Everyone has rolls when they bend over. Everyone. Lets just get this out of the way right off the bat. In the last few months, I’ve had over 30 women ranging from rail thin to extra large naked in my bed and I would routinely ask them to hug their knees. You won’t believe this… ALL OF THEM HAD TUMMY ROLLS. Not one was exempt. Even my super fabulous professional model 6 foot tall and some amazing Katie had rolls. The stomach pictures turned into some of my favorite images from the project… so quit thinking they’re bad, and try accepting (dare I say embracing?) yours!
When people say “you’re gorgeous”, believe them. I tend not to, and it’s a cryin’ shame. When people genuinely compliment you, it’s because they really see it. Try to not dismiss their perspective as wrong and assume that you know better. They see all of you. We see our flaws. Believe them.
“Arm flab is embarrassing.” No its not, go fuck yourself. No, not you. The people who tell us that, silly.
You’re not stunning despite your body. You’re stunning because of your body. There is a distinct difference. I grew up in a culture that would deem “unattractive” women as “special spirits”. A degrading categorization that implied that the only thing worthwhile was whatever was inside. Well, yeah. We are all much much more than our bodies, but our bodies are a beautiful part of us too. Beauty comes from the inside AND the outside. I am of the firm belief that every person is beautiful, and so this leaves the inside to be the part that is the most telling when it comes to true “beauty”.
A guy can pick you up off your feet, and it won’t break his back. “Wait, whaaaaaa Jes? You’re full of shit.” Nope. This just happened to me for the first time in… six years? I’m considerably heavier than I was 6 years ago (like… 70 pounds heavier) and so when I ran up to my friend Eric for a hug and he picked me up with my heels in the air… it left me breathless. I had forgotten that it was possible; I had accepted a life void of being lifted. So exhilarating. Eric didn’t suffer any injuries and walked away unscathed.
You don’t need to exercise every day in order to feel better about yourself. Many believe that someone who’s fat needs to exercise as much as possible in order to prove that they’re committed to becoming “less fat”. As if accepting one’s body as is would be a sin, and that’s just silly. Yes, exercising has wonderful physical and mental benefits, but you don’t owe it to anyone else to make an effort to change your body unless you wanna. You do not have to alter yourself to be okay. Period.
You’re allowed to fall in love with yourself. I promise. This will be the scariest thing you will ever do, and that’s okay. It will also be the most amazing (albeit super gradual) experience you will ever have. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. It doesn’t make you vain. It is liberating in every form of the word.
It’s also okay to have days where you don’t love yourself. Read this. No really. Read it. And then realize that we’ve grown up learning and internalizing that we are not okay our entire life. For me, that’s 26 years of self-hate indoctrination and brainwashing. It’s going to take a lot longer than you think to reverse this thinking, and it’s definitely not going to happen overnight. Allow yourself to have “weak” days. Cry, mourn, sob, yell, throw things. Whichever. Then get up, brush yourself off, give the media the finger, and move forward because you’re a warrior.
Everyone’s boobs are uneven. If you have a lot of boobs, they might be way uneven. Don’t stress. This is totally normal.
There are people who prefer large ladies. And I mean all sizes of large. I thought that my best bet in life was to find a partner who accepted my fat. Pause. Give me a minute to hang my head and shake it at myself. Not only are there people who adore “thick” women, but a LOT of them who prefer it. This eventually ends up in an interesting territory which Marianne talks about here, but the point that I’m trying to make goes back to the “despite vs because of” argument. Here is what you need to know: you do NOT need to settle for a lover who is “okay” with your body. You have the right (and millions of opportunities) to find someone who is infatuated with your body. You deserve to be worshiped, woman!
Fat chicks bang hot guys… ALL. THE. TIME.I know that hot is relative and all inclusive depending on who you chat with, but for these purposes, lets talk about the “universally attractive” kind of hot. Y’know, the kind fat chicks don’t deserve? We want to pretend that we don’t know what I’m talking about, but lets be real; we totally do. The fact that “fat chicks bang ‘hot’ guys” was one of the most powerful realizations I’ve had thus far. In line with the above paragraph, I knew that there would be someone that would find me attractive but the pool would be small (because of my body) and potentially full of guys I didn’t personally find sexy. So I would have to settle for anyone that would take me. After all, how could a conventionally gorgeous man (tall and with tattoos of course) like fat chicks? Weh-he-hell, let me tell you somethin’: through various sites, events, parties, and corner store meetings, I found myself with over a hundred men who were champing at the bit to get with this. I was the one who had to sift through and pick the hottest of the hot. Ladies, over a hundred. “Girls” showed what society thinks about that when Hannah’s character has a weekend romance with an attractive and wealthy doctor. People flipped their shit. “Patrick Wilson is so hot he would never do Lena Dunham” was the most eye catching. Wilson’s wife responded to that rubbish here, but the tweet speaks volumes about what the majority of people think unconventional women deserve. Jesus christ, it’s annoying. I won’t spill the details of my bedroom coming and goings, but lets just say this: the hottest guys in Tucson and I get along just fine. I would recommend reading Emily’s article on xoJane for a better explanation of what I’m struggling to say. Know this: the myth that “atypical” bodies can’t be paired with “typically attractive” bodies is false. Women need to know that all bodies can be paired with all bodies.
Riding during sex will NOT collapse his insides. Just trust me on this one, what you fear is totally false. Here’s a great article that changed my life.
