A different side of anxiety

Hello all my quarantine cuties. I hope you’re all hangin’ in there, whatever hangin’ in there might look like for you. We’ve officially been on lockdown in New York for 25 days and many of us started social distancing long before that. I must say it has been a wild ride thus far.

Okay, actually, my brain is totally in protective mode and I feel numb to most of it right now. It’s like being on a rollercoaster and just as you’re reaching the peak, the person comes on the speaker and says “folks, we’re having some technical difficulties. Our maintenance person is on the scene and checking things out. Please standby.” You know you’re like still safe cuz it’s not like the ride is moving, but it’s freaky, but also what are you gonna do and like all you can do is just like sit there in the ride with your ass squeezed in there, and just like wait… Well, that’s how my quarantine is going anyways. Honestly, I thank my brain constantly for knowing what I can and can’t handle.

Aside from that all that though, life is still moving and I am continually trying to find the bright sides to this whole no human contact outside of work and groceries thing. I’ve been trying to occupy my brain space with other things, so I don’t have too much time to linger on much else. I’ve been writing a lot more, like outside of this blog. Which I actually don’t do that often, but want to do more of. I have this dream of writing short stories, more poems, perhaps even a book some day, but I lacked the motivation in the past. Right now, I don’t necessarily have the motivation, but I do have the time, so it makes it easier to self-motivate.

Writing, no matter what I am writing, is a way to help me process things, because remember I am a slow processor (see “A little less alone and a little bit more seen” for more details). Even when I am writing fiction type stories and I look them back over, I see a piece of myself in the characters and I recognize the areas of my life that I am working through. This week as I was writing about a kid that played too safe, never tried things she didn’t think she would be good at, I was like “oh shit, that me.”

I’ve filled my space and my head with activities I know I am good at because being good at something makes us feel good. That’s normal. However, it is hindering if I only do things I know I can be good at. Actually the quote that comes to mind here comes from one of my faves, Jake the Dog, from Adventure Time when he says “dude, suckin’ at something is the first step at becoming sorta good at something.” Jake the Dog is right, but gosh when I think about suckin’ at something it makes the perfectionist in me v. anxious.

The thing I’ve learned about anxiety though, is that we can still do stuff with anxiety. For instance, dating is so triggering for my anxiety, but guess what? I still go on dates. Sure, I have to remind myself to breathe and I drink water to keep moisture in my mouth because otherwise it’s completely void of it, but I do it. Dating has taught me a lot in my life, but that is the number one thing I have learned from it- no matter how scared you are to do something you still can. And not to brag, but now I’m becoming sorta good at dating (I think).

I’ve taken this lesson to help me through quarantine and I’ve started doing things that make me feel anxious. It all started with my photo shoot. I’ve been trying to grow my brand or whatever you wanna call it, and I thought a good way to do this would be to do a photoshoot with myself. This involved the dreaded makeup portion. To clarify, makeup is not needed for taking photo’s; however, I am scared of makeup because I don’t know how to do it and therefore wanted to try suckin’ at it so maybe I could be sorta good at it.

I was ready to jump in. I gathered my pack of makeup which consists of all one-four year old makeup. (I know it’s gross, please don’t shame me). As I was viewing all my tools I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if I did one of those “makeup tutorial” type videos, but since I’m not good at it the end result will just look like mess?’ LOL. I turned on my camera and I just went really quick through it pretending like I knew what I was doing. Then, something strange happened. I looked in the mirror at the end and I thought “well, that’s weird. I actually really like it.” Can you believe? It wasn’t the Starry Nights of faces by any means, but like I even added a winged liner and they matched. I thought ‘who is this girl?’ And let me tell you, that photoshoot was fierce. I had so much fun just taking pictures and thinking of fun poses and picking out outfits. I was just totally entranced in it for a few hours, which is a big chunk of time in quarantine land.

