WHAT WE'RE ABOUT
We are constantly redefining our own perspectives, and therefore tend to write a lot about our personal experiences. Many followers and contributors are living with anorexia, bulimia, body dysmorphic disorder, depression, and a variety of other body image disorders or mental illnesses, so please be respectful and remember that health applies differently to everyone. Any and all potentially triggering content will be prefaced with a trigger warning.
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I know depression has been a hot topic lately, and Since it’s national Anxiety and Depression Awareness week, I’m dedicating this evening to raising awareness through fabulous reblogs. Because caring for one’s Mental Health is a critical part of a multifaceted approach to health and wellness, and because working towards mental wellness is an important step in Redefining Body Image.
but mostly because I’m too depressed to write anything….
Ugh….these are unhelpful words
Why doesn’t our culture teach us to say caring things like
“I know it seems like nothing is wonderful and everything hurts; but it won’t last forever and you are so much more than just frazzled nerves and leaky tear ducts. You’ll be a lot happier after I remind you why I love you, it’s okay that you forgot”
*I meant this for my personal blog, but it clearly resonated*
Whenever anything or anyone ever asks me about my “fitness regimen”, I am quick to say it doesn’t exist.
But, in a way, it does.
This past week, I technically worked out a number of times; It consisted of dancing (by myself) in sporadic bursts of time. Hot, sweaty, and smiling.
I went on a couple of walks, too.
I spent most of my evenings stretching, painting my nails, doing light yoga and exercises while watching whatever, and smoking cigarettes if I felt like it. (For some reason, I haven’t been smoking much lately. Today I’ve had two.)
Somewhere in there I did some strength-training and pilates that I made up along the way, which escalated into testing myself to see how long I could keep my legs lifted, parallel to the ground, with my back to the floor.
The answer was: not long. But I kept lifting them up again anyway, and my muscles became warm and happy for it.
One week can not accurately encompass all of my life habits, but as an average: I’d say it’s about right.
The anxiety I live with every day is dense within my body. It saturates my muscles and nerve-endings so much that it seems I can feel it surge and recede like jolts of electricity.
Sometimes, my body is sore from anxiety’s effect. My muscles twitch, sting, and ache due to internal forces rather than outward physical exertion.
The burn of physical movement and the ache of anxious muscles, together, is bittersweet.
So I focus on that feeling, on myself, when I move my body to music. I feel how my fat sways and gives way as I bend, jump, and stretch - and it empowers me to move more. I test my flexibility and feel as the tension dissipates. I am aware.
I am so aware and in touch with myself in these moments of radical self worth and solitary movement that I actually forget what “fitness” is.
I don’t need a set of rules to tell me how I should or shouldn’t be moving my body in a healthful way.
I know that whatever I am doing is what is right for me because I have learned how to listen to my body’s cues - and we’ve decided to set our own goddamn rules.
Last night, I went to a drag show headlined by the fabulous Alaska Thunderfuck from RuPaul’s Drag Race.
I am not the type of person who “goes out” often - especially lately, as my social anxiety and reservations about myself and my body often leads to a special brand of self-sabotage that means I’ve been spending a lot of time at home, alone. For months.
It didn’t always used to be this way. When I was a teenager, my social anxiety was present, but not entirely crippling – the times it bested me were fewer and farther between. But time has not been friendly to me in that respect, as it seems the older I get, the harder it is to overcome the obstacles set in place by my mental illness.
Last night, some of my besties informed me of Alaska’s appearance at a local club, and for the first time in a long time – I didn’t talk myself out of going.
I don’t know how many of you watch the show, but as I’ve told numerous people in my life – it has been a total lifesaver to me. I’m sure when I tell people this they probably think I’m being sarcastic, but it really has, in all honesty, been a beacon of light in a time of darkness.
When I am depressed and anxious and seek to close myself off from the world, I become attached to things that distract me. If it isn’t work, writing, art, or reading - then it’s film and television.
