When You Know

In where I discuss the feeling of waking every morning with a reason to fear you may be alone forever.

I don't think I will ever be able to forget what happened shortly before he was supposed to go. We had been with friends, drinking, and had just returned home to rest. Sure, Jaeger had a habit of making him angry, but nothing like this. I had been friends with him for nearly a lifetime and I had never seen him so much as tear up. Now he was crumpled on our floor, crying, sobbing, and yelling. The reality had finally set in. He had pushed it down and stayed so strong but in his state, it was too much. I tried to hold him, tried to kiss him, told him everything would be fine. For the first time I had to bite my lip and fight my tears for him. Just once I had to step up and accept the brunt of the pain. Right when the bottom fell out he bolted. I say back, and I shook with fear. As long as he was gone I had time to fall apart and then build myself back up and await his return. After we cuddled up and went to bed, it was as if it never happened.

There was a final hurrah BBQ the weekend before they all shipped out. As drunk as we may have been, and as light we may have made of it, we all dug in and went over the really hard shit. I made Mata promise to take good care of him because it was his first and he might be scared. Bernie reassured me that although they thought he would give up out of sheer pain of missing me, they would all take care of him. I made all the boys promise not to laugh if he ever got to the point of crying. If I hadn't been drinking I think I would have been a blubbering mess. Some of the best guys I have ever known did nothing but make me feel loved, supported, and comfortable letting him ship out with them. I would never have stopped holding my breath if I didn't have so much confidence in these men. They gave me a peace of mind I thought may have been unattainable. 

I spent all of my idle hours staring at him. I tried not to let him notice me because honestly, I was running out of excuses. I wanted to count his eyelashes, his freckles, the hairs on his head. I wanted to be sure of the exact shade of brown  his hair grew in. I ran my hands over his head and his cheeks so many times, I swear I could have carved them out of stone in my sleep. I spent my times trying to latch onto every detail of his appearance so hard that I would never be able to forget. Every piece of my was aware that these might be my last moments with him. I would wake in a fret-what did his heartbeat sound like? How rough were his hands? When was the last time I told him I loved him? I didn't think there was such a thing as being obsessive over these details in the last weeks. At very best I would be able to skype with him occasionally but no amount of pixels would recreate the strength and beauty I saw now. At worse case scenario I would only have these moments, these cuddles, these breaths to last me...well, however long it takes to die from a broken heart. If I could have stayed in bed with him all day, breathing in his scent and tracing the lines of his body, I swear I would have. 

That morning was so dark and cold, it seemed unreal. We packed the car and grabbed the camera, slow to get out the door. We sat in the gym and watched other families crying, praying, kissing. The bags and the men were lined up. The air was electric with anxiety and fear. I tucked away all of my pain for just a little longer. When they announced the final goodbyes I shed a few tears and then composed myself again. It was temporary, right? Just a 'see you later' and never a 'goodbye'. As they men went on the other side of the ropes, I saw her break. They had only just announced her pregnancy and now she was realizing what it meant. She was in a foreign country with no family, few friends, and had to face everything alone. I told her I would be there. I told her husband I would take her to her appointments and keep an eye on her and help her with whatever she needed. When the base deployed, we all sort of leaned on eachother a little more to make it through the days. The bus drove by, I went down the block to the apartment, and I lost it. I had never felt so empty in my life. How do you move on after you may have said your last goodbye to the love of your life? The tears lasted maybe an hour or two and then numbness slipped in and I was able to breathe. I almost went into a state of denial for a while.

Now this post isn't about how you can cope with your deployment or how a typical deployment goes or anything like that. I just felt the need to write about the worst days of your life when you wonder if you will ever see them again. I wanted to tell you about the heartache of seeing that fear in your husband's eyes. I wanted to explain how much the people he deploys with will bring you peace and strength. I had to get off my chest the fact that I have never had to face a worse moment in my life. 

I relied so heavily on the things I had memorized of his body. I rocked myself to sleep with a memory of his heartbeat. When it got too hard, I breathed in his scent and thought about the whirlpool of green in his eyes. I cuddled my pillow as if it would rise and fall to the pattern of his breathing. I loved the shit out of my dogs during that time. I cuddled them and cried on them whenever I had the chance. I poured all of my time and affection into them so I could fill the whole that grew larger every day. I went to the gym, I went swimming, i went to church. I tried to fill every waking hour of my life with something-anything. On the days I did not hear from him, I was consumed with agony. Those brief hours where no one had heard from their spouse and all of us were holding our breath and holding hands just praying "please don't let it be mine". Then together we would sigh and profess our undying love to our spouse because, for one more day, we got to keep them. This one time fate had smiled upon us and we would be able to hear their voices again. 

Every day I had to put myself back together. After sleeping with a baby blanket, stuffed animal, and one of his shirts, I had to crawl out of my dream World and face the fact that he still wasn't home. I had to tell myself that he was okay, he was safe, he was going to come home soon, and I was going to make it. I fought so hard not to let my mind wander into the scary land of what-ifs and maybes. No matter how long it had been since an attack, what kind of forces were at his base, or who was guarding his back, war is the worst in the way it is totally unpredictable. When word came of a helicopter crash, my heart ached like never before. I had been lucky to hear my husband's voice that morning, but two women were not so lucky. Two women were waiting on the end of the line and instead of the soothing promises of their husbands, they heard the bad news. Their worlds had changed forever in just the blink of an eye and there was nothing we could do to repair the damage. Empathy almost seemed like a whole new word because never before had I felt someone else's pain to that degree. 

