We are Beautiful

A couple of weeks ago, I announced that I was officially going to start selling the t-shirt I designed for this blog online. Thanks to all of your support, we've been able to spread body positivity one shirt at a time!

They all look different, but you can't deny how beautiful each of
these ladies are. 

I've said this before, but I firmly believe that beauty is intrinsic in all of us. Additionally, we tend to interchangeably associate attraction and beauty when they're really two totally different things.  

Beauty standards are ridiculous. They basically try to apply a "one-size-fits-all" approach to how all women see themselves. In reality, we come in different sizes, shapes, and colors. The way we look is like a genetic raffle--a once in a lifetime chance occurrence (well, technically each person is supposed have like 7 doppelgangers in the world--but even in that case, they probably wouldn't have the same mole that you have on your right foot or the same crease between your eyebrows that shows up when you sneeze...but this is beside the point.). It's also important to note that with all the possible combinations of genes in the world, it's physically impossible for all of us to naturally be what we see on the cover of magazines. 

So, why is it that we feel like all women have to look the same when diversity is in our very nature?

Why do we gamble so much of our self-worth on looking a certain way?

Theodore Roosevelt once said that, "Comparison is the thief of joy".

And I completely agree.

I don't know about anyone else, but in the past (especially during my eating disorders), I caught myself comparing my body to those of my sisters, my friends, my peers, and even strangers. For years, I not only hated myself for not matching up to them, but I also hated them based solely on the fact that they met standards I couldn't. 

I found validation for my own feelings of self-worth and beauty when I looked better than or just as good as those around me; and when I didn't, I felt worthless. In a sense, it felt like in order to gain the title of "beautiful", I had to either strip it away from someone else or risk having it taken from me. 

I think in order to feel better about ourselves, we need to think better of those around us. We need to actively stop our own thoughts of judgement (which later affect how we judge ourselves) that cross our minds when we see someone's body. Judgement, beauty standards, and body shame create a toxic environment where no one wins.

Womanhood should not be competition.

Every body is a good body.

Society teaches women that their worth and beauty are directly derived from their physical appearance. Not from who they are as living, thinking, and feeling individuals. 

Beauty has nothing to do with appearance and it doesn't have prerequisites.

You don't have to look like Cara Delevigne, Beyonce, your best friend, your cousin, or your sister to be beautiful.

Just be you.
Because you are enough.

And you are beautiful.

(~If you're interested in buying a shirt, click the shop link on the top or side navigation bar~)

Gordito

A while ago at work, I overheard two women talking about how they were fine with calling their sons fat (one had even given her little boy the nickname "gordito"), but not their daughters. As I was listening in, I couldn't help but wonder why we give so much power to such a small word and turn it into a gender-based insult (for example: we joke about men's beer bellies, but criticize stomach fat on women).

For men, its a statement.
For women, its a source of shame.

Fear of the word is literally ingrained in our psyche from infancy.

I've always thought it to be interesting that we rarely hear men complain about gaining weight or state their fear of gaining weight based on the food that they eat. (Have you ever noticed how weight-loss commercials tend show women, rather than men, promoting their products?) But as women, we've all been there; it's second-nature, a rite of passage. We navigate our lives through restrictions based on our body size.

You can't eat that.
You can't wear that.
You can't be happy as yourself.

All for the sake of avoiding or escaping identification with the worst thing imaginable.

Being fat.

I've mentioned this before, but in high school (also during my binge eating disorder) I went on a choir trip to San Francisco. As we were waiting for our flight home in the Oakland Airport, two friends and I decided to go get some smoothies before it was time to leave. I ordered a medium with whey protein (to keep me full until we reached Salt Lake), but the whey caused the smoothie to expand--so the workers had to place my order in a large cup instead. I didn't think much about it (although I was ashamed to be carrying around something so huge--which is another problem we face as women; we shouldn't feel like we need to eat like rabbits, we're human beings with human sized appetites...eating less should not be considered more feminine), until one of my friends mentioned that the sizes of our smoothies reflected the sizes of our bodies. Small, medium, and you can probably guess mine, large.

Needless to say, I was mortified and utterly humiliated at being labeled as such.

As women, we tend to have this nasty habit of self-objectifying our bodies. We worry about how others perceive us more than how we perceive ourselves.

I think my biggest problem with what she said, was that her words confirmed what I thought I already knew to be true.

I was the size large in my friend group.
I was the biggest.
I was the fattest.

And therefore, I thought I was also the ugliest.

It's so ironic how we associate body fat with being unattractive-- we see fat as a synonym for ugly. Is that really true though? Is every fat woman ugly and is every ugly woman fat? What does it even mean to be ugly? Is anyone really ugly or is it an insult we give those we don't personally find appealing?

We've all heard it said before that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I want to go as far as to say that ugliness is as well.

So be kind to yourself (and others)! Your body is your own regardless of how much you do or don't weigh; whether your have fat rolls or defined muscle; whether you see yourself as ugly (which isn't true) or beautiful.

It's funny how we sometimes (even with ourselves) see weight first and worth second. Being fat is a fact and it shouldn't carry with it a negative connotations concerning one's value.

I want to clarify that I'm not saying that my friend was intending to make me feel bad, but I think she was grateful that she had (and I guess she was?) the smaller smoothie in this situation.

On the same note though, I was ashamed for having the larger sized smoothie (and being a larger sized person).

In all reality, both viewpoints are wrong.
It's just as toxic to judge someone else's body as it is to judge your own.

It's okay to have fat, it is okay to be fat, it is okay to love yourself with your fat.
Fat is natural. Some of us have more and some of us have less, but it shouldn't be source of shame or fear.

It's life!

We need to rewire our brains to accept the word "fat" as a neutral description, not a death-sentence. From my own experiences, I've learned that the less I care about what I eat or the fat on my body, the happier I am. I actually even like the dimples, stretch marks, and squishy aspects of my skin!

I'll admit that I have lost weight since my trip to San Francisco (due to my recovery from the eating disorder), but I still am the "large smoothie" that my friend said I was. However, I realize now that I am not less of a person for having more fat on my body than some of the people around me.

I am fat.
I have fat.
And I'm okay.

PS: This is a large smoothie :)

I Am Beautiful.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to look for a shirt that had a body-positive quote on it to wear around campus and to promote this blog. However, despite my best efforts to find one, there were literally none to be found on any website or search engine online. Slightly bitter, I decided to take matters into my own hands and designed a shirt myself. I wanted something that not only looked cool, but that also caused me to feel good about myself--I wanted it to say what I believed in the simplest and loudest way possible.

