to love and respect my body no matter what I weigh. I cherish my friends, family, and experiences in life. I understand that I’m beautiful no matter what my body looks like. There is so much more to me. I’m not saying I have all the right answers, but I think I’m off to a good start with my body.

“Sometimes I think my body’s forgotten how to feel, or chosen to forget.”

Sometimes I think my body’s forgotten how to feel, or chosen to forget. I don’t remember any more what it feels like to want someone. I think my heart is too scared. It’s frightened of breaking, so it locked itself away.

I love my body. I think it’s beautiful, and resilient. It heals itself, and it makes it possible for me to make it through endless nights at work. It puts up with my smoking. But sometimes it feels like no one else will ever love it again. I don’t mean the guys at work who look me up and down, or end conversations with, “You’ve got great tits, by the way”, or who put their hands on me. Those men don’t love my body. They don’t want to revel in my body, to lick the sweat from my skin and the blood from my cunt and find joy in the way it makes me shiver. And sometimes I’m scared that no one will love my body the way he did. Like that man who didn’t love me as much as he loved drugs. The first man who didn’t just not mind fucking me if I was bleeding, but who’d put his face between my legs and make me come, and kiss me with my blood on his lips. Who loved the hair under my arms, who would inhale its scent and lick the sweat from me while he fucked me. The first man who loved all of my body, and who didn’t make any part of my womanhood seem disgusting, or something to put up with. He was the twenty-third man I slept with.

I haven’t seen him in a year, except awkwardly, in the smoking areas of clubs. He was wrong for me and I don’t want him now. But his existence reminds me of everything I’m scared I won’t find again. I’m scared that when he broke my heart, he made me lock it away against my will. I’ve forgotten what it feels like for my body to want someone, really want them, because wanting means risking disappointment. Wanting means eventual betrayal, and broken hearts. Wanting leads to sadness.

And so sex is something I want in an abstract way. Sometimes I have sex because it’s there, because I want to feel skin on mine and arms around me and a cock inside me. My body wants sex but it doesn’t want them. I hardly remember what it feels like to look across a room at someone and just ache with wanting them. I’m scared to let sex make me feel something that isn’t physical, because my feelings are so dangerous. I long to be able to share my body again in a mutual way, to want his pleasure as much as I want my own, to look into someone’s eyes instead of keeping mine shut or looking away because somehow, eye contact is more intimate than fucking. My body is scared to feel because my heart doesn’t want to break.

Its about the the Choice!

Reblogged from Jellypop:

So as you might have guessed from my previous posts or if you follow me on twitter, I am totally pro-body hair and here is why:

Its really cool, you can plait it, dye it and all sorts of fun stuff!

Its a two fingered salute to the Patriarchy (and you don't even have to do anything!!)

It gets really softie and nice when you grow it out as well.

Read more… 402 more words

An excellent post we just had to share

“My body can do amazing and destructive things. My body is not an ornament but an instrument. It allows me to give hugs, work hard, create, make love, play, feel nature, bear children, to dance. It allows me to live and to love and to feel and to experience.”

I remember as a child seeing my size 16 post-four-children mother lie reading on her side on the couch and thinking how beautiful her curves were. She was like a renaissance painting to me. Or when I was walking behind her up the stairs and was mesmerized by her swaying hips and voluptuous behind and thought to myself that I would like to be as beautiful as her when I grew up. But it turned out, I was wrong. That wasn’t the way she or I should look at all. Her mother before her was a petite, small-minded woman whose main aim in life was to be attractive, well-coordinated and to be the envy of others. Women who were not attractive were to be pitied and others who didn’t comply with fashion ideals were scorned. She constantly reminded my mom to suck in her belly and she put hairbands over my ears to keep them from sticking out.

I watched my mother and her friends diet constantly growing up. They went to Weight Watchers, low-carbed, counted points, calories, enjoyed temporary satisfaction when they had managed to be “good” for a sustained amount of time and would “reward” themselves with treats when they lost weight. This was the way women should be, I soon learned. Reward, punish, control, deprive, bargain, scrutinise, congratulate, berate, stick-to-it, push through, treat, fall-off-the-wagon, squeeze. Disappointment, exhilaration, relief, depression, failure, exhaustion. The end of the diet cycle usually begins with the words “fuck it.” And then they begin all over again. This was what women should spend their time doing, obsessing over and striving for.