All of this is to say that in this weird, bizarre land that we are living in now, I am finding some interesting ways to take up brain space, while also feeling brave. My anxiety is completely attached to this central idea I have of myself: I am not good enough. My therapist described this core belief as a sticky piece of paper that clings onto everything that will make it feel true. Every negative comment, every heartbreak, every rejection it will feed into that thought. My hands don’t tremble when someone says I’m not worthy; I shrug and say ‘you’re right.’ Which means my  goal is to change that central thought, which is what I have been working on for the last year. I want my central self to read: I am enough. So with every scary task that won’t feed into that narrative I am altering those words to how I want to feel. Every date I muster up the courage for, every blog post I write without being a trained writer, every photoshoot I do in the middle of my living room, every time I pull out my makeup and start painting my face is a chance for me to say no to that central idea. I will keep doing things that make my hands tremble because I know that means I am doing something important for myself. I know that means that I am saying “I am enough”.

We are living in a time where most of us are probably trembling, not just in our hands but throughout our entire being. Just know that those trembles are your body living, which means you are doing something really important for yourself. And if the trembling is too much to take right now, perhaps a break with some TV might help.

I recommend Seinfeld, but whatever works for you.

A[wo]men

*Featured photo from said photoshoot*

think of your first time falling in love

hands trembling

unable to eat

breathe

sleep.

why should our standards

be any less

for any other passions

we deem fit?

-a different side of anxiety

 

An Exercise in Grounding

Wassssup (entering old school today- tongue out and all).

I think we are all aware that the world is, well, to put it gently, “off”. Now, I could spend the next hour writing about how I am feeling and all the scary ideas that are running through my head. Most typically, this is exactly what I would do. I would want you to know your aren’t alone in this and we are all going through it together. However, I don’t think that’s helpful right now. I think we are all feeling the unknown and we all have a better understanding of just how intense anxiety can feel. So, I thought it might be best to switch it up on the interwebz for a moment. You know, share something that isn’t all about a pandemic, or anxiety, or toilet paper.

I’ve been racking my brain over the last few hours trying to figure out exactly what that would be. What I could write about when my mind seems to be consumed with all of these things and more. What would help me to slow down and for a moment forget I’m alone in my apartment, unsure about the state of the world?

Gratitude.

It’s so simple, I am surprised it took me a few hours to come up with it. Just hear me out, I know that sometimes it is annoying when you are feeling one way and people are like “just think of all that you have”. Sometimes it makes me want to puke in my mouth. Sometimes I want to be angry and scared and petty and vent and not think about all the good. Sometimes things just suck and I want to sit in that suckiness for a bit. We have every right to do so. There are other times though that thinking about all I have can alter my mood in ways I never thought it could. When a brain is on fire and is able to say I am thankful that I have water to put it out- that, my friends, is power. A power that is free of cost and fills up time and is totally doable in, let’s say, a quarantine situation.

Today I will be making a list of 25 things that I am so incredibly grateful for today.

1. The sun is shining, baby. Gettin’ that Vitamin D under my skylights as I am writing this.
2. I have a place to live.
3. There is food in my fridge, freezer, and cabinets.
4. My friends are amazing. They check-in on me. They call me. They send me texts. They remind me that I am loved. I may be physically alone in this apartment, but I am definitely not alone.
5. I have hobbies. I write and I dance and I run and all of these things keep me grounded.
6. I am working. People still need our care and I am going to help provide that care for as long as I am able to.
7. Netflix.
8. Hulu.
9. Disney+. (Yes, they all get their own separate numbers because that’s how grateful I am for each one.)
10. My family group chat right now is straight fire. We even got a water challenge going so we all stay hydrated.
11. Memers are on the top of their game. They say laughter is the best medicine and damn, Instagram has been saving lives with its pure comedic medicine.
12. I have a washer and dryer in my apartment. Thankful for this on a daily basis.
13. I am healthy.
14. I have running water.
15. Electricity.
16. My awesome book collection is, well, awesome.
17. Coloring books are a gift.
18. Fat activists/diet school dropouts reminding me that it’s okay to eat. That I don’t need to prioritize weight loss in this moment or any other moment. And that sometimes food is comfort.
19. Healthcare workers.
20. Grocery store workers.
21. Therapy. Talk about your feelings- get support.
22. Soap. and subsequently-
23. Lotion.
24. Candles aka therapy of the aroma variety.
25. I’m alive. And while life can seem so fragile, it’s that fragility that reminds us just how important it is to live it.