Anyways, after about a week of going through what felt like hundreds of rough drafts on Photoshop (and harassing my friends and family members for their input), I was able to decide on my final design:

 

"I am beautiful."

Is it vain? No.
Is it empowering? Definitely.

Considering the journey that I've taken over the last five years, wearing this shirt in public is a mile-marker for me. When I was going through my eating disorders, I would have never identified myself as being beautiful; I hated every pound of my body, every glance in the mirror, every aspect of my being. I thought being beautiful only applied to the girls who were, well, beautiful. It seemed like a title earned only by the select few who happened to look the part (skinny, curvy, athletic, stylish, etc).

As I've gotten older, overcome my eating disorders, and moved on from the social pressures of high school, I realize that being beautiful and being attractive are two totally different things. Beauty isn't something that you can find by going to the gym, dieting, or throwing up in a toilet bowl (despite what society may tell us). Those habits usually stem from self-loathing and the act of securing your self-esteem by constantly manipulating your appearance to favor the ever-changing preferences of the world. Believing that you're beautiful occurs when your overlook your appearance and allow your self-esteem to be anchored by your own opinion of yourself.

Being beautiful isn't determined by how we look, being beautiful is a part of who we are; it's intrinsic to every individual.


I've always thought that it's funny how we're so quick to find beautiful things in other people, but so slow and stubborn when it comes to finding beauty in ourselves. Maybe it's because we live in a world where we're constantly told how inadequate we are and that we can never be beautiful on our own; there's always a new product, a new diet, or a new workout DVD that can make us "better".

As a result, we tend to apologize for our bodies, rather than applaud them.

Society would like to have us think that a "normal" or "ideal" woman is thin, non-handicapped, young, attractive, and fit. But let's be honest, out of the millions of women who live in this world, how many would actually meet these requirements?

If beauty is really in the eye of the beholder, shouldn't we work harder to see the value within ourselves rather than placing our value in the hands of others?

By proudly acknowledging that we are beautiful, we not only challenge the ridiculous standards of the world, we overcome them. We become liberated and powerful; a force to be reckoned with. A source for change.

I've found that as I've come to accept myself as beautiful, I've been able to love my body despite how I may look or what state I may be in. I've stopped comparing myself to those around me and stopped seeing myself as a contestant in a competition or an object under scrutiny. I judge less, and as a result, I see more.

Like dominoes, my health, self-esteem, and body image have fallen into place thanks to the simple act of seeing myself as something of value. Now I know that trends and cultural standards always change, but my worth as an individual will always stay the same.

Associating yourself with beauty isn't vain or prideful, it's a sign of confidence and self-esteem.
It's loving and accepting yourself on your own terms, in your own ways.
It's a badge of courage.
It's a conscious decision and a never-ending uphill battle.

Although I still might not be consistent in associating positive thoughts towards my body, I finally appreciate it for all that it is (and isn't).

My body may not fit the current textbook definition of beauty, but I am beautiful.

Why?

Because I think so.
And that's all that matters.

(If you're interested in buying a shirt like mine, contact me [Instagram, Facebook, email, etc] or let me know in the comments below. If at least 20 people sign up for one, it will only cost about $15 per shirt instead of the $30 that mine cost. Once that happens, I can open a store on the blog and we can move on from there! Thanks!)

UPDATE: The shop for the shirts is now open! See the top navigation menu above for the link!

Swimsuits

When I was in high school (and during one of the worst stages of my binge eating disorder), my choir class went on a trip to San Francisco. I've talked about this trip before in previous posts, but there's one story I haven't shared yet from my trip to the city by the bay. Given that it's almost summer and that "swimsuit season" is almost upon us, I figured now would be the best time to share it with all of you. 

From my Instagram account. Fun fact: This week marks exactly
two years from the time that I went on this trip. 

On one of our last nights in San Francisco, we were given some free-time to hangout at the hotel pool. I know this is going to sound stupid, but for some reason (despite the fact that the itinerary specifically said to bring a swimsuit) I didn't think we would actually have the chance to swim. I mean, I brought a swimsuit, but I didn't think I was actually going to need it given all the sight-seeing we had planned. 

Anyways, that night I panicked when I heard the news. I told my friends that they could go without me because I didn't feel well (which was partially true, I just wasn't experiencing the sickness that they had in mind). In reality, I was terrified to have my peers see what my body looked like beneath the baggy, ill-fitting clothes that I normally wore. The thought of stripping all of those layers away from myself and allowing nothing to be left to their imagination was petrifying. No matter how much I wanted to go have fun with everyone else, I couldn't find the courage to not care about the potential thoughts that others might have had about my body. 

Instead, I stayed in my hotel room, binged on my roommate's snacks, cried in the stairwell, and fell asleep early. 

So, why is it that we feel like we have to look perfect to have a perfectly good time? 

Summer 2011: 120 lbs.
Anorexic. Dieting. "Beautiful".  

Swimming and swimsuits aside, how often do we figuratively lock ourselves away in "hotel rooms" and away from life due to self-esteem, body image, or weight issues? 

How often do we place how good we look in a swimsuit alongside how good we feel about ourselves? 

I posted an article on the Facebook page for this blog about a week ago about fashion blogger, Jessica Kane, who went to the beach without a coverup over her swimsuit and posted a picture of it online. People were praising her, saying that she was "brave" for loving her body and not hiding it. Her response to those comments was surprising, but perfectly stated:  

"THIS WAS NOT BRAVE. I’ve been told how brave I am for not having a coverup, but going with out (sic) a wrap would only take bravery if I cared what others thought of me, but I don’t. I spend my time worrying about things I CAN control and this day, I was only thinking about how fab I felt and how much sun I was catching ☀️ Things that DO take bravery? A family battling tragic illness, a mother trying to beat addiction, a person trying to break free of domestic violence, reaching out for help when you have already planned your suicide and feel like you can’t breath one more day. THAT is brave. Not wearing a swimsuit at the beach. LIVE life and only worry about what really matters."

(Why do we place wearing a swimsuit in public on the same field of bravery as any of the other things listed above?)