I don’t remember how or why I started watching it, but as soon as I started season 2 on Netflix – I didn’t stop. I watched back-to-back episodes for weeks, curled up in my bed with my cat, wiggling along with the queens on the screen.
Everything about it gave me a reason to smile, a desire to own myself.
Unlike most reality shows that send away contestants on a sour note, there is nothing hostile about the departure of a queen each week. Love and respect for each queen’s talent is always conveyed before Ru speaks the infamous words, “sashay away” – which is more of a “ta-ta for now” than a “fuck you for not being good enough” – because everyone is so valued.
The glitter, sequins, runway walks, challenges, lip-syncing and louder than life costumes (as well as characters) had won me over so completely that I began to fantasize and dream about being on stage – a thought that would usually terrify me.
Feeling that utter fucking confidence that is often so intangible to me was addictive. I began to adapt it, day to day – a newfound source of courage that instilled in me a need to “sissy that walk” everywhere I went.
I have spent most of my life trying to blend into the background, careful not to bring attention to myself – especially my fatness. There are people in my life I aspire to channel in order to overcome my fear of visibility, but there is no doubt – RuPaul’s Drag Race has made an immeasurable impact.
So when it came time to see one of my favorite queens from this season, instead of fearing the experience - I dove right in. I winged my eyeliner out further than I ever had before, threw on some lipstick, a miniskirt, and my favorite peplum top – and felt fucking fabulous walking out the door and into that club.
With a couple of gin-and-tonics to help the night go down smoother, I didn’t become overwhelmed like I usually do in small spaces crammed with strange, sweaty bodies. I had my friends by my side, music to wiggle my hips to, and loads of new people to meet – the intimidation had gone missing. (And of course, Alaska was fabulous.)
Nights like these are so necessary. It gives me hope that I am not, in fact, a total lost cause. I actually woke up this morning excited to start my day, for the first time in ages, and I want so badly to hold onto this feeling. So I had to write it down.
RPDR may seem like trashy “reality” television on the surface, and maybe you think it is – But I am thankful for it all.
…YOU. BETTA. WERK.
Why do I feel this sudden urge to try a fucking ‘cleanse’? Why does it sound so appealing to me when I know it will make me insane?
Like, I have owned the fact that I am not a normal person. I can barely feed myself properly day to day without making it more difficult than it needs to be. I can’t afford the expense of a ‘cleanse’ (literally and metaphorically) nor do I think it would even really benefit me in any way at all. I can rationally acknowledge this, at least.
But I see cleanses EVERYWHERE, SO OFTEN - all these thin, glowy-looking, able-bodied, mentally-sound motherfuckers keep preaching on about HOW AMAZING THEY ARE where ever I look. And because my feeds are so inundated, I think the bullshit has finally seeped into my brain.
I’ve got people in my life who dedicate hours and hours of their day to cooking, packing perfect little lunches in bento boxes, going on and on about “natural” and “non-processed” and “organic” everything under the sun.
It must be so simple, right? To do all the right things, eat such virtuously “healthy” foods and nothing else, spending weeks drinking designated shakes and foods to “remove the toxins” in our bodies.
If it’s so easy, then why does even the thought of pursuing it break me?
Will I ever be able to eat something without feeling guilt or shame?
Must our diets be so tied to our morality and sense of worth?
Must it really be so fucking complex?
- Examine the feeling of not being good enough and the reasons you struggle to love yourself and replace them with a sense of wonder and ease.
- Create a long list of all the things you do well and read it to yourself often.
- Say only nice things about your body and the amazing things it enables you to experience in your life.
- Lift your head up as you walk – and SMILE as you go!
- Listen to music with a positive message of life and love (try Blessed by Brett Dennen)
- Hire a photographer to take amazing photos of yourself to see your beauty as others see it.
- Make a list of all the things you’re grateful for about Who You Are.
- Every night before bed tell yourself and your body how much you appreciate it.