If you’re still feeling overwhelmed right now, just check-in with your body. You are here and that is enough right now. Maybe you could make your own list. If 25 seems like too much, think of 1. Maybe you’ll start and not be able to stop. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember all you have right in front of you. Or maybe you’ll just want to sit it in the suckiness for a bit. That’s cool too.

If you are struggling with any of the things on this list, like lack of food or TP or essentials in any way please reach out to me. I may not be able to help out a lot, but I will do what I can.

Also, if you’re just looking for an ear, I am pretty good at listening, or so I’ve been told.

A[wo]men

i

love

you

-simplicity

 

 

An all or nothin’ gal

“I know there is love that doesn’t have to do with taking something from somebody”  is currently singing softly into my ears as I contemplate what I should write about. (Thanks, sis, for the recommendation; Francis Quinlan- Rare Things.) What happened this week? What is relatable and helpful for people to know? Should I write about my distaste for PSL’s (pumpkin spice latte’s) as a person that identifies as basic (as my one friend urged me to do)? Do people perhaps want to hear about my recent dates? Maybe they would like to know about my most delicious meals from the week? Or how I almost impulsively bought a cat? Which I am glad I did not because I found out my roommate is allergic. Or would it be more interesting to write about my month long of visitors?

I think I will start right here. Right here in this coffee shop on the verge of tears. As I sit in my feelings I will say today I feel down. I was riding a 4 week high only to crash into one of my lows. 4 weeks is the longest I can remember feeling content. I’ve never gone 4 weeks feeling stable in any feeling really. An accomplishment, to say the least. Yet, on Monday when I woke up feeling like maybe getting out of bed was too much work; and perhaps brushing my teeth would cause physical pain; and probably washing my face was too much to ask for.. I was taken aback. A bit of a shock to the system really.

My therapists words echoed in my head “this is just a story you keep telling yourself. You have to pull yourself out and keep fighting.” Okay, I thought, I will keep fighting. I pulled myself out of bed. I ate breakfast and showered as each step felt heavier and heavier. I went to work and listened to other’s sad stories and absorbed more sadness. I cried on my lunch break. As I wiped the tears away I took a deep breathe before entering the building and said ‘keep fighting, Sarah.’

That night I tried to reason with my emotions. Perhaps you could leave now and, hey, why today? Then I decided to take a step back and look at what happened within the last 4 weeks: I ended therapy because I was doing well. My parents came to visit, then my friend, Kitty, came to visit and then my old roommates came to visit. I started dating again. I texted my ex. I drank alcohol. *Not in that order. I didn’t exercise. I ran out of probiotics. I ate amazing food. I spent a copious amount of money. I wrote an amazing blog post about my sister. I worked. I had my first Saturday off in a long time.

BTW, I know what you’re thinking… ‘She skipped right over that whole ex text pretty quickly. Blame the alcohol and the ex text, for sure.’ Fair thought and def. not my finest moment, I admit. However, I don’t believe that was the catalyst for my low. I think about my experience with him often and have messaged him before even while I felt happy. I’ve come to terms with the fact that moving on from that experience is just going to take time.

What was the trigger then? I skimmed through every conversation I could remember and every scenario that I thought potentially brought on these feelings. It was a lot of processing.  Then, to add some humor to it all, as I am feeling this way (with my whole shtick being honesty and bravery mind you) I post a picture to instagram sharing how much love I felt and how happy I was. The caption reads “My heart is so full I’m at a loss for words” and even as I was posting it I thought ‘this is everything I hate about social media. Why am I lying?’ If I were being honest the caption would read “I can’t think of anything to write because I feel extremely sad and I don’t know why, but here are some hella cute pics.” They truly are hella cute pics.

