fattie.

It's been about a year and a half since I've posted on here, but something quite appropriate got my attention tonight. A good friend of mine "liked" a Facebook page called "The All Sizes Princess Project." It's aim is to get Disney theme parks to feature plus-sized actresses as princesses . . . my thoughts are below.

Please remember, I am plus-sized. And I am a princess.
This is not meant to demonize overweight women or men, but the mindset that they should be celebrated.

(This was actually the message I responded with when someone brought the page to my attention.)

". . . I kind of think it's a bit stupid. The princesses from the stories and films are tiny and beautiful. Every character in a fairy tale sets completely unrealistic goals for actual living things . . . unless you know of a fish that can sing and dance. The Disney theme parks are very stringent and scrupulous when choosing who will play one of their characters. My friend auditioned twice (this girl looks like Snow White . . . like exactly like her). The first time they turned her down for her nose . . . her nose. The second time because she didn't have a dancing background. So, not only does the actor/actress need to look EXACTLY like a fictional character, but also be in excellent physical shape to walk around a theme park in blazing heat and do a choreographed dance number every half hour or so . . . From experience, fatties can't do that . . . not even the ones with a dance background.

"I wholeheartedly agree that girls should have positive role models and learn to accept their own beauty and their own body . . . but I think that means less Photoshop and Anorexia. A plus-sized woman isn't a good role model for girls, no matter who she's dressed up as. (Remember that I can say this because I AM plus-sized.) Being plus-sized isn't healthy. Those women are the ones who, like me, eat their emotions . . . or their boredom . . . or prefer the couch to the treadmill. Humans are, by nature, designed to be healthy. To be able to run, relocate frequently, carry lots of crap on their backs during travel. Yes, they need to be able to support life, also. That means they're healthy. Not underweight. Not overweight. Healthy. I don't believe for a second that a size 00 (yes, that size exists . . . it's like a negative size) should be a role model for younger girls, but that goes both ways. If you're unhealthy, you're unhealthy. And you shouldn't be a role model to anyone.

"I'm so sick of this new-found acceptance among fat women. Like, it's okay for their arteries to be clogged and their hearts surrounded by a cushy blanket of fat just because "they're beautiful on the inside, and that's what matters." Yes, it is more important than physical beauty, but that's not a license for a whopper and large fries. Women need to get over themselves, realize that they need to get off their fat butts if they want to set an example, and actually do something to become healthy. THAT'S what's inspiring. Someone who realized the importance of a healthy lifestyle and changed everything they did to commit to it. That's what a role model should be."

adventure.

"I am a firm believer that each and every day is an adventure. Each day is filled with absolutely beautiful moments sneakily disguised like normal, everyday happenings. We often think that life is a series of huge events accompanied by a full orchestra playing the perfect soundtrack. But friends, oh friends, each day is absolutely wonderful and perfect in itself! We just have to slow down and take a look around every once in a while. We just have to take it all in and enjoy this crazy adventure we're on." - Michelle Adams

In case you're wondering, Michelle Adams needs to be famous. Because everyone needs to know who she is. (She's a brilliant, beautiful lover-of-life. And you know how I love those life-lovers. She's also my friend. Jealous?)

Just sayin.

thirst.

Relationships are funny.

Some of my relationships suck all the life from me.  Some pour it back in.  Some just kind of sit stagnant, waiting for the slightest glimpse of life.

Some relationships make me thirst.

Those are the relationships that I absolutely adore.  There’s no doubt that these relationships endure forever.  They’re the relationships that keep pushing me until I have to stop, doubled over, gasping for air . . .

And all I want is more.

They push me to be more Christ-like, to exemplify Him in all that I do.  They give me an unquenchable thirst and desire to know God.

Of course, I know who God is.  I grew up knowing who He is through Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, Bible Drill and every other activity my church offered.  But, I can never fully know God.

My first thirst-inducing relationships were with my parents.  If I ever came to one of them with a question about God or Christianity, they replied with a standard format:

“This is what we believe . . . Now, go look in your Bible and find out for yourself.”  And so I would.

There was one period of time when I was sick and unable to attend church for several Sundays.  My mother stayed home with me, as she always did when a child was sick.  Instead of watching cartoons, we snuggled up into her bed and dove into the Word.