I was very active as a child, constantly hungry and wishing there was more food available in our kitchen. By the end of primary school, I was thin and flat-chested and was bullied mercilessly. By my second year of secondary school, I hit puberty and with that came the inevitable curves. I was bullied for this also. By sixteen, I started a part-time job and I spent most of my money on food, luxuriating in the fact that I now could eat whatever I wanted, not like when I was younger. I was soon pulled aside by my father who said I should lose some weight. The shame and self-loathing that washed over me was overwhelming and lingers on in my mind and heart.

Throughout my teens and twenties, I often naturally lost weight in the summer due to being more active. I was slim, tanned, intoxicated with hormones and addicted to the flattering attentions of guys. One summer, I became infatuated with one of my friends who liked me back. He saw me again that December, pasty and back to my normal weight, and his feelings for me evaporated. There was my ex-boyfriend who “loved” me when he could be proud and show off my slim body to others and and was ashamed of me when I was overweight and dared to wear a bikini in front of his friends. Or my dad who only posts old photos of me when I was slim and doesn’t post the new ones but constantly shows off my slimmer sisters. Or well-meaning friends who say “You look great; have you lost weight?” Or colleagues who casually mention the newest fad diet and ask if I would be interested. Up until now, as my weight has vacillated constantly, so has other people’s – both men and women, friends, family – treatment of me. And now, this much I know: when you find your worth in how you look and the reaction that provokes from others, it can be an unstable, insecure and deeply unsatisfying existence.

So, what now? I am at my heaviest weight ever. I am medically obese and long to be a healthy weight but I am overwhelmed with how complicated my feelings are around my body and what I eat and don’t know where to start. I have done therapy and need lots more to work through the layers. I’m still not sure about my elfish ears that my grandmother so disliked. Or my saddle-bags that my ex thought I should work on. Or my fat ass that I get affectionate slagging for. It all hurts. And yet. YET. I know that one day I can eventually live freely and lightly. Nutritious eating and exercising and resting and self-caring will someday be as natural, uncomplicated, life-giving and anxiety-free for me as sleeping. And I long for that day to come quickly.

The stretch marks, cellulite, broken veins, dimples, freckles, moles, lumps, thinning hair, crows feet, short ‘n lumpy legs are all just as much a part of me as my sparkling blue eyes, my long neck, high cheekbones, big breasts and small waist. My body tells some of my story. It is my vessel that carries everything I have been and am in it. My body can do amazing and destructive things. My body is not an ornament but an instrument. It allows me to give hugs, work hard, create, make love, play, feel nature, bear children, to dance. It allows me to live and to love and to feel and to experience.

So I remind myself yet again for today: my body is me and I am beautiful, loved and worthwhile; I always have been and I always will be, no matter what.

- by an anonymous woman

Guest posts for the urban nudist

The Urban Nudist is a website about nudity and the arts, culture and politics that comes with it, and they asked us to do a wee guest post. Our contributions can be found here and here.

Video recruitment

We’re still working on our video – thanks to everyone who’s sent us stuff so far! (I’ve included a couple more examples at the bottom) We’re off out in Edinburgh today to the Art School and Edinburgh Uni library to try and recruit some more folk for the video, so please come and say hello if you see us! You can still email us photos at projectnaked@gmail.com as well – just take a picture of you holding up a sign with something you love about your body and send it in. And remember it can be anything at all – nothing is silly!

little drops — Why Dove’s “Real Beauty Sketches” Video Makes Me Uncomfortable… and Kind of Makes Me Angry

So this Dove advert has been doing the rounds lately and it kind of niggled at us. This post from little drops articulates the issues we had with it better than we can ourselves, so give it a read!

“So this video started going around my facebook today, with about a dozen of my female friends sharing the link with comments like, and “Everyone needs to see this”, and “All girls should watch this,” and “This made me cry.” And I’m not trying to shame those girls! I definitely understand why they would do so. And I don’t want to be a killjoy. But as I clicked the link and started watching the video, I started to feel a slight sense of discomfort. I couldn’t put my finger on why that was, exactly, but it continued throughout the whole thing. After watching the video several more times, I have some thoughts…” 

via little drops — Why Dove's "Real Beauty Sketches" Video Makes Me Uncomfortable… and Kind of Makes Me Angry.(click to read the rest of the article.

Nature time

We went camping at the weekend (foolhardy in Scotland, but fun all the same!) and after we conquered a hill I just had to be naked for a bit. Yes, it’s cold. But it also doesn’t matter – when I commit to getting naked outside I don’t care that it’s cold; I just want to feel the wind on my skin.