How did I feel when he came home? Did I feel like all of the worry in my life would shrink in comparison to the joy I felt?  Yes and no. No words exist to explain to you that feeling. To tell you of the swell of emotion in the crowd, the pride, the joy, the love would be insufficient. No description will make your heart flutter and your palms sweat the way a homecoming does. No tears will feel that way again. I don't think I really sat back and sighed until I was at the homecoming for my friend's husband. As the very last group returned to our base, I felt unparalleled comfort. I knew then that most of us would rest easy for the first time in a long time. 

While nothing in my life compares to the pain and fear I felt over those 6 months, I try to not let go of the lessons I learned during that time. No matter what hurdles we face, at least we face them together. Even the worst fights are worth it because he is here to fight with me. No ounce of love, no late night kiss, no sweet moment goes unappreciated. I try to do everything in my power to not take any of it for granted. I hope I never stop trying to memorize his face, or his voice, or the pressure of his hugs. I hope I never stop saying 'I love you' after every phone call, no matter how short they are. I hope I never stop loving him as if I might lose him tomorrow, because I know there's no way to guarantee we will still be here.

Sexuality

In where I ramble on about being sexual, identifying with a certain sexuality, and how sex affects us. And when I say ramble, I sure do mean ramble.

It seems as though I have been aware of my sexuality far longer than most of my friends. When you begin to blossom, and the boys suddenly are vying for your attention, you don't connect the dots. But, when much older men talk to you and about you as if you're finally a woman, you notice. When you start to be "beautiful", "sexy", and "not like other girls" you start trying to figure out how to amplify those things. For me, it turned in to a never ending search to be more sexual. In adolescence I, like everyone around me, was faced with a lot of insecurities. I felt like I faltered in all of the typical ways to be good. I couldn't draw, I couldn't sing, I wasn't athletic, but you know what? I was the queen of getting older guys to pay attention to me. Since that was all I could say I was really, truly talented at, that was what I focused my energy on. I carefully crafted walls of text that spoke of things I had never done. I wove intricate Worlds where I had experienced the thrill and lust that kept them hanging on my every breath. I found that more than just looking good and speaking well, I was good at making them come back for more. The biggest motive behind it all was the power.  Maybe it was because I learned so young that I could control people with it, maybe because I was naturally good at it, or maybe because I was weak. All I know is that it felt really good to spend time making men go weak in the knees. For the first time in my life I felt like I had something that everyone else wanted. I loved the hunger in their eyes and the pleading in their voice. I would have done anything to get that reaction. 

As time went on, I think I let this define me. I stopped paying attention to who I was beyond the creature I had grown into. My worth, as far as I was concerned, laid solely in my sexual nature. When a man got tired of my words and wanted the physical attributes, I was quick to be ignored and it broke me. I failed to see my own beauty and my own value. If a man didn't want me to lay awake and whisper in his ear then what was left for me? When I finally did lose my virginity nothing changed. In fact I would say maybe it got worse. Now the guys in school knew that I did more than just bark; I packed a bite too. I thought the physical attention that resulted would fuel me, but it ate away at me instead. Not only did so many boys and men want what I had but they thought they were entitled to it. They said things to me that made me feel dirty instead of sexy. Suddenly I was not in control of this power that I had. The stories started to come to me second hand of things I had done or said except...they were all lies. My heart hurt when people believed these things and passed them on as if they were common knowledge. 

As if the ground didn't feel unsteady enough beneath my feet, I had reached the peak of my struggle with my sexual orientation. Did I like girls? Did I like boys? I knew what it meant to like like boys at my age, but I had no experience with girls. Did I have to be experienced in order to know who I'm attracted to? Didn't I know I liked boys prior to my first sexual encounter with one? The first time I had heard the term bisexual, it was a very loud and proud girl who I was acquaintances with. She claimed to be into boys and girls; and she had dipped into both sides of the pool. But I saw the way people looked her way. I saw the guarded way the other girls would speak to her as if she might reach out and kiss them at any moment unprovoked. I wasn't brave enough or sure enough for that yet. Slowly a few more girls stepped out as being bisexual. They, too, were very loud about it and they, too, were watched. I mulled it over, I looked it up, I stewed in my confusion for a long time. I quietly took the badge of bisexuality and pinned it to my shirt. I was cautious. At my school it was only a few girls, but it seemed like it was a popular trend among teenagers. Very quickly a stigma surrounded the word. Bisexuals were just trying to be trendy, they were confused, they wanted to elicit a reaction out of everyone. When it came to being in a monogamous relationship with a boy, my sexual orientation seemed to interfere. Suddenly it meant I was horny, unfaithful, and weird. It rubbed them the wrong way for all the wrong reasons. I tucked it away and out of sight. 

As time went on, I fell for man after man and woman after woman. I was head over heels for a man who identified as being Asexual some years ago. He was handsome, funny, and intellectually kept me on my toes. It hurt when he explained that he would never reciprocate my feelings. I think the sting lessened when he took the time to really sit me down and tell me about how he identified. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with me. In no way could I change to make him want me more. We stayed very good friends until we drifted apart through the course of time. Later, I met a man who changed my World as I knew it. Meeting Johnny was the sole reason I came to believe in soul mates. Something about the way we connected was so deep and reassuring. We were next to inseparable and I was head over heels in love with him. I felt like no matter what someone were to call our relationship, I would always want more. When I found out he was transgendered, absolutely none of that changed. We weren't dating, but I know we shared something very special. In fact it was this sort of blissful trio between us and our friend Shae. We all connected in such a beautiful way that I just don't have words to describe to you. The relationship the three of us had was something I fear I will never have with another person. So I was a woman who identified as being bisexual, but I had love and longing for an asexual and two transgendered men. I never stopped to think about the gender of the people I loved. I never considered gender to determine whether or not I would feel attracted to someone. 

