This is a place of encouragement, a place to discuss body image, insecurities, self-esteem, and everything under the umbrella of fighting self-hate and finding self-love.

No matter what you look like, what color, what gender, sexual orientation, what size or however many "flaws", healthy, not healthy, working on it, abled, disabled, we are all human, we all deserve to be happy, we all deserve to love ourselves. With this blog you will see all kinds of REAL bodies, REAL people, REAL stories.

-PLEASE READ FAQ before messaging

-BE AWARE some posts may be triggering depending on submissions, check for trigger warnings and tags. Also any harassment will be met with blocking and a report to Tumblr Support

 

stiifi:

Hey, I’m doing this for the SHYB challenge, I think it’s a nice way for people to shake off their insecurities. 
These words up there are the names people used to/are giving me. These are the words that upset me the most. They call me a freak and I try hard to fit in with the others. Even after I lost a lot of weight, I still feel like a balloon. Because people told me so. I’m afraid to even say I like curvy girls, because I would be instantly put down for it.
I also like to sing and dance during free periods in school. And I’m psycho for it? I didn’t realize I should cry.
You know what? I admit that I’m not on the level of self-acceptance that I want to be at, but I’m getting there. And I would like to ask people…what do you want from me? I’m human, I’m not perfect, I have flaws, I’m insecure about them and I’m working them out. But I’m not here to please you. I can be whatever I want to be.
I’m sick of you trying to suffocate me with your standards. I consider myself as out of the box and I still don’t know if I like it or not. But it’s me. So let me breathe.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

stiifi:

Hey, I’m doing this for the SHYB challenge, I think it’s a nice way for people to shake off their insecurities. 

These words up there are the names people used to/are giving me. These are the words that upset me the most. They call me a freak and I try hard to fit in with the others. Even after I lost a lot of weight, I still feel like a balloon. Because people told me so. I’m afraid to even say I like curvy girls, because I would be instantly put down for it.

I also like to sing and dance during free periods in school. And I’m psycho for it? I didn’t realize I should cry.

You know what? I admit that I’m not on the level of self-acceptance that I want to be at, but I’m getting there. And I would like to ask people…what do you want from me? I’m human, I’m not perfect, I have flaws, I’m insecure about them and I’m working them out. But I’m not here to please you. I can be whatever I want to be.

I’m sick of you trying to suffocate me with your standards. I consider myself as out of the box and I still don’t know if I like it or not. But it’s me. So let me breathe.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

(I know you told us to not submit our icons but the tagging thing wasn’t working)

This is the icon I chose because it is exactly how I feel. People literally walk write through me and dont notice me. Invisible. nothing special. Yup. But even though I’m still invisible. I know I’m special. I’m a really good singer actually. I’m good. But almost know one knows except my chorus class and my friends. Ang guess what? I sang a solo in chorus two days in a row. No applause. Nothing. Of course they applaud for the other solists though. Anyway I don’t want to bore you. So here you go. This is the t-shirt I want everyone to see me wearing. Oh, wait never mind. They still wouldn’t see me.

(I know you told us to not submit our icons but the tagging thing wasn’t working)

This is the icon I chose because it is exactly how I feel. People literally walk write through me and dont notice me. Invisible. nothing special. Yup. But even though I’m still invisible. I know I’m special. I’m a really good singer actually. I’m good. But almost know one knows except my chorus class and my friends. Ang guess what? I sang a solo in chorus two days in a row. No applause. Nothing. Of course they applaud for the other solists though. Anyway I don’t want to bore you. So here you go. This is the t-shirt I want everyone to see me wearing. Oh, wait never mind. They still wouldn’t see me.

lezbatronn:

I don’t usually do the SHYB challenges, even though I should, and I guess this works for my TMI Tuesday, this would be my “Born This Way” shirt, as nerdy as I feel doing this.
Trigger warning for self-harm and discussing pretty grody things.
I’ve posted about cutting before, but I’ve never really talked about it, not that I have that many followers to read it to begin with.
I didn’t start cutting until less than a year ago, back in late June/early July. Before that, I had a problem picking scabs and scratching myself with my fingernails and biting my knuckles. I knew it was a problem, I just thought it wasn’t as bad as what i could be doing. I have a scab on my scalp that is a year old. It hasn’t healed in all that time, and I know I’ve probably got an infection or two from it, but it’s been a compulsion.
Like one gets used to alcohol and drugs and need more of them to get the same feeling, I needed more. I couldn’t calm down by raking my nails over my arms and legs and back anymore, so I started cutting and never looked back, so to speak. At least not until one night my damn cat looked right up at me while I was grabbing the knife I used and started hissing at it. I’m talking all-out, ready for a fight HISSING. Then after I cut, she wouldn’t let me touch her. She say on my bed and looked at me, and when I’d move toward her, she’d run away. That was the first time I decided to stop.
Then, last semester school and life got stressful. My depression grew worse and worse and I couldn’t come out of it, so I turned to cutting again for a month or so, but then I told a friend and she was really upset about it, and she’s helping me now. I don’t know where I’d be without her :) (Ilu, baby sister!)
I’m still recovering and I always will be. I never want anyone to have to go through this. This has been harder than anything in my life. I’ve lost three grandparents, gotten major leg surgery, passed classes that I had a really hard time with, utterly bombed tests, and pierced parts of my body that you can’t see when I’m in a swimsuit, but recovering from this… gosh, I don’t even know what to call it, disease? has been the hardest. It’s not worth it. Talk to someone, anyone. Talk to a teacher, a friend, a parent, hell, an ANIMAL, just tell someone about it. It’s so hard to go through it alone.
http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4

lezbatronn:

I don’t usually do the SHYB challenges, even though I should, and I guess this works for my TMI Tuesday, this would be my “Born This Way” shirt, as nerdy as I feel doing this.

Trigger warning for self-harm and discussing pretty grody things.

I’ve posted about cutting before, but I’ve never really talked about it, not that I have that many followers to read it to begin with.

I didn’t start cutting until less than a year ago, back in late June/early July. Before that, I had a problem picking scabs and scratching myself with my fingernails and biting my knuckles. I knew it was a problem, I just thought it wasn’t as bad as what i could be doing. I have a scab on my scalp that is a year old. It hasn’t healed in all that time, and I know I’ve probably got an infection or two from it, but it’s been a compulsion.

Like one gets used to alcohol and drugs and need more of them to get the same feeling, I needed more. I couldn’t calm down by raking my nails over my arms and legs and back anymore, so I started cutting and never looked back, so to speak. At least not until one night my damn cat looked right up at me while I was grabbing the knife I used and started hissing at it. I’m talking all-out, ready for a fight HISSING. Then after I cut, she wouldn’t let me touch her. She say on my bed and looked at me, and when I’d move toward her, she’d run away. That was the first time I decided to stop.

Then, last semester school and life got stressful. My depression grew worse and worse and I couldn’t come out of it, so I turned to cutting again for a month or so, but then I told a friend and she was really upset about it, and she’s helping me now. I don’t know where I’d be without her :) (Ilu, baby sister!)

I’m still recovering and I always will be. I never want anyone to have to go through this. This has been harder than anything in my life. I’ve lost three grandparents, gotten major leg surgery, passed classes that I had a really hard time with, utterly bombed tests, and pierced parts of my body that you can’t see when I’m in a swimsuit, but recovering from this… gosh, I don’t even know what to call it, disease? has been the hardest. It’s not worth it. Talk to someone, anyone. Talk to a teacher, a friend, a parent, hell, an ANIMAL, just tell someone about it. It’s so hard to go through it alone.

http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4

unbrokenpromises:

(submission to the SHYB Born this Way challenge :) )
Since high school, I’ve been called a drama queen by almost all of my friends, and most of my family, including my now husband. I was in theater in high school, and I hopefully will end up teaching it in the future. It used to not get to me so much, because, well, I was a drama queen… I was in the theater more than I was at my own house. But people didn’t use the theatrical connotation, they used the over-dramatic gossiper, side of it when describing me. And for awhile I smiled because it gave me a sense of belonging… I just wanted to fit in like everyone else… I wanted to be apart of something. Then it started getting a little annoying. I seemed to not be able to say or do anything without having the “nickname” tacked on to me. Then it started getting insulting. Now it’s like when ever anyone even hints at me being one, I throw up a wall to defend myself and don’t back down until they do. I hate that term more than anything in the world. It’s not who I am… it’s a high school label that got glued to my forehead when I was sleeping… and it’s about time people start seeing the other ones.
http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4

unbrokenpromises:

(submission to the SHYB Born this Way challenge :) )

Since high school, I’ve been called a drama queen by almost all of my friends, and most of my family, including my now husband. I was in theater in high school, and I hopefully will end up teaching it in the future. It used to not get to me so much, because, well, I was a drama queen… I was in the theater more than I was at my own house. But people didn’t use the theatrical connotation, they used the over-dramatic gossiper, side of it when describing me. And for awhile I smiled because it gave me a sense of belonging… I just wanted to fit in like everyone else… I wanted to be apart of something. Then it started getting a little annoying. I seemed to not be able to say or do anything without having the “nickname” tacked on to me. Then it started getting insulting. Now it’s like when ever anyone even hints at me being one, I throw up a wall to defend myself and don’t back down until they do. I hate that term more than anything in the world. It’s not who I am… it’s a high school label that got glued to my forehead when I was sleeping… and it’s about time people start seeing the other ones.