Then it hit me. Between all the laughter and happiness over the last four weeks, there were other emotions that I was pushing aside. I was clinging onto this idea that I was “cured from feeling sadness” even though I know that isn’t how it works. It was as though my therapist saying I don’t have to come in weekly anymore translated to ‘you’ll never be sad again’. I know from my training that all emotions are valid and normal, yet as soon as I got a glimpse of happiness it’s all I wanted to feel. Every moment I thought I was even feeling anything other than sadness I distracted it. I wrapped myself up in happy activities to push away anything else I could feel. Then, when I woke up feeling sad I immediately went down he rabbit hole of ‘this was all I was ever meant to feel’. Again, logically, I know this isn’t how emotions work. We are not all or nothing creatures, even though my type A personality wants it to be that way. I’m an all or nothing girl in a not so all or nothing world. I think it’s because it makes it easier to keep track of in my head. I know how to handle one emotion at a time. When I start to mix them all together I break down. CANNOT COMPUTE. SYSTEM OVERLOAD.

Yesterday, when I was still feeling down and trying not to fall into this boxed thinking, I thought back on my feelings of happiness and on my previous bouts of depression. Currently, I don’t feel suicidal. I feel tired and even that isn’t debilitating. In fact, the more I think about it the more I realize my sadness is actually warranted. In the past there wouldn’t always be a reason for feeling low, sometimes it just was what it was. This time around I was feeling triggered by different events. I was feeling depleted of energy because I pushed myself as a hostess for four weeks. I didn’t take any personal time to recharge between visitors. Now, as I am writing I am also realizing that although I feel sad, it doesn’t mean that I can’t also feel happy. Heck, I can feel sadness while I am happy, anger while I am sad, happiness while I am angry and so on and so on. Again, my type A personality would beg to differ, but she’s going to have to get used to the flexibility.

On Sunday, when I could feel my energy depleting, I decided that I needed to do more tasks that help me feel grounded when my emotions started to feel overwhelming. So, I started reading again, something I stopped when I moved to Alaska. Even in these last few days, it’s brought back this new power in me, where I can feel like I am learning again. #imissschool I forgot how much I missed reading and how much it encourages me to keep writing. How words, when strung together just right, can send a surge of energy through me when I didn’t know I needed it. Even sometimes my own words heal me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

I started this post feeling stuck in my emotions, I even considered skipping it for the week- I am glad I didn’t. As I wrote and unpacked it all, I am feeling lighter and as though life is just a little bit easier. Our emotions are part of being human. If you are feeling stuck in your emotions today, know you are not alone. It may be helpful to write it down or draw it out or even say it out-loud. Say I am human and my emotions are just a part of the ride in a way that feels like a release to you. We all go through it and how powerful is it to know that?

A[wo]men

---

no words can make you heal

but

touching a pencil to paper

or

the grace of a hand on a keyboard

or

the sound of a booming voice

or

the rhythm of a body matching gentle sounds

having your works etched into the universe

that is where you find healing

-the power of your art

My Body is a Monument

Hi all, I think I am still riding the high from last weeks post. If you didn’t get a chance to read Kitty’s story I highly encourage that you do so. It was awesome to be able to write about someone else for a change. And I am beyond excited for my September story that will be coming at the end of this month, so keep an eye out!

As for this week, I have something important I would like to write about. This is something that used to dominate my blog, but I have steered away from for quite some time.

I am ready to talk about it again: My Body.

**Trigger warnings of self-harm and eating disorders**

In therapy, I talk a lot about my relationship with my body. I do a lot of inner child work  which you can read more about with this link. For one of my sessions we talked about my first memory of hating my body.  She told me to close my eyes and just think of a memory that comes up. I could picture it so clearly:

My hair was a mess that day because we had just gotten back from recess. I was wearing cat ears made of felt and so the felt kept rubbing against my hair and creating the little ones to stand up with my pony slicked back as tight as it could go. I was wearing a navy blue nike shirt and some jeans. There was so much joy because it was the last day with our 1st grade reading buddies.  My co-reading buddy and I crouched down next to our first grade friend and the adult snapped the shot. A few days later the pictures were developed and hung in the hallway. I remember feeling complete shame every time I had to walk past that photograph. My co-reading buddy was flawless. Her long blonde hair flowing in the photograph, no sign of rolls on her skin. I remember thinking how she was pretty and thin and I was fat and ugly.