About a year ago I really researched a range of sexual orientations. I opened my mind to the idea that there was more to the options than just LGBT. I wasn't looking to fix my own dilemmas I just wanted to know more. As i read, I became enthralled. Somehow I had never really contemplated this before. How does someone identify if they are not attracted to anyone? Does everyone have to identify? Who decides what categories we fit in? Then it struck me. I get to decide how I identify if I even wanted to "pick" an orientation to identify with. Personally, I prefer to have an orientation to identify with. I find comfort in having some sort of category to file my sexuality into. I'm not sure why I prefer this, but I do, so I read on. Pansexuality: not limited or inhibited in sexual choice with regard to gender or activity. I spoke with some of my friends who are deeply rooted in the LGBTQ movement. I asked questions to them and to myself. I had spent many years identifying as being bisexual. It felt sort of silly to try and change my mind, so to speak. I felt like maybe there was no point in changing the way I identified. The more I thought about using the term 'bisexual', the worse I felt about it. I really took a lot of time to think this through. As trivial as it might be, as many questions as it may rise, or...how little of a splash it may make, I had to come out as being pansexual. Turns out, my friends just went with it. They knew me, and they had taken note of how little gender has mattered to me over the years. I told them, and I waited, and got nothing but support. 

Isn't it a moot point for a married woman to be concerned with her sexual orientation? My answer is: no! When you move across the country, do you stop identifying as being a Southern boy? When you make a decent life for yourself, do you not acknowledge that you came from a poor home? When you heal and grow, are you no longer a survivor? So at 20 years old, after 2 years of a heterosexual marriage, and with very little physical experience with anyone other than cis-gendered males, I came out of the closet..for the second time. It is very rare that my sexual orientation is ever brought up I admit. I haven't ran around town declaring my new found identity or really brought it up to anyone other than my closest friends. It was a revelation for me though, and I feel much more comfortable in my skin now. 

At this point in my life, sexuality is still as important as ever. As a naturally sexual being, I am constantly aware of how it is affecting my life right here and right now. After about a year of marriage I was consumed with these ideas. As with the stresses of life built up, my sexual appetite had all but ceased to exist. I still liked sex, still thought about sex, and still very much wanted to be, well, wanted. It just wasn't happening and I felt so incredibly unsexy. Had I become undesireable? Had I finally lost that spark that made people's looks linger just a moment too long? How could I get that back without hurting my husband? There was the block. There, in big bold letters, was my problem. How can I be my same self after making this change in my life? You may be surprised what the answer to this question is. Nothing has to change. Yes, I am a married woman, a grown woman, a respectable woman, but I am not any different than before. I had completely closed off that part of my life so I slowly warmed back into it. It was okay to let out a little sex appeal when I got dressed. It was okay to wear make-up every day. It was okay to want my boobs to look good and my underwear to be lacey. Drawing in people's eyes did not change how loyal I was to my husband.

Women have this awful habit of making you feel like these things are wrong. You're not supposed to want other men to look at you. But why? I have no intention of sleeping with these men. I should not be condemned to a life of only being lusted after by one man. It is good and healthy for a woman to feel wanted. Maybe not all women need this feeling. Maybe you think I am wrong for having this need, but I do, and I am not ashamed. I am not going to let someone else's ideas of right and wrong dictate my life. It took a lot of courage to face the eyes of those women. The judgement was thick and I was not immune to it. I actually had women come out and tell me that I was reflecting on my husband and I was being inappropriate. The thing of it was, I was acting so mildly. I was unaware that in the year 2012 shorts above my knees or platform heels made me look like a whore. I didn't get the memo that a little peak of cleavage sent the same message as if I had worn a corset out of the house as a top. I knew that I was on a military base and I was in fact representing my husband so I kept it very classy. Dare I say that I let these women make me feel less than. I started to believe that the real issue behind all of this was my size. Was it naieve of me to think that? Maybe so, but I did. So now this idea of sexuality and the "issue" of my size were forever intertwined. I now could not separate the two.

This, as I am fully aware, is not an uncommon issue. But when the hell did it get so complicated? When did I stop being who I was naturally and get caught up in all of these crazy ideas that other people had fed me? I couldn't recall my friends ever telling me that my size was a problem. I never heard a man tell me I would be better in bed or better to look at if I lost weight. I never caught someone looking at me with anything but lust when I wore my bathing suit. So where did these ideas come from, if not from family, friends, and lovers? The TV, magazines, and all of the other people walking on the streets around me. They may not have been saying "Rachel, you are too fat. Rachel, you would look so much better without that tummy of yours. Rachel, you are so pretty for a big girl." but somehow it was soaking into my brain. Every woman around you is talking about this new diet, saying they were so ashamed of their bodies, telling you how many pounds they needed to lose. Everything in the store is diet, low-fat, and only 100 calories. The doctors bring up your weight even when you are in for nothing even remotely related. It seems a revelation when one of your friends "actually feels good enough to take a picture" and for some reason, this doesn't seem to bother anyone. In fact, I started to feel weird for not saying these things. I became hyperaware of my size, of my stretch marks, of the way my belly jiggled when I laughed. I started to push things aside in my closet that 'made me look fat' or weren't 'flattering'. The pile of clothes that I allowed myself to wear was getting smaller by the week. I often felt like if I wore something out of the house, I was only going to embarrass myself. The most heartbreaking part of this was that I was not doing this for me. I didn't buy these clothes to impress other people, I bought them because I liked them. I had no problem with these things when I bought them and honestly, I didn't feel uncomfortable in them, but I felt like other people would be uncomfortable if they had to see me in them. At the time I didn't think there was a problem. I thought I was acting like a normal woman.