After the trip to San Francisco, I went to an appointment with Dr. Michael Spigarelli. I told him about what happened and how I had not only avoided swimming because I felt inadequate, but that I had also binged and become depressed as a result of the emotions that stemmed from my actions. After hearing this, he told me that the only way I could prevent this from happening again in the future was to accept my body, buy a swimsuit that made me feel amazing, and to go have fun in that swimsuit. 

I'm sure that those of you who have experienced being a teenage girl know exactly how I reacted. 

I smiled, nodded my head, and completely ignored his crazy challenge. 

As time has gone by, I realize now that I wasn't afraid of what others would think of my body if I did this.  

I was afraid of going into a dressing room to try on a swimsuit only to need a bigger size. 

I was afraid of going out in public and seeing the stretch marks that were normally covered up by my clothes. 

I was afraid of feeling my thighs touch and my fat jiggle.

I was afraid of comparing myself to the other women around me. 

I was afraid of my own thoughts. 

Like those individuals who commented on Jessica's picture, I thought that in order to go out in a swimsuit (especially when I didn't have a beach-ready body) I needed to be "brave", and you know, I guess that's partially true. You do have to be brave when wearing swimsuit, but not in the sense that they implied. 

It isn't brave to wear a swimsuit in public, but it is brave to love yourself regardless of what the world tells you to be.

If you spend your life (or your summer) worrying about what others think of you, you'll never find out what you think of you. 

I'll be honest, I still haven't taken up Dr. Spigarelli's challenge to go buy a new swimsuit to fit my bigger body (it's a matter of personal finances now, rather than self-esteem), but I think I finally understand what he meant when he told me to do so. 

We shouldn't love our bodies conditionally or be ashamed of them when they aren't what we want them to be. 

We shouldn't fall into the trap of believing that we're only good enough to enjoy life when we diet or exercise regularly. 

We shouldn't let an article of clothing determine our happiness. 

However, we should go buy swimsuits that make us feel good about ourselves and start having fun. 

Today: 165 lbs.

Chubby. Healthy. Loving my body and loving life without coverups.
(My middle school swimsuit was the only one at home
that would fit me; I look like a lady bug!)

Memories

After reading a kind comment from a grade school friend on my last post, I decided to re-read every post I've ever written on this blog.

Not only was I surprised to see how impeccable my sense of humor was (and still is-- in one post, I had the tenacity to use just about every possible word for "butt" known to the English language), but I was also surprised by how much I've forgotten about the events and emotions of my past.

(Here's a slide from an oral presentation I gave in my PSYCH 307 class. We had to write a literature review on a topic of our choice, and I chose to focus on the rates of mental health complications and eating disorders in female adolescents with type 1 diabetes--I'll make a post about my findings later. I'm still blown away by how different I look now, in comparison to the other photos.)


As I read through the posts (from recent to oldest), I saw myself prolapse in levels of maturity. My initial posts focused on losing weight and blaming others for my problems; I was ignorant, selfish and worst of all, a bully to myself.

Thanks to this experience, I realize that I'm a completely different person today than I was back then.
I like who I am, I like how I look, and I finally appreciate the hard things I had to endure.

I once read a tumblr post that said:

"today my professor told me

every cell in our entire body

is destroyed and replaced

every seven years.

how comforting it is to know

one day i will have a body

you will have never touched."

I wonder if the cells of our souls are destroyed and replaced overtime as well. Our experiences obviously shape us, but to what extent? Do they literally mold us into a new combination of ideas and beliefs?

How many people can we become over one lifetime?

I went on a date to a concert once and let me say, it was super awkward. I told my roommate about it afterwards, distraught that I would never be able to go to see that band again without thinking of that memory, and she told me: "Don't dwell on what happened. Go again and make a new memory. You deserve to."

Maybe that's the answer.

In the last few years, I've noticed that life often moves forward against our will. It causes us to create new memories that either replace or join with those of the past in a "sink or swim" situation. It allows us to grow and become more than we ever could have dreamed of becoming.

Usually, right under our own noses.

And you know what?
I'm grateful for it.





Free

My sister, Holly, was a good sport and took some pictures
 of me for an employee board at work. I was surprised by
how  much I actually liked how I looked in each one.
Definitely a new experience. 

Lately I've started to realize that the older I've gotten, the more prioritized and selective my free-time has become. Thanks to this, February came and went with no blog posts. 

Last month I had an appointment with Dr. Spigarelli and heard some great news.

Guess what? 

I am officially eating disorder free. 

It took me six years of battling my thoughts, my habits, and my body, but I did it. 

If you asked me six years ago if I ever thought that I would like my body at any size, I would have said no. 
If you asked me five years ago if I ever thought that I would have a healthy relationship with food, I would have said no. 
If you asked me four years ago if I ever thought that I would ever have a normal life, I would have said no. 
If you asked me three years ago if I would be alive right now, I would have said no. 

If you asked me three years ago if I wanted to be alive right then, I would have said no. 

It's amazing what time can do. 
Actually, scratch that. It's amazing what the influence of selfless people can do. 

My mom. 
Dr. Spigarelli. 
Dr. Cheung. 

Without them (and countless others) I don't know where, or who, I would be right now. 
They were my friends, my mentors, and ultimately, my saviors. 

Dr. Spigarelli mentioned during our last appointment that he had just been my cheerleader, and that I was the only person to credit for my success. 

Obviously he's right in the sense that it was up to me to find the desire to change and act upon that desire, but in all honesty, what I needed most was a cheerleader; someone who unconditionally believed in me more than I believed in myself. No one is ever "just" something. We all play roles in the lives of the people around us, whether we realize it or not. Who you are or what you do may be exactly what someone needs. 

Looking back on the past six years I spent fighting either an eating disorder mentality, or an eating disorder itself, I can't say that I regret anything that happened...which must sound crazy given all that I went through.

I was miserable, I was suicidal, and even at my lowest weight during my first eating disorder (restrictive eating/ anorexia), I loathed myself. The smaller dress-sizes, lower calories, and increased exercising didn't make me happier, they made me paranoid.

I sold my childhood to see a lower weight on a scale, only to have it stolen from me when my body said "enough" and my growing appetite became an addiction (bingeing/ bulimia).

As I gained weight at the rate of 20 lbs. per month, my world shattered around me. I had an identity crisis, and broke down. I remember thinking that if I wasn't thin or "beautiful", all I did was take up space. I felt like the "real me" was hidden under layers of fat. I thought that it was my bigger body size that kept people from I asking me to dances or going on dates.

I sincerely believed that because I weighed more, my value was less.