My Mama introduced me to Esther during this time.  I began to wish I didn’t have to go back to church, just so I could spend time with Mama, reading with her and hanging onto her every word as she told me about the woman who trusted God and risked death to save her people.

I didn’t hear stories like this in Sunday School.  There were no felt diagrams.  No sniggering friends when Mary rides to Bethlehem on an ass.  Just Mama, the Word of God, and me.

And I thirsted for more.

College brought every kind of relationship imaginable.  But, it’s only been my best friend, my Bible Study leader and mentor, and, most recently, my boyfriend who have made me thirst.

God uses each of these magnificent people uniquely.  They push me, challenge me, inspire me, hold me accountable and teach me – each in their own way.

It’s a beauty I don’t always realize. 
A blessing I often take for granted. 
And something for which I am truly thankful.

These relationships are necessary for growth in anyone. 

What relationships make you thirst?

wise words.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."
— Jim Henson

"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring."
— Marilyn Monroe

"It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not."
— André Gide

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love."
— Mother Teresa

trigger.

I think it's time to be honest.

Granted, every post within this blog is painfully open-souled.  My mom says I'm honest to a fault.

As much as I've talked about beauty and loving self, as passionate as I am about helping other girls discover their true beauty, I've left out the most important part:  the trigger.

Recently, someone I care about playfully referred to my waist as a tire.  Of course I still love that person.  Of course I've forgiven that person.  But, I noticed when I next saw myself in a mirror, I looked at myself differently.

That's not ok.

Every comment, tear and scale reading from junior high came flooding back, putting me right back where I was ten years ago.  (Before the trigger triggered, if you will.)

trigger:
In 7th grade, my co-ed PE class was forced to take a physical to see how fit, limber and athletic we were.  Needless to say, a class full of sweaty, awkward kids who only took PE because it was mandatory aren't fit, limber or athletic.

Regardless, I was called to the center of the gym when it was my turn to be weighed.  I waded, toward the scale, through the masses of crew socks and braces being tested on flexibility and jumping jack ability.  It tipped too far.

"175!"

Mortified.  Absolutely mortified that my 80-something male teacher alerted the entire class of more than fifty students (I reiterate - co-ed) of my pre-pubescent obesity. I ran to the bleachers and allowed every molecule of water in my body to escape through my tear ducts while a group of girls pointed and laughed. 

My friends tried to console me.  They told me that I was beautiful.  That I wasn't really that big. 

None of my friends weighed more than 110. 

They didn't understand.  Why couldn't I look like them?

I'd tried dieting before.  I'd tried being active before.  (You've seen in previous posts how well diets and exercise work for me . . .)  I knew they weren't going to work.  I needed something different that would make me lose my dozens of pounds of shame quickly.

So, I stopped eating. 

I lost 25 lbs. within the first month.  Everyone I knew, and many I didn't, told me how great I looked.  I got a "boyfriend."  (As much of a boyfriend as you can have when all you do is hold hands in art class.)  I made the cheerleading squad.

It was working.  But, it wasn't enough.

Because I was pursuing a materialistic beauty and chasing a white rabbit ideal, I was never satisfied.  The more I sought perfection, the emptier I felt.  I hadn't eaten anything but saltines in months and I still wasn't good enough.

Depression seeped in.  I could only see how terrible my life was and how worthless I was.  I wanted to die.  I tried to die.  Something always pulled me back. 

Sometimes, that something was common sense.  Sometimes it was cowardice.  Once it was my dad. 
Every time, it was Christ.

One night, I realized how atypical I'd been feeling.  I knew my life was fantastic, so I didn't understand why I'd let such opposite feelings overtake me.  I cried out to the only one I knew understood and wouldn't judge me.

Jesus and I had a long talk that night.  It was, perhaps, the most vividly I've ever heard God's voice.

He and I renewed our relationship.  Instead of pursuing a cheap idealization of beauty, I pursued Him.  I sought His Glory in everything.  I prayed, I studied my Bible and I ate.

It took time to get over all of those feelings and emotions I'd been harboring, but they steadily became less and less frequent until they were gone completely.  (They resurfaced in college.)



Is this far too honest for a potential audience of the entire world?  Absolutely.  But, I think it's necessary for a full realization of who I am today and the reasons for my passion.