I will admit that I started doing the Visalus shakes to lose weight and look good for a trip we were planning on taking. I felt like if I could eat the shakes and go to the gym all the time, I would lose x number of pounds and then somehow I would deserve to wear the bikini I bought. When we came back from the trip, I had put the weight back on and decided the shakes did not work for me so I stopped. I kept going to the gym though. I was worried about how much I ate and made sure to always, always go to bed hungry. I worked and worked and worked and...no progress. I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia and put on a high complex carb and protein diet. I added Shakeology to the mix because it seemed like it would help, and it did. I kept going to the gym, kept making sure to fit it in, kept sweating to death and then...8 pounds in 6 months. I suddenly felt sexy again. Those eight pounds had somehow added up to being desireable. I felt like there was nothing I couldn't wear. I was so excited to show off the body I had worked so hard for, but I wanted more. The more I worked without progress, the more I slipped back into the idea that I wasn't any thinner than before and most definitely was not sexy. My husband kept saying how good I looked and I just didn't see it. I did detox wraps on my stomach, I gave up Shakeology, and slowly stopped my 6-8 hours a week gym regimen. If I wasn't going to be able to work myself into being sexy, what was the point? I was going to be fat forever. At least being fat meant I had a great rack and a big booty, right? I decided I would just keep trying to hide my stomach and always play up my chest and my butt. Every guy likes to look at those, so it was a fair compromise. I was feeling sexy...for my size.

I kept this idea for a long time. I went to the gym when I could to try and stay healthy. It was good for my muscles, good for my asthma, and it made me feel good. I kept cooking relatively healthy meals, stayed on the regimend my doctors set out for my blood sugar, and drank lots of water. I really pulled back from the idea of doing all of this to lose weight. I had a great amount of muscle, my organs were healthy, I was in no danger of developing diabetes, and my blood pressure was perfect. if my fat wasn't putting me in danger of being unhealthy, then why work so hard to try and lose it? Over and over I had seen my body do nothing but pack on muscle and lose 5-8 pounds over many months when I tried to lose it. The doctors told me it would be difficult to lose weight and kept giving me suggestions, but I was done fighting my own body. I found my own way to get back in touch with my sexual side. I focused much more on getting my husband's attention. I may be fat, but I knew he loved my body. I searched all over for clothes that would show off my chest but hide my stomach. I would fake it until I made it, damnit.

When we came back to America, we landed smack dab in the South. I have to admit, I love trashy Southern style. I love those ripped shorts and burnout tops with a bright colored bra underneath. I love boots and shorts, sexy braids, and crop tops. I felt exhilarated to let my white trash hang out. For the first time in a long time I felt sexy period. That's where I am now. I am in the wonderful land of sexy period. I am working as an administrative assistant and in my mind, that means I am the sexy young woman at the front desk. In some ways, there's this pressure to look a certain ay or act a certain way because of my position. But I like it. I feel very empowered being the sexy young secretary. I feel like I have the freedom to express my style and show off my body without making the wrong impression. I have a reason to wake up and put on a full face of make-up. I have found great pride in a nice skin care regimen. I am getting my feet and legs used to looking friggin' fabulous in heels again.

I am 21 years old, happily married, and finally in touch with myself again. I dress for myself and carry a confidence that can bring a grown man to his knees. I know all of the punches that a body like mine can pack. I am very aware of the fact that I am a sexual being. I am full of wants and needs that are so animalistic that sometimes I wonder if there's a way to satiate myself. I like the looks that men give me and I don't give a damn what you think about it. I am not afraid of the power I possess. I do not get worried that my marital status will in some way lessen the kind of woman that I am. I do not fear the awesomeness that I am capable of. I do not think that a woman like myself to re-think something I say, do, or wear.

 Most importantly, I do not want to hear your body hate and I will not apply it towards myself. I know that it can be alarming to you that a woman does not want to sit around talking about the ways she hates herself. I know you may feel like I am just hiding these thoughts away for myself. Surely I have an issue with my size, right? Every woman stares at herself and picks away at all that is good so that only negativity remains. If I think I am above it all then I am just lying to myself. These are toxic thoughts. I challenge you to try and rid yourself of these bizzare standards we have pushed upon ourselves. I dare you to say "no" when someone tries to get you to sympathize without how much they hate their muffin top. Take some time today to love an imperfection. Plant that seed and see where it brings you.

 

Personal Demons

*TRIGGER WARNING* This post will contain MILD information about rape. 

I am sharing this, along with future posts, in attempt to reach out to other rape victims. It is always important to speak up about the issue, but right now rape cases around the World are shaking the Earth we walk on. It is such an important time to swallow your fear and give yourself a voice. I understand many men and women do not have the choice to or simply are not ready. DO NOT BE ASHAMED. I raise my voice for those of us who cannot or will not. I raise my voice to fill the silence in between. I raise my voice to remind you that not only are you not alone, but someone much closer than you know, may be right there with you. I am sharing this story with a heart full of love!