- Stand naked in front of the mirror and make peace with the physical body that houses Who You Really Are.
- List 7 reasons why your hardest challenges or worst mistakes or most unloved qualities have been a beautiful thing for you.
- Then ask yourself for forgiveness for not seeing it all earlier.
- Tell others what you love about you.
- STOP doing exercise that doesn’t make you smile or laugh! Go roller skating or dancing or trampolining instead!
- Chew your food slowly, savor each flavor and focus on the nourishment you’re offering yourself.
- Take everything out of your closet and only put back in the things that make you FEEL amazing when you wear them!
- Allow yourself time to “do nothing”.
- Give yourself time to understand that all these ways to love yourself need to be done with passion and authentic intention, and not just something you tick off a list.
- Stop making excuses for what you love and just LOVE IT OUT LOUD dammit!
- If you’re not feeling “good” when someone asks how you are, give yourself permission to be authentic and tell the truth (and maybe ask for some support).
- Spend lots of time in meditation or prayer or stillness.
- Light candles, put on sexy music and make love to your own body.
- Eat when you’re hungry. Rest when you’re tired. Tell the world your needs matter by making them a priority over the dishes or the laundry.
- Surround yourself with tribes of amazing women who will remind you of Who You Are when you forget about the ways to love yourself.
- Throw your head back and laugh out loud!
- Two words: Body. Paint. (Bonus points if you share the photos.)
- You know that one thing that looks so cool but you’ve been rattling off excuses why you can’t try it? Go do it.
- Join a daily or weekly self-portrait challenge and see yourself in a new light.
- Understand how it is you learned to not love yourself so you can break the habit for good.
- Give yourself permission to sob when your heart is hurting.
- Write down 5 ways to love yourself each morning before you even start your day.
- Celebrate your scars and stretch marks.
- Commit to only using positive words to describe yourself…instead of “I don’t know how” say “I’ve yet to learn that”. “I screwed that up” becomes “I learned some really good things here.” I’m serious, try it.
- Replace “have to” with “get to” and begin to see that life is always an opportunity for you to show off your prowess.
- Find the one hairstyle that allows your inner self to glow and rock it – no matter how wild it is!
- Create a list of people you deeply admire and why. Then remember that you can only admire in others what your heart calls it’s own Truth. Stand in that Truth and be what you admire.
- Stop calling yourself “lazy” or “stupid” and replace it with a compassionate description of Who You Are
- Buy or gather your favorite flowers, and write yourself a love note to go with it.
- Make yourself a yummy meal or take yourself out to dinner to eat in the peaceful company of YOU.
- Choose to be in a relationship with your life and experiences.
- Give love to others, not because of who they are, but because of Who You Are.
- Schedule your own spa day and pamper yourself. Include the kids! Or the partner! Or your best girlfriends!
- Learn to listen to and trust your intuition.
- Practice Nonviolent Communication with yourself.
- Go get a chair massage at the mall.
- Let your toes loose and go outside (or even to the store) barefoot and free.
- Replace one food that makes you feel bad with one yummy food that makes you feel great.
- Give yourself permission to say no to the things that make you unhappy and yes to the things you’d rather do instead.
- Share a photo of your imperfect booty with the world.
- Make one small space in your home a reflection of Who You Are – ditch what you don’t love or use often, paint the walls, bring in a comfy place to sit, light your candles, pile up your journal, books and art supplies, listen to inspiring music and dwell there often.
- Write yourself a love letter. And frame that bad boy. Look at it anytime you need to remember how beautiful you are.
My roommate has been here for me every step of my recovery. It’s been interesting- when I began recovery, she began her weight-loss journey. She is the reason that I’ve made it this far.
Anywho- we both get really annoyed at fitblrs and blogs that post really harsh things like “NO EXCUSES” or “DO THIS, DO THAT” sort of mentality.
