Posts tagged me
Posts tagged me
I always crack up when I see those informercials about some diet pill or something, do you know how easy it is to just suck in your gut and flex? It’s actually easier to look fat when you have abdominal strength. Anyway I took these pictures 2 seconds apart.
Top: My sister and I taking a picture at some fundraising dinner event for our school.
Bottom: Me, captured in a candid image. >_>
My back is one of my biggest insecurities, but not today.
Off to the bar 😋
According to Seventeen Magazine, my BMI is 0.4 away from being “overweight.” Despite the reasons why using BMI as a measure of health is complete and utter bullshit, I have to applaud this magazine for a relatively nice try at making me feel horrible about myself. First of all, great job at putting my lowest weight during my eating disorder (considered underweight by an actual medical doctor) in the “healthy” weight range, as well as putting one of my closest Tumblr friend’s current BMI in “healthy” as well, even though she’s at the lowest weight of her anorexia. Secondly, fantastic use of brainpower for making 20+ the only ages that are allowed to have an actual healthy range.
Thirdly, and most important of all, thank you for getting me so worked up that I took pictures of my self-loathed, unmade up, and zit-covered body, and am posting them on the internet. Thank you for making this thought click in my head: All I want to do is accept myself. Who cares what other people think of my body?
See, I know I’m not overweight. I feel and see myself as obese 99% of the time, but I know that I’m physically at a normal weight. I’m in recovery (and have been for about four months) for an eating disorder and depression that nearly cost me my life, but not once have I felt comfortable enough with my body to post anything like this online. I’m still not sure about it as I’m typing these words.
But seriously. This has to stop. In what world is a twelve-year-old nearly four points underweight “healthy”? In what world am I nearly overweight, when in reality I have three or more points to spare?
Yeah, maybe a part of me wants to get down to the 14.8 BMI that’s so-called “healthy” for my age. But maybe a bigger part of me is so done with people being so concerned with weight and looks. Maybe a bigger part of me wants to personally have the extreme pleasure of shutting down companies that are this idiotic. Maybe a bigger part of me doesn’t even care what I look like, as long as my body is functioning and enabling me to live my life.
Because what is a body? A body is a shell. A body is not a soul. But a body helps that soul.
A body is a laughing machine, a crying machine. A smiling, frowning, and thinking machine. It lets you read, it lets you play music, it lets you run and play sports and sit on the couch watching movies. It alerts you when you need fuel, it alerts you when there’s danger, it alerts you when you’re excited. It gives you those loved and hated “butterflies.” It connects itself with other human beings. It does homework, studies, blows off studying, and lets you take walks. It pets your animals, plays with little kids, and climbs mountains. It looks good in your favorite outfits, and it kisses your favorite person.
Who cares what size it is? When you add up all of the things it does for you, the least you can do is be proud of it and accept it. Maybe even love it.
So, Seventeen Magazine. You tried to make me feel shit about myself. Nice try.
If you ever feel frustrated that you don’t see bodies that look like yours on your dash, put a body that looks like yours on your dash.
The only guys that roll up on my dash have abs and v-cuts, tans and pecs. Fuck that; my pale squishy body is great too.
I’m 20 days into NFN and this is the first I’m blogging about it. Partly because I didn’t think I’d make it this long, but mostly because I wanted to see if I could hold myself accountable for something this far outside my comfort zone without that voice in my head saying, “But Tumblr’s watching, you have to do it!”
Basically, NFN is this thing of where I’m not dolling myself up one single day this month. I’m learning to like the way my natural face and nails look. I’m learning to feel comfortable being in public in “sloppy” attire. I’m learning to like the natural wave in my hair. I am learning to forgo what looks good in lieu of living in a way that feels good.
“I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.” — Fabienne, Pulp Fiction
This is my favorite new outfit. The top (black sheer with a metallic tiger’s face) is a perfect example of my fierce gender mode and the pants (purple plaid skinny jeans) are my sassy gender mode.
#stopbullying its time to stand up and make a difference #liupost (Taken with Instagram)
I don’t know what I’m doing
My Femme Roar:
I shaved my beard,
watched my “masculinity” swirl down the bathroom sink.
A whirlpool of blonde, red, brown facial hair colonization.
Now I am ambiguous. Fishy. Double-glance worthy.
I have earned the dangers of womynhood,
the exclusion from feminism due to “transsexualism”,
and the invisibility of being a Two Spirit femme queer that transcends all this Western binary bullshit.
I exist. I exist.
Survival is one breath at a time.
When my love is not here, especially now as we’re planning our wedding from across an ocean, I find myself flipping through all of our photos over and over again and realizing new things each time. Things about the two of us together and things about myself that I wouldn’t recognize had I not looked at my thought processes retrospectively.
I bought that black lace top from Torrid knowing full well that it would probably make me feel uncomfortable about my arms and upper body via exposure. My shoulders are broad and strong, my upper arms substantial. I spent much of my youth covering them and they have come to be one of the hardest parts of me to learn how to accept.
But today, I recognize things in my own facade and embrace rather than reject.
I accept that for me, fatness is a family trait. I inherited my full bosom, round belly, thick thighs, and meaty arms. They are signifiers of strength.
I see the strong women in my family reflected in my appearance. I am constantly empowered by the echo of their bodies in my own.
I look forward to expressing all of the above to our children someday. I can not wait to be a proud, unapologetic, loving fat mother. Maybe one day I’ll have a daughter who inherits my thick arms and doesn’t know what to make of them and I’ll say “Look, I have them too. Your grandmother, and great grandmother, and all these other brilliant women in our family have them. They have been passed down to you because they are strong, and so are you.”
No clubbin’ tonight or #twerkingwithlovedones
oh well, i guess i’m just gonna be hot and ugly on the interwebz, finish HW, and play video games with my Leaf Shinobi Comrade. <3
Our chubby tummies are in love.