I realize now that it wasn't my weight that held me back, but myself.

Why is it that we tend to think that we need to change or "improve" ourselves in order to be loved or accepted by others when the only person we're really trying to earn acceptance from is ourselves?

I've been told before that God gives us trials to make us better people, and I completely agree. My experiences have opened my eyes and caused me to see the world differently. I'm more compassionate towards others, especially myself.

The lessons I've been taught through my eating disorders weren't easy, but they were worth every ounce of weight gained or lost. I know now that there's more to life than calories counted, clothing sizes worn, miles run, or weight placed on a scale; life is about living.

Even though I'm no longer medically diagnosed with an eating disorder, I still fight my past every day.
Sometimes I wish I was smaller, and sometimes I eat when I'm not hungry.
But that's okay.

Because I like who I am, regardless of body size or what anyone says I should or shouldn't be.
I am a survivor, the hero of my story.

I am free. 

New Year

Happy New Year! I can't believe that it's already 2015! When my siblings and I were watching the countdown in Times Square, my brother made the comment that we're now the same distance away from 2030 as we are from 2000....which is a pretty crazy thought! We may have not gotten the hoverboards, self-lacing shoes, and expandable food promised in "Back to the Future II", but hey, I'll keep my fingers crossed for 2030.

The end of 2014 marked the beginning of my third year free from bingeing, strict dieting, and my habits associated with what was left of my eating disorders. I can eat food without feeling guilty, and I finally know how to properly feed myself--which feels amazing! I still find myself fighting off my own self-depreciating thoughts, low self-esteem, and negativity towards my body, but I'm proud of the ground I've gained. I've won this battle, and now I'm waiting for my enemy to retreat.

One thing I love about the new year is the period of obligatory self-reflection and goal-making that follows. Although we usually tend to forget or give up on these goals shortly after making them, I think there's a lot of value in having even a small desire to improve oneself.

My goal for this year? Make goals that are worth keeping.

Not:

"If I lose weight, or gain weight, I'll like myself more."
"If I can become this size, everything will be okay."
"If by changing my body, I can make someone else love me, I'll be able to love myself."
"I just need to lose five pounds, or I just need to be a size ____."

I've learned that these aren't goals,
They're poison.

Instead, I'm aiming to make 2015 the year that I:
-Loved myself unconditionally, with no strings attached.
-Always said yes to dessert.
-Told myself how cute I looked each time I walked past a mirror, rather than seeing my flaws.
-Became comfortable in my skin, no matter what size or condition it was in.
-Ignored what society said I should be, or how I should look.
-Became a person I am proud of.


This year, I'm planning on loving my body first, and moving on from there.

Starving

In high school, I picked up two eating disorders. The first was during the end of my sophomore year, and I basically limited my food and calorie consumption by doing a calorie deficit. After three months, I lost 40 lbs., and considered myself to be healthy. No matter how much weight I lost, I believed I could always stand to lose more, despite how small I had become. Looking back now, I realize I was borderline anorexic and pushing my body to be a size that it wasn't naturally built to be.

During the beginning of my Junior year, there was drama within my friend group and I turned to food as a way of coping with the stress and emotions that ensued. After months of doing this, my coping turned into bingeing, and as a result, I gained more weight than I had originally lost. Food become an addiction, and as time went on, the bingeing progressively worsened and my stomach had stretched to a point where I couldn't determine whether I was hungry or not. Essentially, I was bulimic, minus the purging...which I eventually acquired later on. My thoughts of self-loathing carried on from my days of anorexia and became an obsession during my battle against binge eating. 

All in all, I spent my entire high school career fighting myself and my eating disorders. 

Okay, so you're probably wondering where I'm going with this story.

...Yesterday I didn't eat. 

The night before I had fallen into old habits and turned to food as a medication for my emotions. I went to bed disgusted with myself, and decided that in order to make up for what I had done, I would skip all my meals the next day, or couple of days, in order to "balance" myself out. I had accepted the notion that by starving myself, I would become healthier, and happier. (I hope you can tell I just rolled my eyes at that statement--see this post-- Isn't it interesting that we think health and happiness can be derived from starving ourselves and strict dieting?)

I think that too often in our efforts to become physically healthy, we become emotionally and mentally unhealthy along the way. Through my experiences I've come to realize that eating disorders are composed of mental, and physical, aspects--you can have an eating disorder mentality, without physically acting upon those thoughts of self-hate and detriment. Although its been almost two years since my last binge, I know that time and distance don't end eating disorders; to end an eating disorder, you need to overcome yourself...which I'm still trying to do.

I have signs of being an eating disorder survivor spread across my body (especially my eyes due to burst blood vessels from purging), but because of this, I only have to look in the mirror to remind myself of where I've come from, the pain I went through, and the progress I've made. I've said before that our bodies tell our stories, and in my case, I'm a living monument to myself.

Although I'm not completely free of my past, my eating disorder mentality, or the consequences that came because of it, I'm still moving forward. I think we all have days where we either overeat or don't want to eat; however, the trick is learning how to eat and then moving on with life regardless of food amount, calories, or our personal weight.

In summary:
It's time to realize that food isn't our enemy, and eating isn't a sin. 

Sorry

Have you ever caught yourself apologizing for your size or appearance? I have. Multiple times. Usually to myself.

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep my thoughts drifted towards my body and how other people perceive how I look. As I rolled over in my bed, I whispered, "I'm sorry", in the hope of washing away these thoughts from my mind. For some reason I felt a wave of embarrassment, not only for me, but for anyone and everyone who has ever had to look at me. I was ashamed that I would never live up to society's expectations or beauty standards.

My thighs touch together.
I'll never be smaller than a size 8 (unless I starve myself...which I've done, and will never do again).
I have a chubby face with delicate features.
I have stretch marks along my hips.
My upper arms are flabby.
I have back fat.

And along with all of this, I would much rather have my hands in a bag of chips than have my feet in a pair of running shoes.

My question though, is why are all of these characteristics considered to be negative or derogatory to who I am as an individual or how attractive I may (or may not) be? How can the length of a measuring tape around my waist ever produce an accurate measurement of my character?

J.K. Rowling has been quoted as saying:

Fat is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her. I mean, is 'fat' really the worst thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring' or 'cruel? 