http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4

qtsblackhawk:

I’m crazy.
I was crazy for loving horses with all of my heart since the day I could breathe.
I was crazy for following that passion with everything I had. 
I was, and still am, crazy for being a vegetarian, and deciding that at the age of twelve.
I was crazy for being emotional, and crying all the time.
I was, and still am, crazy for loving school and being successful at it.
I was crazy for dating him.
I was crazy for falling in love with him.
I was crazy for staying with him.
I was crazy for freaking out and panicking.
I’m crazy for having panic attacks.
I’m crazy for having anxiety.
I’m crazy because I don’t drink, or smoke, or do drugs.
I’m crazy because I chose to wait to have sex when it was right for me.
I’m crazy because I wouldn’t have sex with you.
I’m crazy because I let all those things you said get to me.
I’m crazy for counting calories and thinking about food all the time.
I’m crazy for thinking I’m fat, and hating my body.
I’m crazy for constantly planning.
I was crazy for making myself throw up.
I’m crazy for getting up early.
I’m crazy for being a feminist.
I’m crazy for getting tattoos.
I’m crazy for dying my hair blue, then chopping it off.
I’m crazy for believing in nature.
Everyone, my whole life, has told me I was crazy. When I finally went to therapy for anxiety and eating issues, I thought I was crazy too.
Yea, I’m some form of “crazy.” But what makes me crazy is what makes me me, and I love that. I’d rather be “crazy” than normal any day.
I still remember when all those times you called me crazy. All the people who called me crazy. My family, friends, peers, father. But there is one person who hurt me more than the others. I’ll never forget your words. I told you after we broke up (after you treated me like shit) that I was talking to some other guys.
You said: “you should give me their number so I can tell them how crazy you are.”
That hurt. I was too crazy for you to handle. I’m too crazy for anyone to handle. Those words and that feeling has never left me.
Luckily, I love me now, and all of my crazy ways. I’m unique and interesting and wonderful and lovely and complicated and deep.
I’m crazy, I will always be crazy. And I love it.
Join the revolution.

qtsblackhawk:

I’m crazy.

I was crazy for loving horses with all of my heart since the day I could breathe.

I was crazy for following that passion with everything I had. 

I was, and still am, crazy for being a vegetarian, and deciding that at the age of twelve.

I was crazy for being emotional, and crying all the time.

I was, and still am, crazy for loving school and being successful at it.

I was crazy for dating him.

I was crazy for falling in love with him.

I was crazy for staying with him.

I was crazy for freaking out and panicking.

I’m crazy for having panic attacks.

I’m crazy for having anxiety.

I’m crazy because I don’t drink, or smoke, or do drugs.

I’m crazy because I chose to wait to have sex when it was right for me.

I’m crazy because I wouldn’t have sex with you.

I’m crazy because I let all those things you said get to me.

I’m crazy for counting calories and thinking about food all the time.

I’m crazy for thinking I’m fat, and hating my body.

I’m crazy for constantly planning.

I was crazy for making myself throw up.

I’m crazy for getting up early.

I’m crazy for being a feminist.

I’m crazy for getting tattoos.

I’m crazy for dying my hair blue, then chopping it off.

I’m crazy for believing in nature.

Everyone, my whole life, has told me I was crazy. When I finally went to therapy for anxiety and eating issues, I thought I was crazy too.

Yea, I’m some form of “crazy.” But what makes me crazy is what makes me me, and I love that. I’d rather be “crazy” than normal any day.

I still remember when all those times you called me crazy. All the people who called me crazy. My family, friends, peers, father. But there is one person who hurt me more than the others. I’ll never forget your words. I told you after we broke up (after you treated me like shit) that I was talking to some other guys.

You said: “you should give me their number so I can tell them how crazy you are.”

That hurt. I was too crazy for you to handle. I’m too crazy for anyone to handle. Those words and that feeling has never left me.

Luckily, I love me now, and all of my crazy ways. I’m unique and interesting and wonderful and lovely and complicated and deep.

I’m crazy, I will always be crazy. And I love it.