Life is not about being the fittest. Life is not about going to the gym on a regular basis. Life is not being fashionable. Life is not about how many reps of something you do a day. No. If you don’t feel like going to the gym for 2 weeks, then who the fuck cares! Don’t go! Your life shouldn’t revolve around going to the gym and eating gold foods.
I completely respect people who carry out a healthy lifestyle by going to the gym and eating right. What I admire about those people is that they are also mentally in check. They don’t have a bad relationship with keeping up with their health.
I’m trying to understand where the line gets drawn between being fit, and being obsessive.
Moral of this scatterbrained post: Don’t feel forced or obligated to do anything.
The thing about being “mentally in check” is that, like, not everyone is mentally sound.
I mean, I am a fucking madwoman. I don’t always know what it means to be “mentally in check” and when I do, I appreciate it and everything, but it doesn’t make me a better person.
The line between fit and obsessive often depends on health.
But health is widely defined as one thing, when it should really be defined individually.
For me, good health means waking up without a migraine and feeling good enough to get out of bed. It means not letting my anxieties control me and doing the things I want to do in a day, like cooking myself food or getting some work done or spending time with my family. It may or may not include some kind of movement or physical activity, that is not always a priority.
Good mental health leads to good physical health, but good mental health isn’t always a given.
Just more thoughts to chew on.
You know when life throws things at you like death and hate and the sorts of things you can’t control and you find yourself back in the land of disordered eating and anxiety and depression and you don’t ever want to come out from under your blankets? Or is that just me?
I’ve been in that space for a while. Visibility is a challenge, taking care of myself is a challenge, owning my body is a challenge. But I continue to dare myself and accept the discomfort, because it means I’m not giving up. I am in control.
I went through a dark period in my life where depression knocked me right off my feet. I ended up being hospitalized at a mental health facility for 9 days. I got discharged and was doing better, but I kept falling into the pit of depression and going back to the hospital. Throughout this process I was using not only self injury but food as a coping skill to deal with my unhelpful thoughts and feelings. I gained a lot of weight in the past year. Starting last summer I began to completely hate my body. I would have panic attacks if I looked in the mirror too long because I couldn’t stand the skin I was in. Never in a million years would I have dreamed of submitting a photo like this. But I have found blogs like this and I am working as hard as I can to love myself, and it is paying off. I can now proudly say that I love my belly, my stretch marks, my thighs, my lack of collarbones, my arms, my scars, and everything in between. This is my body, and I am not ashamed. ♥ http://s-ecular.tumblr.com
Beatrice the Biologist Rocks
So I know this isn’t exactly on topic, but it’s related. My own body image issues were always complicated by my mental health issues, or maybe vice versa; but I can say nearing 30 with my anxiety and depression well mitigated has allowed my body image to blossom. It’s amazing how wonderful it is to wake up and not be disappointed about it, and it’s freed my brain to find beauty in the world, but most importantly, in myself.
This has a few important aspects for me. The fact that we don’t discuss injury to our psyche in the same way we do injury or illness to our body; the stigma of mental health treatment and counselling is such that we often don’t widely admit to mental illness, let alone have common language to discuss it with friends, acquaintances, and strangers.
But also the fact that it’s not socially acceptable to offer emotive care for people struggling with mental health issues. When a person has a physical ailment which hospitalizes them, they receive calls and cards and gifts and flowers; when a person has a need for psychiatric hospitalization it’s seen as shameful, spoken about only in whispers, and no one ever sends flowers. Rarely is it spoken about outside the family or immediate friends, and it’s never discussed without a great deal of stigma.
It’s so taboo to discuss, most lay-people don’t even understand the lexicon and definitions, let alone have any understanding as to how it impacts daily life, what it’s like to live with, or (most importantly) how to support loved ones who are suffering.
I’m gonna continue to do my part to destroy the same and stigma surrounding mental illness by being vocal about my own struggles, and raising the voices of others who are struggling, through my blog The Lame Dame. If you have a mental illness, talk about it; if you don’t, please still talk about it. End the Stigma.