I think it's ironic that as women, our worth is determined by how much we don't weigh, rather than how much we do. At times it seems like the less we are, the more we are.  Society looks at our size first, and our accomplishments second. In a sense, our appearances, not our actions, often speak louder than our words, thoughts, or beliefs.

What can we do to fix this?

One of the first steps to changing how we see ourselves, and how we see others, is to change our vocabulary. "Thin" and "fat" should never be synonymous with insults or the lesser. The amount of power that simple descriptions of anatomy are given, and the extent to which they're used as indicators of worth, is ridiculous. No one should ever feel inadequate, judged, or stereotyped due to their body size, whether it be large, or small, natural or unnatural. By applying negativity to physical features within humanity, we begin to see ourselves in a negative light due to our self-association with those words and traits. Media emphasis on certain types of bodies is equally as poisonous. It's been said that a "picture is worth a thousand words", and if that's true, one can only imagine the impact that the thousands of images of idealized bodies, that we see on nearly a daily basis, have on us as well. 

As I was skimming through some of the recent posts done by "Humans of New York", I came across this:

"I'm trying not to hate my body. I love my hair and my hands, but everything else I wouldn't mind switching out."

I've come to believe that as women, we're taught by various sources that we're only worth our parts, rather than the sum of our parts. Like animals placed before a butcher, only the best cuts of meat are considered desirable-- with our objectivity, not subjectivity, placed on the chopping block. Too often we try to "salvage" and buoy our self esteem by finding small aspects of our appearance that are socially acceptable, rather than accepting ourselves as a whole, human being. We tend to feel that if every aspect of our body isn't deemed good by society's standards, we're no good at all; making it hard to accept ourselves as naturally imperfect due to impossible ideals of perfection placed upon our shoulders by ourselves, our peers, and our culture.

Well, I'm saying, "enough" to all of this.

It might sound crazy, but today as I was walking to class, I realized that I like my thighs.

I like that they're bigger.
I like that they don't have a gap between them.
I like that they're soft.
I like the way that skirts drape over them.

But most of all, I like that they're mine.
And the same goes for the rest of my body too.

So, no more apologizing.
No more self-loathing.
No more guilt.
No more comparing.
No more shame when I see my reflection.
No more seeing my body as a rough draft or a construction-zone.
No more relying on the connotations of adjectives or the glances of other people.

Our bodies tell our stories, and my life is nothing to be ashamed of.

I've overcome two eating disorders, a terminal illness, and the everyday trials that come from living. Battles have been won, and obstacles overcome... in this body, at various sizes. Yes, I have fat on my arms, stomach and thighs, but I'm learning to see those areas as a source of pride, rather than disgrace. They're a reminder of who I am, and what I'm capable of doing.

So, today, I choose to love myself as is.
Not for how I was, or will be.
But for how I am right now.

'Imperfect'.



And that's okay. 

Sunday Thoughts

Today I caught myself thinking about how much better I would look if I were skinnier. I won't deny that it's probably true, but as I was thinking this, I realized we have more purpose to our lives than obsessing over dieting, exercising, appearances or how we're captured on film. 

We aren't objects that need to be tweaked, we are subjects that need to be loved. 

So what if I'm not as small as the girls around me? I'm a living person with a (relatively) healthy body. I have an intrinsic amount of worth despite whatever dress size I may be.

Pride

Whenever I make a comment about how much I've eaten, my roommate always says, "I'm proud of you!"

Given my past of dieting, and starving myself in order to be socially presentable, this is an incredible statement...on both ends. 

It's been three years and here I am: eating, healthy, with friends that care about me, and the ability to care for myself. 

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm proud of myself too. 

Numbers

When I was walking home from class a few days ago, I passed a group of girls about to go for a run. Their conversation consisted of all of them stating the amount of pounds they needed to lose, and how excited they were to achieve the individual goals they set for themselves. Yesterday my roommate and I decided to make cinnamon rolls to have for breakfast this morning. We finished around midnight, and then invited our other roommates to have some too. As I walked back to my bedroom, I heard them mention the concern they had for eating the cinnamon rolls on top of the amount of calories they had already eaten earlier that day. Both experiences, caused me to think about the role numbers play in our lives.

For the longest time, my happiness was determined by my dress-size, the calories I ate, and the amount I weighed. I realized too late that dwelling on those things was like living in a hamster ball. They trap you in a transparent case that allows you to see and move around life, but not live it (also, it gets smelly after a while...).

One of the most important things I have ever been told is that the only number that matters is your IQ. Now that I look back, I wonder how many of my problems, and the problems of other girls, could have been solved by being told this sooner our lives. From my own experience, I feel that body image and self-worth are learned behaviors. As little girls, we're force-fed the idea that we have to be "pretty", with little emphasis on being smart. We're complimented on the bows in our hair, rather than our problem-solving capabilities, or intelligence. I'm not saying that it is a completely negative thing to value one's appearance, but I feel like if, as a society, we built a foundation for girls based on their internal qualities, rather than their external appearances, a lot of self-perception issues would be solved. Ironically though, in doing this we only drive ourselves back to determining our worth by a different set of numbers.

Going back to dresses sizes and such, I can't help but think about an experience I had a few weekends ago while at the General Women's Meeting for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I've mentioned before how I struggle with comparing my body to those of my sisters and cousins; well, those issues resurfaced while I was with all of them at conference. Before I left to meet up with them, I thought I looked adorable in the outfit that I had chosen out, but as soon as I was in their company, my self-esteem dropped, and I was fighting tears for the entire night. I took a picture with my mom and sisters, but when I looked at it afterwards, I felt like a giant both in my height, and weight. At one point in the night, in tears and in desperate need, I sent a text to a friend that said:

"I can't do this. I'm surrounded by petite size 2's at a restaurant. My family's genetics are messed up. I don't even know where I came from."

 It seems like no matter how far I move away from my eating disorder, the traits that eventually led me down that path never quite left my system. I honestly don't think they ever will, like acid, they've eaten away at me creating a void within my conscience that constantly demands to be filled. We all have our own battles to fight, and my biggest one will be against myself.

During the General Women's Meeting, I wrote over, and over again in my sketchbook that "my size doesn't determine my worth" in hopes of convincing myself that those words were true. I struggled throughout the rest of the meeting up until Dieter F. Uchtdorf began to speak. One paragraph of his talk stood out to me more than anything else that night, he said:

"Do you suppose it matters to our Heavenly Father whether your makeup, clothes, hair, and nails are perfect? Do you think your value to Him changes based on how many followers you have on Instagram or Pinterest? Do you think He wants you to worry or get depressed if some un-friend or un-follow you on Facebook or Twitter? Do you think outward attractiveness, your dress size, or popularity make the slightest difference in your worth to the One who created the universe?"