I was 10 years old. 

I remember having to go to JCPenny for back to school shopping because it was the only store that had clothes for bigger kids. I  recalled the hatred I felt for being the fat cheerleader, squeezing into the largest skirt they had.  I remember developing breasts much earlier than I wanted and being teased about it constantly. I wanted to hide in a baggy sweatshirt and never let anyone see my body, including myself.

My body has been was a battleground for as long as I can remember. In high school, as my depression peaked, I began cutting my thighs. Why my thighs, you might ask? Well for starters it was much easier to hide. Also, I hated my thighs more than I hated any other part of my body. I thought maybe scars would make me love them more and if that didn’t work at least they would be punished for being the bane of my existence. I hate to admit that it worked. I liked the scars. I like telling people that my cat scratched me when the wounds would make a brief appearance at a sleepover. I liked having this secret ritual that helped me cope with the hatred I was feeling for my body.

And with all that I ate.

I ate to cope. I ate to stay the way I was. I ate to feel. Food was my life raft.

It got dark… like really dark. For a long time I think I was just drifting along in a sea of darkness, not really knowing or wanting to know how to get out. Then, little by little, it started to get light.

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately to understand how I got from point A to point B. How did I go from despising my body more than anything to people telling me I inspire them to love their own body? It certainly wasn’t over night.

So, I did what always helps me process, I sat down and I started writing. I wrote about the teasing, the cheerleading, the comparisons, the dieting, the misunderstandings of my own worth. I thought about my need for love and how I put value to my body by peoples desire to have it. I doodled about the body positive movement, Ashley Graham, and Lizzo. I wrote about writing and the power I found from telling my truth about my body. I journaled about my binge eating disorder diagnosis and what it felt like to hear that for the first time. Then I thought about therapy and all the help it has given me.

Earlier I wrote that my body has been a battleground and crossed it out, because it feels as though the war is finally over. My body is now a monument where a battle used to take place. This is not to say that I am all loving, never have a down day, totally happy all the time. Ew. This is to say that I can now go to these parts of myself without a sword in my hand trying to cut them all down. I can sit with the feeling and let it just be there. Like most monuments, I pay tribute to all the ways the war shaped me and what it taught me. Basically, I got from point A to point B by learning how to be gentle… And Lizzo.

When it comes to all the work I have done, and keep doing, it is all with the hope that the next generation, my own future kids, can feel happy in their skin. I don’t want to pass down an ideal of what size, gender, height, body box they have to fit into. I just want them to be kids.

And so lately, when I start to feel really down about my body, I think of what I would do as a kid if I didn’t have this ideal in my head. Then, I stand in front of my mirror, usually in my bra and underwear and I just dance. I put on a song that I can’t help but move too, I wiggle my thighs with the scar still there, moving with me. I look at my body with a bit of naivety, just allowing it to be. 10/10 would recommend.

A[wo]men

If you are struggling with your body image, please know that you are not alone. Also know, that it doesn’t have to feel this way forever. Little by little it can get lighter for you. And if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder reach out to the  National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) or me and I can assist you in finding the help you want.

The weapons are drawn.

And as the mirror shatters,

Your own worst enemy has been defeated.

-How to build a monument

*Featured image drawn during my exploration doodles of the body-positive movement. Done with my eyes-closed, as encouraged by a dear friend, to take away judgement*

Life Imitating Art

Yesterday, I gathered my belongings, googled the best spot to get work done in Brooklyn, and took two trains to reach the Brooklyn Roasting Company. I got a delicious peach iced tea and sat in a spot that could only be described as the most ideal place for writing. I waited till I stopped sweating, opened my laptop… and nothing.