Join the revolution.

furubafan3:

For my BTW icon I chose the phrase “Covertly Fierce” to describe who I am. Ever since I was little I was taught to be incredibly quiet and docile. I was treated like I was unable to do anything by myself, when in reality I was the one keeping my whole family emotionally sane. As a kid of first generation immigrants I handled tax forms, wrote doctors notes and called administrators on the phone and I was always a shoulder a cry on for my parents and siblings. For the longest time I denied myself the emotional support I so willingly gave out to others and on the surface I seemed perfectly fine. I claim the name Covertly Fierce to show that despite the emotional turmoil I had to deal with by myself, I’m still standing here and although I may look like much I am capable of much more then you think.

furubafan3:

For my BTW icon I chose the phrase “Covertly Fierce” to describe who I am. Ever since I was little I was taught to be incredibly quiet and docile. I was treated like I was unable to do anything by myself, when in reality I was the one keeping my whole family emotionally sane. As a kid of first generation immigrants I handled tax forms, wrote doctors notes and called administrators on the phone and I was always a shoulder a cry on for my parents and siblings. For the longest time I denied myself the emotional support I so willingly gave out to others and on the surface I seemed perfectly fine. I claim the name Covertly Fierce to show that despite the emotional turmoil I had to deal with by myself, I’m still standing here and although I may look like much I am capable of much more then you think.

I know this isn`t like the other ones, but this is me. I`m one of the most athletic girls in my grade. I play multiple sports, I have pretty big calves, I have good biceps, and I`ve got abs (though I`m glad those aren`t visible). I`ve always struggled with how I looked ; I used to weigh myself four to six times a day, obsessed with getting my weight down by any means necessary. I used to be anorexic, but I`ve been in recovery for two years now. I`m 5’3” and I weigh between 119 and 122 pounds. I`ve realized that, based on my frame, this is a healthy weight. I have a lot of muscle, and muscle weighs more than fat. I know that I`ll always struggle with how I look, but I`ve decided to take a stance. Here and now, I`ve decided to forget the things I hate about my body. I am beautiful and nobody can make me think otherwise. 


BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

I know this isn`t like the other ones, but this is me. I`m one of the most athletic girls in my grade. I play multiple sports, I have pretty big calves, I have good biceps, and I`ve got abs (though I`m glad those aren`t visible). I`ve always struggled with how I looked ; I used to weigh myself four to six times a day, obsessed with getting my weight down by any means necessary. I used to be anorexic, but I`ve been in recovery for two years now. I`m 5’3” and I weigh between 119 and 122 pounds. I`ve realized that, based on my frame, this is a healthy weight. I have a lot of muscle, and muscle weighs more than fat. I know that I`ll always struggle with how I look, but I`ve decided to take a stance. Here and now, I`ve decided to forget the things I hate about my body. I am beautiful and nobody can make me think otherwise. 


BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Triggers: Profanity, Mental Health Issues, Police Involvement
Born This Way T-Shirt Design

My name Is Liz. I actually just had a submission published, and the love I got from people was wonderful. My Born This Way t-shirt represents the view that many people in my small-minded small town have of me. I am known as the town psycho. I was removed from my school (I technically still go there, but they send me to a therapeutic school), I’ve been publicly removed from places by the police, I’ve had violent seizures where people can see me, and I’ve always had panic and anxiety attacks in and out of my school. People who have never even met me know my name because I’m that “crazy girl you shouldn’t let baby sit your kids”. 
Some people are surprised to find out how “normal” I am when they meet me. My best guy friend’s girlfriend (who I am no really great friends with) once told me that when she first met me she thought I was going to be a psycho, because these three girls had spent an entire summer telling her what a “crazy bitch” I was. 
So I have decided that what would go on my t-shirt is just that, “crazy bitch”. 
Baby, I was born this way.
BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

Triggers: Profanity, Mental Health Issues, Police Involvement

Born This Way T-Shirt Design

My name Is Liz. I actually just had a submission published, and the love I got from people was wonderful. My Born This Way t-shirt represents the view that many people in my small-minded small town have of me. I am known as the town psycho. I was removed from my school (I technically still go there, but they send me to a therapeutic school), I’ve been publicly removed from places by the police, I’ve had violent seizures where people can see me, and I’ve always had panic and anxiety attacks in and out of my school. People who have never even met me know my name because I’m that “crazy girl you shouldn’t let baby sit your kids”. 

Some people are surprised to find out how “normal” I am when they meet me. My best guy friend’s girlfriend (who I am no really great friends with) once told me that when she first met me she thought I was going to be a psycho, because these three girls had spent an entire summer telling her what a “crazy bitch” I was. 

So I have decided that what would go on my t-shirt is just that, “crazy bitch”. 