In an instant, I knew he was right. I was created by a perfect being, and therefore by that fact alone, I too was perfect.

Have you ever realized that out of life's millions of possibilities, you exist here in this time, and this moment? Have you ever realized that out of the 7.125 million people alive today, and the 108 billion that have ever lived upon this earth, you were born as you are now? Have you ever realized that God decided to create you, and thought of you as something worth creating? Whether you believe in God, or not, you are an undeniable miracle, a statistical anomaly. You have a body, and because of it (regardless of appearance or size) you have experienced life in all of it's tragic beauty. Your personality, experiences, and "flaws" set you apart as an individual; no one has been, or ever will be you. Your scars mark that you've lived your life: you're a survivor. Because of all of this, the way you look doesn't prevent you from being important, and it definitely doesn't take away the privilege of being able to live your life happily, as you choose.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that we need to put the world and ourselves, in the infinite perspective of the universe before comparing our current state to a few, meager numbers (or individuals) placed before us. It may be hard to do since we're always our harshest critics, but:

"I promise that as you do so, you will discover your best self—your real self."

Sample

A few weeks ago, I was invited to write a sample blog post in order to be considered for an opportunity to write on a volunteer basis for the LDS blog, Sugardoodle.

With this in mind, I thought that I could share with all of you what I submitted:


Eating disorders, like a lot of things in life, aren't exactly predictable.

During my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I was done with feeling embarrassed by my body and the extra pounds it carried. As a result, I started a strict diet that only allowed me to eat about 1,700 calories a day. Within two months I had lost 40 pounds and reached, what I thought to be, my ideal body weight. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. No matter how much weight I lost, I wasn’t satisfied; I could always lose five more pounds. Eventually, I reached a point where the compliments I had been receiving from friends and family became tinged with worry; but no one could stop me. I realize now that I had become a victim of an eating disorder due to my own warped perceptions of beauty and self-worth. My “diet” controlled every action, thought, and emotion I had; it consumed me, and became my identity.

Pre-eating disorders.

 I still can't believe I thought this was fat.



 A few months later, I became depressed due some drama at school within my circle of friends. Almost immediately I turned to food as my medication of choice, and shortly thereafter, I developed what would become another eating disorder. The sadder I became, the more I ate. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose (plus a little extra), came back within a month’s time and the depression that followed resulted in even more eating. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t stop myself--food was my escape from reality.

For the longest time I felt that it was my fault that I couldn’t control my eating because I was weak and too miserable to change. Luckily, I met with a doctor who helped me realize that an eating disorder is a mental disease with physical implications. It isn’t just a matter of not eating or eating more; it’s an addiction, a state of being.  He once compared an eating disorder to a person with Diabetes (which I have) by explaining that just as you can’t tell a Diabetic to make insulin on their own, you can’t talk someone out of an eating disorder. It takes time, therapy, medication, meditation, and patience for change to occur.



Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about how and why I came to have an eating disorder in the first place. I've come to the conclusion that it didn’t come from a single source, but many. In both instances, I felt inadequate. I was angry that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough. I guess I believed what society told me: that my value lay in the number on a scale, the calories on a box, or the size on a clothing tag.  Even though it’s been two years since my last relapse, I know that my eating disorder is an intrinsic part of who I am, shaping my thoughts, opinions of myself and, at times, how I interact with others. However, through the support of my loved ones, the blessings of the Atonement, and the love of my Father in Heaven, I know that we're never really alone during the trials placed before us.

Judgement

“People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.”
― Albert Camus, The Fall

A few days ago I was heading to work with my roommate when I noticed a group of girls walking to a college football game. To put it plainly, they were my version of everything that I find wrong with female culture at BYU-- they had long, curled hair; perfect makeup, cropped jeans, and of course, slim figures. I rolled my eyes as they walked by and pointed them out to my friend, hoping that she would agree with me.

 Luckily, she didn't.

After hearing what I had to say, she said that they were gorgeous and "rocked" their outfits. Feeling slightly defensive after hearing this, I told her that they were fake and (according to my skewed logic) undeserving of her compliment. She looked at me, slightly disappointed, and said:"Maybe they are. But that doesn't mean that they aren't beautiful."

I tried to brush off her comment, but her words, and expression, bothered me for the rest of the night.

How could she say something like that about them? I was angry, embarrassed, and seriously confused by her reaction...along with my own words.

During our work shift I thought about what she said, along with my reaction, and realized something.

She was right.

Almost instantaneously I remembered recent blog posts and comments that I had made, feeling more than a little guilty. I had vilified a group of individuals in order to make myself feel better about my appearance, and exclusion from their "group". I saw that stereotype as the source of all my troubles, rather than realizing that my troubles started with me. I felt like a complete hypocrite.

Let me be frank, and say that this blog post is primarily for myself; a coming to terms with the faults in my perceptions of others. I realize now that I've become addicted to judging every aspect of the world around me in order to find solidarity in my own.

I complain a lot about BYU being a place of "molds" and attempted "perfection", but maybe the molds I see are ones that I've created. Shards of thoughts left from my days of controlled eating, and Anorexia.

Maybe I still have a hard time finding the beauty within myself, and as a result, I knock others down.

“It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone.”
― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

I've been trying to finish this post for about a week now, but I've had the hardest time putting the rest of my thoughts into words. I could go on about the experience I had watching Miss America with my family, the reality of "skinny shaming", or similar things that have happened in this short eternity of time...but for now, I've said as much as I can muster on this topic.

I know that my past has scarred me in ways that I can't even begin to comprehend yet, but I can't let those thoughts become the basis of my future and the tools that shape my everyday life.

There's definitely a lot more introspection that needs to be done on my part, but for now, I hope I can make a small amends for my behavior by committing to become better at loving others, as well as myself. 

Naturalism

This semester at college I've been taking a History of Psychology class from Professor Gantt, and we've been learning about the philosophical idea of Naturalism, particularly the viewpoints of Epicurus. Essentially, Naturalism breaks down into two categories: the Metaphysical (the unseen word) and Materialism (the world as we see it). 

In order to explain the differences between the two categories of Naturalism, Professor Gantt asked us a series of question to get our mental wheels turning. 