I'd like to say that my rape and molestation are just a whisper of a memory. I'd like to say I have let go of the pain, the shame, and the anger that go along with it. I'd like to tell you that I was only made better as a result. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you those things. I cannot speak about this part of my past without feeling a wave of emotions wash over me. This post will not be focused on the details of my rape, but I do plan on sharing about it later. As this event in my life has affected me many times and in many ways, you may read about it more than a few times. 

As far back as I can remember, I have lived with the grief of having been raped and molested. At first I hid it from the World. (My mother has helped me identify that I was 5 years old at the time of the attacks and that they may have spanned a total of 4 months or less.) It wasn't until I was 12 that I was able to really dig down and uncover some of the details. Through therapy I was reminded of so many things I had managed to block out during the years as a way to handle the pain. 

As soon as I connected the dots, I realized that the abuse occurred before I moved in with my father. I didn't know who my attacker was, but I knew his name was either William or Steven and that my mother was romantically involved with his brother. (With the help of my mother, we have identified his name was William and he was the 15 year old son of my mother's boyfriend at the time.) 

For years I hid my history from my mother, out of the desire to protect her. My mother is an incredible woman who has weathered a lot of abuse over the years. She also happens to suffer from mental illnesses. This is not a weakness, but being a naive teenager, I thought it meant my mother was made of glass. I thought that if I told her that I had been raped under her watch, that she would fall to pieces. I thought she would blame herself for any pain that may have come along with the attack and that I would successfully destroy this incredible woman. I told my friends, my therapists, and even strangers who occasionally asked me, for lack of better words, what the hell was wrong with me. I had let it tear me down, and everyone could see. 

I spent some time turning this pain into determination. I tried to glean all of the things from it that could make me stronger, wiser, and generally ready to face the World without fear that I could be torn down. I tacked on my "victim" badge and wore it with all the bravery I could find. But still, I could not tell my mother. I followed the Steubenville case with rage in my heart and flames on my tongue, but I held it. I read of a sailor in the Middle East being attacked on a bus. I read that she knocked the attacker down, and held a knife to his throat, and I was so proud I wanted to shout from the rooftops. Still, I was afraid to speak to my mother. I read this week that a Norwegian woman in Dubai is being jailed for sex outside of marriage, even though she is a rape victim. I have been getting more ashamed, more angry, and more disappointed in this disgusting way the World handles rape and I have stayed too quiet because of my own damn fear to speak to my mother! 

Today my mother stood up and admitted her own history of rape. When she was younger, on three different occasions, men had taken advantage of her being intoxicated. She had fought and told them "No" and still they thought it was okay to rape her. Her friends laughed at her! The cops told her that because she was drunk, she was willing!! None of her attackers were brought to justice. So now, finally, something had upset me so much that the silence was gone. I had finally been faced with a rape story so appalling that my tongue ached inside my mouth. I had felt an anger so wretched it burned my soul and I finally opened up to my mother. 

The brave, beautiful woman that I know as my mother took this news as gracefully as anyone could. Only with her help was I able to connect the dots that had been lost to me. Only with her help was I able to remove these questions looming over my head. My mother displayed so much courage today that I was in tears. She willingly took on whatever emotions came with my admission. She forgave me for my silence, and even commended me for my strength. 

So now, with my mother holding my hand, I can go into the future with no fear. I can now speak about my rape and advocate against it without holding back even an ounce! In these trying times, I can open my mouth without hesitation. I speak on the behalf of victims like me whose cases went cold and who will never know the taste of justice. I speak also for victims like my mother who were dismissed because they were intoxicated. The victims who were harrassed by the law and laughed at by their "friends". I am blessed to have supportive friends and family around me who have never once questioned my account. If you are reading this, and you feel nothing but shame and fear in regards to your abuse, please contact me in any form you see fit. I would love to help anyone that might need my help. 

Please go and hug your mothers. Please thank them for taking on all of your pain as you grow. Please honor them for all of their secret pains and struggles. Today I am so grateful for my mother and so fucking proud. 

My Body Journey

How can I write a blog that talks about body love when I have been so up, down, and sideways about my own body? Well, times have changed, I have grown, and I have stumbled upon this self-love revolution. I wanted to spend a little time talking about the journey I have gone through with my body.

When I go all the way back to the first time I had an opinion about my body, I find a negative attitude. I remember being maybe 9 or 10 and noticing I was bigger than a lot of the other kids. I noticed my step brother, who was naturally tall and thin, could do things that I couldn't. I don't recall it bothering me very much, but I did notice it every once in a while. 

Fast forward to when puberty really started to hit me around age 11 or 12. I felt very pretty as I first developed breasts. Prior, I had felt perfectly normal alongside my friends but the breasts changed the way the boys treated me and, in turn, changed the way I felt about myself. In 6th grade I had my first real bra and my first school boyfriend. In fact, I remember quite a few boys mentioning that I looked different or whispering that so-and-so liked me. I had a good few years where I was on top of the World. I almost constantly had a school boyfriend and most every girl in class was behind me in development. While I was in no way sexual at this point, my breasts had changed my whole World. Back then I didn't know what the cause of it was. This is sort of bittersweet when I think back. I thought all of these boys genuinely thought I was pretty and nice. 