I wrote and erased and wrote and erased until I became so frustrated I was crying in the coffee shop. I closed the computer screen and thought maybe I just need to take a walk. I walked to the water, my usual happy place, and, in all honesty, I berated myself. ‘Why can’t you just write something? What is wrong with you? Are you stupid? Poor depressed Sarah, can’t even write about her own life.’ I then came to the conclusion that Tuesday was not my day to write. I felt defeated, low on energy, and pretty worthless.

I went to go eat lunch because I thought maybe that would help. As I sat in the crowded restaurant staring at the people eating lunch together, watching their conversations flow- symbiotic and mesmerizing- I felt alone, alone and sad. I got up at one point to go to the bathroom and my ass hit my neighbors cup as I tried to squeeze between the two tables. I heard the two people laugh and saw their eyes glance at one another. I was already feeling like shit, let’s pile on more. I could feel my face turning red as I sped to the bathroom. The bathroom, single stall, was where I tried to slow my breathing, hoping my red would dull. Of course, I was so embarrassed from the ass-cup incident I forgot to lock the door and my breathing exercise was not only interrupted, but my red face turned even more scarlet. “Someone’s in here” I managed to say in a high whisper. And then I began to cry again. Knowing I had to return to my booth where I had to shove my ass in between the tables again gave me anxiety. So I returned to my breathe, splashed cold water on my face, and avoided the mirror before returning to the table. I finished my lunch slowly, attempting to avoid judgment from my neighboring tables. I had this voice in my head that said ‘if a fat girl eats too fast while she is alone at lunch that won’t look good.’ Literally, no logic to this sentiment, but that’s where my head was at. As the table on my left (not the ass-cup table) was leaving they knocked their entire wine bottle of water into my lap. I smiled and said it was “no problem at all” adding in my head ‘this is just how my day is going.’ I looked at my phone and realized it was time to head to therapy. Thank yeezy.

I thought about how glad I was that I had therapy and how badly I wanted to cancel. I already knew that it was going to be tough one. Yet, I pushed myself to go. I knew it was what I needed. I hopped on the train to uptown Manhattan and arrived 40 minutes early, as someone with anxiety often does, and laid down in Central Park until it was actually time for me to be there. As I laid down it started to drizzle and I thought about how the sky is crying because I am crying. It felt like I was symbiotic with nature in that moment. Both of us rinsing our pain with water. I may not have had a lunch pal but I can always rely on nature to sit and engage with me.

It was then time for my appointment.

I went inside, sat on the couch, and burst into tears. “What’s coming up for you, Sarah?” My therapist often asks me this and I have to think about what is triggering my responses. “I feel empty. I’ve felt empty. I went to write, which is how I usually let things go, and nothing came out.” The session went on like this for about 60 minutes. Crying, exploring, crying, breathing, exploring, crying. Towards the end of the session my therapist said “Sarah, I’m scared for you. Are you scared for you? It feels to me like you are drowning.”

“Yeah, I feel like I am drowning.”

“Have you felt like this before.”

“Yeah, every few months or so. It’s just a cycle I am on. I know this will pass.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Damn, she said that. I was taken aback, but also grateful to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” she continued “but I don’t play games in here. We tell ourselves stories and we start to believe those stories. You have trauma and yes, I am sure it feels like you are ‘stuck on a cycle’ but you are not stuck. It is up to you to end it, Sarah. You have to fight for yourself; everyday you have to fight. It’s not easy, but you have to do this for yourself.”

And with those final words she gave me a hug and whispered again ‘you have to fight’.

I left that room and felt her words echoing in my ears- “You have to fight for yourself.”

I hopped back on the train towards Brooklyn with my next destination in mind. I wasn’t headed home, I was headed to CKO Kickboxing. Why? Well, for one I had made a promise last week to try new things. Two- I walk past this place everyday and think ‘I should really try that’ so I figured today would be the day I do. Three- I am watching Riverdale still and Archie is doing boxing and it looks badass. Four- They have a 29.99 special for three classes. Five- I have to fight for myself.