For example: 

"What is beauty? Is it something eternal, or merely what we perceive to be pleasurable?"

He went on to say: 

"...You could go back and forth between Mozart and Metalica. Arguing back and forth about what is beautiful, really beautiful, and what is simply pleasing a certain time and place in culture. Is there something about a piece of art or music, what have you, that makes it beautiful because it corresponds to some eternal, unchanging ideal of the beautiful. Or is beauty simply in the eye of the beholder? I like this. And that means its beautiful to me, so that's the only kind of beauty there is. Or is there an ideal?"

Knew it. 

This discussion caused me to wonder what I thought beauty to be. After thinking about it for a while, I realized just how much I've been influenced by the preferences of society and those around me. Why is it that we allow ideals and pleasurable perceptions to be our chief indicators of beauty?

During my Junior year of high school, I dieted and starved myself  in order to reach an ideal that I didn't realize to be impossible until it was too late. It probably didn't help that most of my friends cheered me on and told me how much better I looked...especially my guy"friends". (I don't want to seemingly abandon my feminist values by saying this, but I believe that women reflect the men around them.) 

As soon as I gained the weight back (plus some extra), the compliments, along with the boys, went away. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, a piece of my identity. I wasn't the skinny, cute girl anymore; I was Alyson, the girl who gained weight. Since I no longer fit the ideal, or even my own perception of beauty, I felt worthless. If I didn't like myself, how could anyone else? 

I was so obsessed with how others perceived my appearance that I let those worries shape who I was and ultimately, how I thought about myself.

I guess I confused attraction with beauty. 

I spent too long dwelling on the petty opinions of people who didn't matter, when in reality, the only opinion that mattered was my own...however warped it was.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for." -Epicurus

I'm still trying to define what I believe beauty to be, especially when it concerns my own body,
but in the end:



"I like this. And that means it's beautiful to me." 

Art

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine applied to the Animation Program at BYU. Consequently, she needed models for some figure drawing sketches to submit with her final portfolio. Without really thinking, I volunteered myself and before I knew it, I was standing in front of her, posing, in nothing more than a sports bra and swimsuit bottoms (leaving little to the imagination). The whole experience was uncomfortable to say the least, but in all honesty, I wouldn't have had it any other way (for the past few years I've been too ashamed of my body to go swimming or even wear shorts in public. I guess I didn't want other people judging my body as harshly, or harsher, than I already did). I was able to prove to myself that I was finally okay with how I look...in all my chubby glory.

Needless to say, this was something I needed--a mile-marker on my journey to self-acceptance.

Random: I made my very first loaf of bread this week!

I wanted to end this post with a quote about art, but coincidentally I came across a quote from one of my favorite books, "Eleanor and Park" by Rainbow Rowell.

"Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."

Utah can be a hard state to grow up in. For some reason, women here tend to have a standard of perfection that is nearly impossible to reach (Did you know that Salt Lake City has been dubbed the "Most Vain City" due to the number of plastic surgeons and plastic surgeries per capita?). As a child, teenager, and even now as a young adult, I find myself struggling to meet these expectations on a daily basis. Like Eleanor, I never seem to look "nice" enough (especially on BYU's campus...home of J Crew fanatics, and Herschel backpacks), thin enough, or pretty enough. Causing me to constantly question both my aesthetic and social value. 

We often refer to God as being the master artist, but how often do we refer to ourselves as His masterpiece? 

Today while moving some things into my new apartment complex, I couldn't help but notice how I didn't seem to match up to the other girls in my building (BYU...go figure). After telling my mom how much of an outcast I felt compared to them, she told me: "Beauty isn't how you look, it's who you are."

At the end of the day it doesn't matter how you look, but rather, how you make other people feel, and ultimately how you feel about yourself. 

...Maybe that's what Rainbow Rowell was trying to us. 

Back.

After spending  months away from reliable WiFi while at Aspen Grove, I'm finally back at home for the remainder of the summer.

Some of my friends from camp! Love them to pieces!

Which means consistent blog posts again, yay! 

A few nights ago, I made a trip to Target to return some shirts that were bought for me. Although the trip was intended to be a short one, I ended up being sucked into the black hole that we know as the women's clothing section. While I was there I noticed two families with their daughters looking at and trying on clothes. (Before I go any further into this story, you should note that I'm a habitual eavesdropper.)

As I was checking out the clearance racks, I noticed the first family outside of the store dressing rooms. They were waiting for a girl to come out and show them the various outfits they had chosen out. From what I could tell, she came out in a maxi skirt first. Immediately her uncle started loudly saying how bad it looked on her and that she should find something else instead. He said this several times, without caring who could hear or how it made her feel (because his opinion obviously mattered over hers, or anyone else for the matter). As he continued talking, I started to make comments under my breath, hoping he would hear (sadly, he didn't). 

*Side Speel*

Can I just point out the double standard that society has set up for women and men. Women are expected fit an ideal of perfection, while men can look however they want. For example, this girl's uncle was overweight, sloppily dressed, and despite all of that, he felt that he had the right to criticize his niece for a skirt she was wearing. 

Eventually, I walked away and encountered another family. It was a father with a distraught daughter. She was upset because she didn't fit into the size that she wanted to be. After a few minutes of this, her father (exasperated) told her: "Don't worry about the size, worry about the fit. That's all that matters."

To put it mildly, I was impressed by his words.

For the rest of the night I juxtaposed the situations of those two girls in my mind and imagined how the conversations that they had with their family members would shape their body image for years to come. 

My friend, Alayna sent me a link to one of her recent blog posts (<---- click this link to check it out) and I've thought a lot about it while writing this one of my own. 

As women, we tend to separate the world into "right" and "wrong" body types. Often times, we also tend to see ourselves on the "wrong" side of the spectrum, rather than the "right". We see our bodies as a project, rather than the gift that they are. Personally, I think I first started to become acutely aware of my body around the same age as Melissa (see link). Middle school seems to be the time when your life is placed under a magnifying glass of social pressures. We become more aware of those around us and our standing among them. We feel the desire to conform and be liked more than ever. It's instinctive and universal. It's life. As a result, we look towards those closest to us for advice and sources of imitation. 

The other day I was talking with my mom about my own personal issues with my body and self-esteem. Ultimately, we concluded that how we see ourselves is often shaped by those around us for better or worse and that it's up to us to shape how the next generation sees themselves. I think this is why I feel the need to emphasize that we need to  watch what we say about ourselves around those younger than us...this particularly applies to mothers. As humans, we learn by example and it is my belief that negative body image is passed down from mother to daughter and sister to sister. 