Baby, I was born this way.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

My BTW shirt would be “Terrible Luck”. For as long as I could remember, my family and friends have always joked about how terrible of luck I have always had. 
Life has handed me nothing supremely awesome. Any time I deserve something, I never get it. I am extremely talented and professional, but can never land a good job. I’ve been single for a very long time, and no one seems to be interested in me.
But you know what? Yeah, sure, I may have terrible luck. But there are some things I am lucky about. The fact that I’m alive. The fact that I am a strong and independent woman. I’m lucky for the way I view the world, and the sense of humor I have gained from it. I am lucky to have such great writing talent. And I am lucky to feel as beautiful as I do, even after years of being degraded.
BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

My BTW shirt would be “Terrible Luck”. For as long as I could remember, my family and friends have always joked about how terrible of luck I have always had. 

Life has handed me nothing supremely awesome. Any time I deserve something, I never get it. I am extremely talented and professional, but can never land a good job. I’ve been single for a very long time, and no one seems to be interested in me.

But you know what? Yeah, sure, I may have terrible luck. But there are some things I am lucky about. The fact that I’m alive. The fact that I am a strong and independent woman. I’m lucky for the way I view the world, and the sense of humor I have gained from it. I am lucky to have such great writing talent. And I am lucky to feel as beautiful as I do, even after years of being degraded.

BE BRAVE! JOIN THE REVOLUTION!

shesawfullysweet:

I have suffered, clinically, from depression since i was thirteen years old. I don’t tell people about it, due to the misconceptions of depression. it is a mental disorder, people just don’t get that. I’m happy now, the first time in years that i can remember. all throughout highschool i faked my own happiness i had a boyfriend who i “loved” and we eventually got engaged. i had a realtionship that was eventually built upon lies, cheating, and my own heart broken, but that was just such a little contribution to my own problems. 
it wasn’t just me that was depressedin my household. i lived through my fathers dark days. when i was sixteen he had his first heart attack by the age of forty five. it destroyed us, we lost half our income (which wasn’t that high to begin with) we were bankrupt and i started working to help support my family. my uncle who was depressed killed himself that winter. it took a very strong mind to live with myself through that. afterwards, my father, in his darkest days, tried to take his own life. it was very bumpy after that. 
my dad got better, i got better, he went back to school to “retrain” he was studying IT. he had so many anxiety problems at school, it broke my heart when he’d come home and cry and all i could do was hug him and tell him it would be alright in the end, it really would. 
we’re all struggling right now. but i am happy. my depression has been a part of me and i’ve struggled, oh i’ve struggled. but i overcame it, for the most part, by myself. this might be a rant, and a bit of a tangent. but depression is an invisable disorder to most. you wont even notice it. but it’s there and its affecting the best of us, and the worst of us. people that suffer from depression get looked down upon, they think, well, you’re just doing this to yourself. it’s not considered a problem, it’s not considered a learning disability.
i’ve suffered from depression, and i’ve gotten through it, and i can only hope that if people were in my position at all, that they would come to me if they need help.
this is for the BornThisWay SHYB C4 <3http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4

shesawfullysweet:

I have suffered, clinically, from depression since i was thirteen years old. I don’t tell people about it, due to the misconceptions of depression. it is a mental disorder, people just don’t get that. I’m happy now, the first time in years that i can remember. all throughout highschool i faked my own happiness i had a boyfriend who i “loved” and we eventually got engaged. i had a realtionship that was eventually built upon lies, cheating, and my own heart broken, but that was just such a little contribution to my own problems. 

it wasn’t just me that was depressedin my household. i lived through my fathers dark days. when i was sixteen he had his first heart attack by the age of forty five. it destroyed us, we lost half our income (which wasn’t that high to begin with) we were bankrupt and i started working to help support my family. my uncle who was depressed killed himself that winter. it took a very strong mind to live with myself through that. afterwards, my father, in his darkest days, tried to take his own life. it was very bumpy after that. 

my dad got better, i got better, he went back to school to “retrain” he was studying IT. he had so many anxiety problems at school, it broke my heart when he’d come home and cry and all i could do was hug him and tell him it would be alright in the end, it really would. 

we’re all struggling right now. but i am happy. my depression has been a part of me and i’ve struggled, oh i’ve struggled. but i overcame it, for the most part, by myself. this might be a rant, and a bit of a tangent. but depression is an invisable disorder to most. you wont even notice it. but it’s there and its affecting the best of us, and the worst of us. people that suffer from depression get looked down upon, they think, well, you’re just doing this to yourself. it’s not considered a problem, it’s not considered a learning disability.

i’ve suffered from depression, and i’ve gotten through it, and i can only hope that if people were in my position at all, that they would come to me if they need help.

this is for the BornThisWay SHYB C4 <3
http://stophatingyourbody.tumblr.com/post/4396850697/shyb-challenge-4