Wearing whatever you want is a political statement. Join the revolution. Throw style rules out the window. Wear the tutu. Wear the horizontal stripes. Wear the turquoise skinny jeans. Wear the see-through blouse. Wear the bikini. Wear the sweat pants. Wear the shirt that says “Does this shirt make me look fat?”. Wear whatever it is that makes you happy. This is your life.
You are fucking beautiful. I’m saying this with a straight face and seriously meaningful look where I maintain eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time. I know you don’t feel like you fit into the category of gorgeous that our world creates. I know that its hard. I know that its a daily battle. But fuck their fascist beauty standards. The second you stop looking for a skinny model in your mirror and start looking at YOU… is the second you will start to appreciate what you are. Stop looking for flaws. Stop looking for differences. You are perfect. You are more than enough. You are the best thing that has ever happened to you. And you are fucking beautiful.
Say it with me.
I’m actively sobbing.
Reblogging again because of awesomeness.
Alone she stood, contemplating the decisions she’d made that brought her to this spot. The place where they had met. Why did she come here? Knowing it would only cause pain and anxiety. She needed to let go of this fear, and this seemed to be the most plausible answer. The memories were awful. Searing into her consciousness and begging to become permanent. NO! She thought. Not again. Not this time. Not for this man, this was for her.
Slowly, as if by some divine force, she could feel this asshole divinity egging her on from the sidelines chiding her on, and so she finally began to move. Closer to the edge of the bridge. A thing she’d never have been able to do with him there. He paralized her, the way he would look at her like she wasn’t capable of making the decision on her own. She could almost hear him taunting her as she stepped closer to the ledge. Just one step and she’d be flying. One step and he’d be the farthest thing from her mind.
Just take a deep breath, she thought. One, two…no, not yet; her heart caught for half a beat as she exhaled thinking of the fall, the way it would make her stomach take up residence in her feet. That fall, so similar to what she felt when she met him. The feeling of inertia, the universe pushing two souls together. She wanted to feel it again. But this time for her. She needed to make her soul whole on it’s own. She wanted to feel the change in her soul because it was her choice, not some reckless deity showing her false promise of love only to provide her with more pain.
It would have to be quick. She’d need to just do it or she never would. Slowly edging her feet closer to the ledge she began to count again. One, tw…STEP! Off the ledge and suddenly she was flying. Falling, the breeze whipping past her face as she sailed through the air. Her stomach didn’t disappoint. She could feel it relocate to the base of her body, and it felt amazing. Finally to be free on her own terms, something she had been needing to feel for far too long. Throwing her arms out to the side, it felt almost as if she had taken flight, become a beautiful bird. All pain and anger gone, there was only the fall and the flight. Only the rearranging of atoms in her body becoming a new woman. She could feel the change all the way down to her soul, almost as if finally she had been let out of her cocoon. It was her turn to change this time, her turn to become.
Suddenly the tightness set in, all the way down in her ankles, wringing around and taking hold. Something begging her to come back. Reality calling from above. her head snapped back and forth as the bungee cord tightened around her feet and whipped her back skyward.
This is freedom she thought. Overcoming the fear and learning to live for herself. Never again, she promised, as she slowly started to bounce and dangle on the cord. never again would she live for anybody else. From this day forward she was finally free.
i’d love to see more women villains that are completely unsympathetic. no stupid “woe is me” backstory that hardly justifies their actions. no victim complex. no hesitation. just a love for carnage and head games and an insatiable lust for pain. mentally unhinged or fully in control. there aren’t enough female characters out there that are truly monsters. as much as it’s fun to see male characters do that, i want some iconic serial killer ladies in my life.
Took pictures of myself today because I did my makeup and I feel pretty. I almost never do a straight on shot, but I really love the way this turned out. It looks a bit like the way I really feel.
I am a strong woman, and I will overcome, I promise you that.
Maud Wagner, the first known female tattooist in the U.S., 1911. In 1907, she traded a date with her husband-to-be for tattoo lessons. Their daughter, Lotteva Wagner, was also a tattooist.
Photograph courtesy of Margot Mifflin, author of “[Bodies of Subversion: A Secret History of Women and Tattoo](http://www.powerhousebooks.com/site/?p=13792).”
YES. <3 <3
Be careful with her she chided as she handed over the porcelain. Taking note of his delicate hands as she placed the porcelain in his capable grasp.
Anatomical and stained with the colors of rose, crimson and a deep indigo he held tight to the thing as if he may drop it at any time. A look of abject apprehension read across his face, as it settled into his grip.
I’m so glad you were able to come in today she sang as she backed away from him slowly, leaving him to hold the porcelain all alone. Turning around to walk to the other side of the room she made it three steps when suddenly she heard a CRASH. Swiftly she pivoted, just in time to watch the porcelain shatter and skitter across the floor like marbles in some child’s game.
He backed away form the mess as she knelt to collect the porcelain into a satin satchel she had strung around her waist.
No matter, she murmured, it happens all the time, I’ll just glue it back together the same way as last time she whispered softly to herself. Knowing full well, as the words left her lips, that it would never go back to the way it had been originally. Some pieces always seemed to get lost.
Gently scooping the pieces into the satchel she looked up to confront the man, only to find him gone. The door swaying softly on it’s hinges the only evidence of his swift departure.
No matter, she whispered as she collected the last piece from a dust filled corner. Someone will want it someday, regardless of the cracks and fault lines from all the times it had been repaired. Surely there was someone out there in search of a gently worn, and expertly repaired heart.
She placed the satchel on the desk and set straight to gluing the pieces back in their proper order. Humming to herself to keep her mind from wandering back to the door where he’d made his hasty escape.