When I was thirteen I began some medications that caused me to gain weight. Pair that with a lot of pain and heartbreak associated with being a teenager with mental illness and my body quickly became my worst enemy. In what seems like a blink of an eye, I had lost my thin, pretty, chesty body and become a big fat disgrace. When you are thirteen and your body suddenly gets fat, it feels like everything is so bad. I got really insecure for a long time in my early teens. I was so conflicted because boys who did not go to my school still saw the physical attraction. I may have been big, but I was also busty and was blessed in the booty department. But I felt so awkward in my skin. I wanted to wear bigger shirts, more layers, and definitely make-up. 

At fourteen I lost my virginity. I thought some sort of magical body revelation would follow. I thought that now, since someone wanted to have sex with me, I would feel attractive all the time. I started to wear less clothing, because the only people who seemed to acknowledge my new sex appeal was older guys. Frankly, I didn't care for what I was wearing, but the outside attention is what kept me feeling good.

I took a Summer when I was 15 to kind of spend time on myself. I stepped back from boys for a while and focused on how I felt about myself. At 15 it felt like a huge revelation to really decide that I liked myself and wanted better for myself. I started to take note of the way I ate, being physically active, tanning, and so on. It was, for the first time, important that I change myself. Funny isn't it? I finally decided I liked myself, but that I would like myself more when I changed. In fact, every Summer I had this idea that I would return from vacation thinner, tanner, and that I would dye my hair red. I failed every single Summer and waited the whole year to try again. I don't know why I was so obsessed with that idea of me being "at my best" but I latched onto it pretty hard. 

When I was 16 I took a really big step in my life and moved away from my Father. Of course I thought I was completely re-inventing myself and so I was incredibly over confident. That is, until I started the school year at the biggest high school I had ever seen. I sort of pulled back into myself again. I really didn't think anything of my body during my last year of highschool. I was sort of okay with it, sort of uncomfortable with it, and sort of just meh about the whole thing. 

It wasn't until I got married, at 18 years old, that I really began to feel beautiful. Suddenly all the imperfections were gone because in my husband's eyes, they never had existed. I was liberated! The way he looked at me, the way he smiled at me, and the way he believed that he married the most beautiful girl in the World somehow erased years of body issues. For our honeymoon I purchased my first ever bikini. I wore that thing like I was a supermodel. I had zero inclination that anyone had a problem seeing me, just the way I was, in a bikini. The joy I felt in my heart left no room for negativity and I have held onto a lot of that over the last few years. 

When I was 19 I had moved to Germany and still felt pretty good about my body. As is normal though, life was very stressful and my sex life changed. Embarrassingly enough, this made me start to take notice of my imperfections once again. My over-all view of myself was still pretty positive, but I was really focused on my fat once again. I knew I was pretty, I knew I was sexy, but I wanted to work on myself. I had subscribed to the idea that (even though I am the smallest girl my husband has ever been with) thin was best and that by going out in public with my fat I was doing some sort of dis-service to the public. I was very certain about what I could and could not wear because I was fat. I would cycle through the same few outfits because so many things, God forbid, showed that I held weight in my stomach. 

My husband deployed when I was 20 and I went on a health kick. My health had taken some funny turns and the doctors made sure to mention me being overweight nearly every time I went in. My weight had nothing to do with it, but I felt an increased need to lose weight. I tried to do 2 different types of health shakes instead of eating 3 times a day. I was sure it would knock the weight right off...it didn't. I totally re-vamped my diet and started going to the gym 5 days a week for an hour or more each time. In 6 months I lost 8 pounds. While yes, I was technically succeeding because I was losing weight, I was losing it at an embarrassingly slow rate. I went to the doctor to try and get answers. My hypoglycemia caused them to put me on a high complex carb and protein diet. I thought it would help me lose weight because it was what my body needed to run properly, but instead I put back on a few pounds. The doctor told me I have high testosterone and another male hormone. He also told me I had an ovarian cyst. So, they had given me 3 reasons why it would be more difficult and frankly, it feels like it is impossible, to lose weight. No matter what I tried to do, I put on muscle and never lost a pound. 

I was left in this sort of awkward stage of both being amazed by how strong my body is, and being ashamed to wear certain things. See, I didn't realize that WE CAN WEAR WHATEVER WE WANT. For some reason it didn't click in my brain that I am going to look fat in clothes because...well...I am fat. No amount of draping and flowing can keep me away from the fact that this is the body I have. I had moved onto the idea that my body was beautiful, and almost the way I wanted it. I loved the way bottoms made my legs and ass look, but I was appalled by the way my stomach looked on top. My chest, my face, my hair, all made me very happy. My upper arms and my belly bothered me. In every.single.outfit. I didn't have a problem with thinking this way because it seems it is a common mindset for women to have. We like our bodies, we know we're pretty, but we compare ourselves to others. 