The Perfect Woman

I know that, as a girl, I am judged every day for how I look and what I’m wearing. I am compared to my mother, my friends, models in magazines and people’s own ideas of how I should look. I am compared to this “Perfect Woman”, who is the patriarchal ideal of what a woman is meant to be.
The Perfect Woman is something everyone feels differently about. The media’s best efforts to brainwash us into worshipping a white, slim, able-bodied image of perfection have been mostly successful but we still have slightly different opinions about who and what is beautiful.
These ideas of perfection are so often very different, if not opposite, to how we really look and feel about ourselves, yet we feel obliged to try and make ourselves more like the Perfect Woman. This is a problem because in our patriarchal society, a women’s appearance and beauty are some of her most valued traits. Whether we want it to be or not it is ingrained in our society, in our minds and the people around us.
My picture of the perfect woman is different from the way I look. Not opposite but far enough away that I know I will never look that way. I will always be subpar, inadequate, not quite good enough. But I know I am not alone. I have never met and I do not think there exists a single person on this earth that is even nearly happy with the way they look. In fact, in my experience, the people who are perceived as most beautiful have the most negative views about themselves. The most beautiful girl I know doesn’t even think she is pretty, let alone beautiful.
The perfect woman is a shadow in the front of our minds. A niggling voice saying we will never measure up. Telling us we aren’t beautiful, we aren’t desirable, we aren’t wanted.
BUT
I don’t like that voice and I don’t think you do either. Why should we measure and compare ourselves to this ideal, this figment of imagination when we are real. We all have flaws and we are all different so why try and change that? Why not celebrate our differences? I ask you to see your differences and embrace them. Embrace yourselves and embrace the differences of others around you because perfection is not real.

Guest post by @lilinaz_evans whose blog can be found here.

“The thing I find very hard within the Intersex/DSD community is that there is no acceptance of their own bodies … The reason for that is pressure from medicine, society and people.”

One thing I have noticed as an Intersex/DSD person and a nudist, is that when you accept your body for what it is, you come to terms with all the flaws and imperfections that come with being born with an Intersex/DSD condition and being a nudist. I have learned that no amount of surgery in the world would ever make me happy for who I am and what I am. Which is why as an Intersex/DSD person and a nudist, I am happy with the body I am born with. I’m comfortable in my own skin and even not ashamed of all the flaws and imperfections that I am born with.

The thing I find very hard within the Intersex/DSD community is that there is no acceptance of their own bodies. Intersex/DSD people are not accepting themselves for who they are. They’re not comfortable in their own skin and their own genitals. The reason for that is pressure from medicine, society and people. It’s pressure from the medical community to hide and deny Intersex and DSD people their bodies and existence. There’s pressure from society into pigeon holing Intersex and DSD people into the biological Male and Female gender. Even the Trans community has even put pressure and tried to push Intersex and DSD people into gender/genital surgery. Which is why Intersex people have such a hard time in accepting their Intersex bodies. There is no one out there to tell Intersex/DSD people that it’s okay to be born with an Intersex/DSD body and to be happy with what you have.

Which is why for me for me, as an Intersex/DSD person and a nudist, I’m very comfortable in my own skin. I’m happy with what I have including all the flaws such as micropenis, ambiguous genitals, and small breast growth. I’m comfortable with the fact I look years younger than my age. Why I am comfortable in my own skin, is that nudism’s philosophy is all about body acceptance. It’s learning to accept your body for what it is and learning to deal with what you have. Nudism has shown that no body is perfect and it’s okay to have flaws and imperfections. Even being born with an Intersex/DSD body is perfectly okay and natural. Nudism is a way to say, I am happy with my body as it is. I’m comfortable with who I am and all the flaws and imperfections that I am born with.

It’s why, if Intersex/DSD people give nudism a chance, they can see that there is nothing wrong with their bodies and everyone is born with imperfections and flaws. Nudism even shows that you don’t need surgery to be happy with who you are. You just have to be comfortable with your own skin and learn to deal with what you’re naturally born with. For me, I’m not ashamed of my Intersex/DSD body. I’m comfortable with my Intersex/DSD body and no surgery in the world would make me happy – nudism has made me happy with my body and accepting of my intersex/DSD body for what it is.

It’s why I advocate that Intersex/DSD people learn about body acceptance and learn to accept their Intersex body for what it is. You don’t need those artificial acceptance, that medicine, society and people pressure Intersex/DSD people. They just need to learn to accept themselves and accept their body that they’re born with. Even learn to be comfortable with the skin they’re born with. Which is why I am one of the few Intersex/DSD people who are also a nudist and have been a nudist for a long time.

reposted with permission from Nicky’s World