Over the past few months I've been asking myself how we, as a society, can ever end this terrible plague of negative body image, and I think I've found my answer. 

In order to change our society, we need to change our homes, our parenting, and ourselves. 

Random Thoughts.

Today I went on an adventure with my friends and had some awesome homemade curry. 

Here are some things that I learned from today's experiences:

I've concluded that exceptional individuals can be found anywhere.

Friendship often occurs like falling in love with Augustus Waters or asleep. "Slowly, and then all at once."

Moments are just that, moments. They will always pass. They're merely a blink in the vastness that we call eternity. 

Tears should never be wasted on insensitive people. It's not that they won't understand, but rather that they can't. 

Trials often heighten our sensitivity to the trials of others. 

Age does not, and never will, determine maturity...along with other milestones revered in life. 

Memories tainted with sadness can be replaced by happier ones...if you give them a chance. 

...and that's all I've got for now. 

Emily Dickinson

I had grand plans of writing a super inspiring post, but the ideas I had for that have disappeared with the day (I blame the two year olds I watched for 8 hours straight today).

Have I ever mentioned how much I adore the works of Emily Dickinson?

About a year ago I went to a library sale and bought a huge book of her "Collected Poems" and since then, it's been my constant companion through times both good, and bad.

This morning I woke up at 5:00am with a stuffy nose, a cough, high blood sugar, and the inability to fall back asleep. Deciding to make the best of my time, I ran out to my car and dug through my trunk to find Emily among the remnants of my freshman year of college.

For two hours I sat in my bed reading poem after poem and scribbling illegible notes in the margins of the pages. This is probably going to sound super dramatic, but I found myself in her words. She captures the human experience so well and with a clarity that is hard to find even in one's own thoughts.

As I re-read over the poems that once influenced me so deeply during the epoch of my eating disorders, I realized that their meanings were temporary and pliable--as all good literature should be.

One poem in particular keeps running through my head:

Pain has an element of blank;

it cannot recollect

when it began, or if there were

A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,

Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceive

New periods of pain.

Isn't it interesting how we tend to get tunnel vision during times of trial, or as Emily puts it, pain? I can specifically remember reading this poem and nodding my head in agreement as I read each stanza with tears running down my face. During those times I couldn't see a future without my life being ruled by eating or a past when I was free from the dictates of those disorders.

But now I am as you see me, no harm done.

Our share of night to bear,

Our share of morning,

Our blank in bliss to fill,

Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star,

Some lose their way.

Here a mist, and there a mist,

Afterwards--Day!

I've learned that change comes slowly, and we usually only receive brief glimpses of the progress that has taken place.

For instance, a few weeks ago I ordered a size Medium top online with the hope that it would fit. When the package arrived today, I rushed to try it on (And in my excitement I dropped the shirt in the toilet...). As I held the shirt in my hands, I knew that it was too small for me--despite the fact that it was the "right" size (One thing that I've learned--while having my self-esteem tested during clothing shopping, is that different stores have different measurements for general sizes...you could be a 10 at one store and a 14 at another...it's definitely a marketing conspiracy...). Although I was disappointed, I wasn't hurt by the fact that I was larger than what I thought I should be.

I even gave the shirt to my older sister (who is much smaller than I am...it was a definite sensitive topic a few years back) and I wasn't upset by that either.

As usual, I think I've lost myself in my thought process....definitely took a detour with that story....

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is that after reading 100+ pages of poetry this morning, I've realized that I'm different from the individual that read those same pages only a few short years ago.

Read, sweet, how others strove,

Till we are stouter;

What they renounced,

Till we are less afraid;

Side note:

I just noticed that there's a quote above the computer here at Aspen Grove that I've been staring at for the past few blog posts. 

It says, "It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves."

Food for thought.

Also, it goes well with my "Aspen Grove" post a few weeks back.

Soccer

With yesterday being the official start of FIFA 2014, I thought it would be only fitting that I share a soccer-related experience that happened last week.

Ten years ago, a neighborhood friend invited me to be on a soccer team with her. A few years after that, another friend invited me to join her competitive soccer team. I tried out for my high school team twice (I didn't make the cut, which was heartbreaking, but with some distance I was able to realize that I couldn't let someone else's decision define me...or my happiness. Ironically, it also led to eating disorder #1. ) and a few years after that, I found myself captain of a different competitive soccer team three years in a row.

Our last game of the season, we were second in our division.

The winter of my Junior year of high school was when the eating disorder, which had been consuming me for years, decided to consume the things that I enjoyed most--including soccer.

As I gained weight, I wasn't able to play as well as once could. As a result, I lost my position as captain, and slowly my coaches stopped letting me start games or sub in for other players. I was an unwanted bench-warmer.

Shortly after the spring soccer season of that year, I quit playing competitively (Actually, I wasn't invited back for the following season) and decided to play for a rec team instead. Initially, I was fine, but as the new season progressed, I realized that I just wasn't who I used to be--mentally, or athletically.
I couldn't run, I couldn't score, I couldn't breathe, and depression set in.

So I quit completely.

Last week we had had Frontier Night here at Aspen Grove and I was in charge of the shaved ice stand with friends from work (I've pretty much mastered the art of placing two or more flavors side-by-side on a cone).  While we were together, I heard from a friend, Hayley, that one of the families staying with us had challenged our staff to a soccer game (I think the main reason we ended up agreeing to play was due to the excessive amount of trash talking coming from some twelve year old kids... our pride couldn't resist the challenge).

I'll tell the rest of the story straight from my journal:

"I just got done playing a staff-guest soccer game and it was so much fun! I haven't played in a year due to self-esteem and eating issues, but today I played great because I finally didn't care about what anyone else thought of me. I made some great crosses, and was complimented by my co-workers! It was so much fun even though we lost. I can't believe I almost said no to playing! I guess it's true that all anyone ever needs is five seconds of courage, I'm so glad I found mine!"

In that moment I proved to myself that I was good enough to do anything I set my mind to. I realized that I am no longer an eating disorder or a side-effect of depression.

Ultimately, I decided to no longer deny myself simple pleasures in life because of a number on a scale or clothing tag.


...Man, I love soccer.

"Soccer is the world's favorite sport."