I recently gave up all the energy I had been spending on nitpicking. I stumbled onto this fat positive culture and fell in love. I've always felt like I am "not allowed" to identify with normal women, because I have a fat midsection, but that I am "not fat enough" to identify as being fat. I have felt like being 5'2" with a size 10 ass but a size 12 gut, a big chest but an average ribcage, and having tick muscular calves...I was not allowed to fit in anywhere. So the fat positive website I found both inspired and, admittedly, discouraged me at first. Could I join in on the body love movement? Was I allowed to say that I will use "fat" all I want without the negative connotations? Could I, too, wear anything I want? I found a very resounding YES! If I already loved the PERSON I was, and I already loved so much about my body, couldn't I just take the leap and decide to love all of me? Why yes, yes I could. My 21st birthday kind of marked a new chapter in my life. Being married already and being sort of "settled down" I had forgotten all the things I am allowed to be, and all the things I am not letting myself be. (See my first post) 

Now I am 21 years old and a self-declared vain bitch. I have always been, very secretly, full of myself. It may have only been one day a year, or once a week, but I would check myself out. I would always talk myself up, flaunt my shit, and I always knew someone liked what they saw. Now, more than ever, I believe this 100%. I have spent so much energy doing everything I could to change my body to try and feel even more attractive. Now that I have really seen that my body kind of likes where it is, I'm not going to fight it. 

 I get stress relief at the gym that I do not find anywhere else. I enjoy going to the gym and will continue to do so probably forever. I will continue to eat a cleaner diet because I enjoy fresh foods and processed foods give me tummy aches. I will try to be more outdoorsy because the World is a beautiful place and I want to spend less time in my house doing, well, nothing. But the point is that I am going to live my life the way I see fit. I am going to treat my body with respect and love at all times. I am going to eat ice cream, cook pasta, eat too much sushi, and binge on carrot sticks. I am going to do all of this without feeling guilty. I am going to try crazy fashion trends and wave when I get cat called. I am at an all-time high with my body and I think I'll keep it that way. 

People...Please Educate Yourselves!

Let me start this post by saying I fully respect everyone's right and ability to have opposing ideals. I believe that being passionate about the issues of the World help keep it a place worth living in.

Right now in the World, there are lots of pressing matters that range from politics to socio-economics and everything in-between. There are also matters that are much less important, but that have very strong supporters on either side like Publix vs. Winn Dixie or which chicken restaurant is best. No matter what the subject is, you will always find someone who feels very strongly on the issue. 

The issue I keep running into is that a huge number of highly opinionated people are not educated on the subjects. There are many different reasons for this supreme lack of knowledge. First, there are people who are just misinformed. Maybe they were raised in a household that strongly supported a woman's choice to abort. So, instead of reading up on the matter, they took on their parent's views and will defend them to the end. Possibly their church is preaching that God genuinely hates gays, an they don't know any better to question why. Or, worst of all, they heard someone mention that some people support the Zimmerman/Trayvon Martin verdict and others are outraged. They listened in to their friends and family and figured out the more popular opinion, and decided to agree. I think misinformed people might be the easiest people to deal with. Some of them are genuinely unaware that their facts are flawed. I think passing on knowledge to someone is very rewarding, so I don't mind sitting down with them to talk. Granted some of them do not want to hear what you have to say, but that's okay. The point is not to make everyone agree with you; it is to pass on information so people can proudly stand their ground. 

Next on the list are people who take all of their information from the scripture. This is a tough subject for me because, despite my radical views and really complex idea of religion, I do believe in God. I think using the scripture as a guideline to living a generally good and fulfilling life is great. I also recognize that it is a very old book that has been changed, edited, and re-written throughout history. The issue comes when people think this old, altered book is the set of rules for all lives and that it can realistically be applied to today's World. Just as bad are the people who think that they have the knowledge to read the words and then decipher which parts we should follow and which parts are no longer relevant. These people are my least favorite when it comes to having a real conversation about important topics. No matter how many facts you know, how many sources you cite, or if you have actual tangible evidence, they will not back down. It is amazing to have that kind of trust in your opinions. It's great that they know why they believe what they believe. But, they are not nice to speak with because they never seem to want to hear what you have to say and they want you to subscribe to their ideals. A discussion with them is more like an interrogation. They seem to have a hard time wrapping their heads around the idea that not everyone interprets the bible the same way and, in fact, some people don't believe the bible at all. I hope that one day they can open their minds up to just a little bit of facts. I don't think faith is very strong if you never challenge it. 

The last set of people are people who think their political standing determines their views. These people are either Republicans or Democrats depending on what their parents are, what their friends are, and what demographics they are from. If the general view of their political party is one thing, they will stand by that view for absolutely no reason other than they think that is how they should feel. They are very sure they feel that way and they will yell about it for days, but they can't really tell you why. Chances are they will say things like "That's what I believe and I have the freedom of speech" or "Any self respecting (member of their party) would agree with me" or something else along those lines. They love to drag God and freedom into it as much as possible to back them up. These people may or may not listen to what you have to say. They probably won't step aside and admit that they were wrong, but there's a chance they will get some information from your discussion and actually retain it. 

My plea to you is to be loud, be passionate, be opinionated, but above all please be educated. If you hear about an issue and it upsets you, read into it. Figure out what the two sides are, go to reputable sources, and pick a side. Please don't read just one news link and decide how you feel. Remember: the more you know, the more you can defend your opinion and the more you can educate those around you. If you only contribute to society in one way, let it be with a strong educated voice. Don't be afraid to change your opinion as the facts come along, either. This may sound silly, but isn't it worse to continue spreading ideals that you no longer believe in? People grow, people change, and people learn new things. Go out there and advocate!! The people who get out there and make noise will be a part of history. If you can spend your time, money, and energy cheering on a sports team...can't you do the same for an issue that may change life as we know it? Wouldn't you rather be on the right side of history?

Body Love

Self-love. Body Acceptance. Fat Love. 