It was hard. It was painful. It was exactly what I needed. Every hit, kick, run, and jump I felt myself fighting to be alive. Fighting to break a cycle, or a story rather, that doesn’t need to be my story. I sent my therapist a message thanking her and informing her of the class. She told me she was happy for me and that I can do this and to “KICK ASS”.

There are so many stories we tell ourselves yet, we forget that we wrote them and we can erase and rewrite and erase and rewrite until the very end. Yesterday, I felt defeated that I couldn’t write; my pattern of writing and erasing felt exhausting. Today, I realized that was an exercise and reminder for me- the epitome of ‘life imitating art’.  Every time we write we can erase and every time we erase we can rewrite. Today, I woke up- sore from my workout- excited to rewrite.

Everyday I wake up is a chance to keep fighting and writing. I hope you all keep fighting and writing with me.

A[wo]men

*Note: I found my new, amazing therapist from My Wellbeing – a website dedicated to finding the right therapist for you. If you’re in the 5 boroughs area and on the search for a therapist you can truly connect with, follow the link and fill out your profile today*

 

Love Thy Naked Body

I am deprived of sleep, food, water and motivation. Forgive me Yeezy, for I have gone to a work conference. Since I hate skipping days, but have zero thoughts of what I would like to write about I am going to do a re-post from my previous blog of one of my favs. I hope you enjoy it. I will return with your regularly scheduled, up-to-date blog post next week.

‘I know we have all done this, some of more than others, but it is widely known that all people stare at themselves naked. If we didn’t stare at ourselves we wouldn’t be able to recognize changes in our bodies and that, my friends, is bad for science. Something particularly beautiful happened to me today as I stared at my naked body. Well, I guess I am getting ahead of myself. Let me begin with the basics of naked staring. I bet if I took a poll at who looked at themselves naked, everyone would say “Yes! I do!” If I took a second poll from that 100% and asked “how many stare at their body and don’t like what they see?” I am guessing that number would be around 70%. Maybe that is an exaggeration, but from all the remarks I hear on self esteem I can’t imagine there is a large number of us who like our naked selves. I know I was part of that 70%. The worst part is I would be thinking about what others would think… about MY NAKED BODY. I would sit there and think to myself, “no wonder I am single, look at me”. How fucked up is that? First of all, if we picked our significant others based on how the naked body looks to us we would all be walking around naked, all the time. I could join a nudist colony if I wanted that. Also, have you seen naked men? I enjoy them keeping it in pants. Those things just fly all over the place! I wouldn’t be able to go to the grocery store without fear of getting stabbed by their pork swords… Second of all, I never thought to wonder what Ithought of my naked body. This is where the beautiful thing comes into play. I am standing in front of my full length mirror and I stop for a second and think “damn, I look good.” In fact, Meghan Trainer came into my head. You know, ‘all the right junk, in all the right places’.

It was like I saw my body as my own for the first time. The best part was that it had nothing to do with my weight loss. Even if I hadn’t lost a single pound yet I would have been able to really look at myself. I saw the way my body curves and sags and bends. How fucking cool is that? My body was my own today, for the first time in a really long time. I didn’t ponder over what boys would think or how I would compare standing next to Natalie Portman, I was just looking at me. I can’t describe to you how therapeutic it is until you discover it yourself.

Today, I watched a video on upworthy.com about diets and how they are controlled by capitalism. I know it almost sounds like a conspiracy theory, but it was actually pretty valid. In the video she made a lot of really good points. The best point being the fact that we blame ourselves when diets don’t work. We see ourselves as the failures vs. the diet being the failures. It echoed around in my brain, “failure, failure, failure” *light bulb* “Wait, I am not a failure?” No, I am not and neither are you. Okay, I guess I don’t personally know everyone reading this, but if you have any experiences like mine via addiction, I am guessing you are not a failure. When I looked at myself in the mirror I realized everything I thought I knew was so very wrong about humans. We are a goddamn piece of art. If you put us all together with all of our shades and shapes and thoughts, we are the David of sculptures. The Northern Lights of the sky. We are pretty amazing.

Love thy naked body. ‘

-Reposted from wiscocheesefries.tumblr.com [Feb 8th, 2015]