The experience made me a stronger person, but I would never wish for young girls to mutilate their bodies or their minds in pursuit of an impossible standard.

You, dear reader, may share some of these feelings of self-worth, or maybe just a little latent thought that you'll be pretty in a 5-pound-lighter body.  That's why I'm so honest.  You and I can walk this road together.

That night that person talked about my "tire," I took a photo of my tummy.  My overweight, stretchmark-laden, cellulitic tummy. 

This tummy is on a size 18, 225 lb, 5'5, 22-year-old woman who is tired of hating it.  As I said before, I know the importance of losing the tummy, but I need to feel beautiful regardless of it.

I'm actually a little proud of it.  Yes, it's slightly disgusting, but I know that it proves I can be beautiful despite weight or dress size.

For the photo, I had written "Beautiful" backwards across my tummy so that every time I looked in the mirror, I would see that instead of the "grotesque" I usually envision.  I thought that maybe, just maybe, seeing it would help me to believe it.

It kind of has.

But, I know I have a long way to go.

If you're in the same boat, grab an oar, and we'll go there together.

a little love

In October, I said that I was going to love myself. I promised to be ok with my bumps and curves and everything that rolls in between.

I have yet to get there. (Of course, I'm eating an entire box of Samoas as I type this.)

Honestly, getting there is insanely difficult. Every day overwhelms me with a cannonade of ads, movies and magazines full of happy people.

Coincidentally, they're also all skinny.

Where are the big people? On news broadcasts about obesity. On reality shows getting makeovers. On Oprah, crying about how no one will love them.

Being skinny isn't bad. Neither is being fat. (Of course, being healthy is optimal.) And there isn't a single demographic of which all members are happy. Half of the skinny people want to lose weight just as much as the fat people.

For the past few months, I've been trying to find some way of making myself skinny - dieting, giving up certain foods for New Year's, going to the gym every day, extreme home fitness programs . . .

Each one of these has left me feeling worse about myself than the last.

So, I settled on something that makes me happy: running.

No, I can't run very far or very long. I get excited when I can run for six minutes without collapsing.

But, running gives me time to think. It gives me sun on my face and an excuse to not worry about work or school for 30 minutes to an hour every day. When I'm running, I don't care what I look like. I don't care what people think of me. I'm completely happy with myself.

I've also recently realized how awesome I am. My best friend joked yesterday about how much I embrace my awkwardness. I thought for a second before I replied.

"You know, as much as I torment myself about my physical appearance, I think I'm allowed to absolutely love my personality."

And it's true.

I don't think the key to personal happiness is being skinny. I don't even think it's being funny and smart (like I am, of course).

I think the key to personal happiness is finding one thing about yourself that you love, embracing it, then building on it.

Working out shouldn't be a chore. It should be fun and promote confidence.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm having fun and simultaneously loving myself.

I think that through loving myself a little differently each day, through finding a physical activity that I enjoy, confidence and a supreme respect for myself will follow accordingly.

Heck, I might even get skinny along the way.

gratitude.

I've had quite a few blunders in my life. The great thing about my life, though, is that it resembles an after-school special. I always seem to learn a lesson.

I like to think of these lessons as epiphanies.

My most recent category of blunders includes the incident that led to my last blog post. It also includes my most recent epiphany.

Epiphany:
Through all of my missteps, screw-ups and heartbreaks, I've learned to be extremely thankful of my ex-boyfriend (henceforth referred to as "Boy").

It sounds strange, right?

I've had so many mistakes since him; each time I was a little more intent on finding love; each time I was reminded that it wasn't real.

Boy was my only real relationship: my first date, my first kiss, my first love. I've recently come to be grateful that he taught me how a real relationship looks.

In every blunder I experience, I'm reminded that Christ should be at the center. I'm reminded that I should be respected. That I should respect the guy. That we should help each other grow. That I should get giggly and goofy and walk into doors when I see him. (Yes, I walked into a door on my first date with Boy.)

Of course, none of this exists in a blunder.

So, I'm thankful to Boy for teaching me that I deserve better. I'm thankful for his love, his direction, his compassion, his encouragement, his compliance when tolerating my ridiculous endeavors . . .

To Boy: Thank you. I pray my husband treats me like you did and loves God like you do. Thank you for teaching me what to expect.