The first step to 100% acceptance of my body is to STOP JUDGING OTHER PEOPLE'S BODIES. Seems crazy, right? You would think it would be something that began and ended inside you, but it isn't. We need to stop looking at people as parts instead of a whole. If we view someone's body as being too much or too little in some way, we are not only pressing OUR body negativity on them, but we are also spending our energy comparing ourselves. This does not create a body positive atmosphere! All bodies are good bodies. All bodies are beautiful bodies.

 It's embarrassing to even admit that I DON'T already do this. I am secretly judgmental of myself and I am secretly judgmental of others. I have been raised in a World where "nobody's body is perfect." Now that I am a grown woman I am faced with so many different body views that it's got me dizzy. 

**People who use the words 'curvy' and 'thick' are just in denial about the fact that they are fat. Real woman have curves, not bones. Someone get that girl a cheeseburger! Women come in all shapes and sizes. I love my body but I wish I could have my fat disappear.**

I want to go into these phrases a little more. On an average day you will hear most of these things and more. All of these ideas are out there to show you how you, as a woman, should think of your body. These are all ideals that are not only accepted but celebrated, and I think it's time for a change. 

CURVY/THICK/BBW:

When it comes to your body, you choose the vernacular. The word 'curvy' may mean a number of things depending on who you ask. None of these words are a way to escape the reality of being fat. You know what else? FAT IS NOT A BAD WORD! We all have fat and many of us are fat. Being fat is the same as being tall or being blonde; it's just a fact. All of these words are words of empowerment; not of shame! These are all ways for us to embrace and love our bodies. These words have positive connotations. They turn what we see in ourselves into a description for the World. 

CURVES NOT BONES:

This is probably one of my least favorite phrases out there. You shouldn't need to put others down in order to boost your own confidence. THAT, my friends, is what we call bullying. Men love women. There's no science behind which body type will attract a man. You know what will? Confidence. Thin women, fit women, and androgynous women are constantly having curves shoved in their face. These women are being told that no man will want them, that they need to eat more, that their body type somehow makes them less of a woman. If this doesn't outrage you, IT SHOULD! We are all women and we are all beautiful. To be against another woman is nothing but detrimental to everything we work for. I urge you to stop passing this idea along of curves being superior over bones or muscles. Start passing on the word that self love of all degrees is not only welcomed, but admired. 

GET HER A CHEESEBURGER:

If telling a woman she needs to go on a diet is something you would frown at, you should be appalled when someone uses this phrase. Not only does this tell the woman that you don't like her body, it is also telling her that the way to improve on herself is to eat more. If you feel the need to say this to someone, chances are she either has a very fast metabolism or she works very hard for her body. If she has a naturally fast metabolism and you tell her she is too thin, you are encouraging her to dislike the functionality of her own body. Her body is sufficiently fueling her, helping her grow, AND keeping her from putting on a lot of weight. She should be in awe of her body, not ashamed of its ability to do its job. If she has worked for her body, you are throwing dirt on everything she has accomplished. She has found a lifestyle that fits her, pushed her body to its limits, and now she has to face you and your body shaming. STOP IT. 

I LOVE MY BODY BUT...

The first time I realized what I was really saying when I said "I would be perfectly okay with my body if I could just get lose my belly fat" I was ashamed of my words. It sounds like I am accepting 99% of my body and hating just one part. But, the reality is, if I 'magically' got rid of my belly fat, that body shame would materialize somewhere else. When you think these words, you are becoming an enemy to yourself. 'I love my body' should be a revelation! Treating your body as if there are exceptions to its beauty is painful. It's painful to you and it is painful to those around you. The more acceptable is it for someone to say 'I love my body but...' then the more women will use those same terms for themselves. I challenge you to start saying I LOVE MY BODY. Say it with pride and say it without tacking on anything else. It isn't vain to love your body.

WOMEN COME IN ALL SHAPES AND SIZES:

This is the best movement out there as far as promoting a body positive World. To try and define this idea of a 'real woman' is just an excuse to try and exclude women. All women are real women. The more you vocalize your support for everyone, the more people will come to terms with supporting themselves. If you want a body love movement, you have to get it started. People listen to your words far more than you think. 

TO CLARIFY: Promoting self-love is not the same thing as encouraging poor habits. The movement I support is not about being fat or being thin; it is about rocking what you've got. There is nothing but positivity in this movement. It does not exclude anyone and is not designed to shame anyone. 

My Womanifesto - Inspired by Jes at www.themilitantbaker.com

WO·MAN·I·FES·TO  

NOUN 

NOUN \ˌWO-MA-NƏ-ˈFES-(ˌ)TŌ\

 A written statement declaring publicly the intentions, motives, and views of its female author. May include themes of empowerment, independence, self love, consciousness, affirmation, and individual acceptance; your positive beliefs about yourself. Created to give self-described definition in regards to the innate beauty inside of every woman. Yes, even you.

I am free. 

I can run wild, start fires, make a scene, make history.

I can wrap myself up and hide in my shame, but I choose not to.

I can face bullies, challenges, fears, and insecurities head on.

I am free.

I am strong.

I can lift weights, move freight, build a deck, and sweat.

I can carry a child, cradle my love, bear the brunt of the World.

I can hold my past inside me, and filter it, so that it does nothing but benefit the woman I am today. 

I am strong.

I am loud.

I can look you in the face and boldly declare my opinion; no matter how controversial it may be.

I can educate you on all the things you don't understand and are too scared to read about. 

I can laugh until my throat is hoarse and my eyes are filled with tears. 

I am loud. 

I am free, I am strong, and I am loud. I can do anything but, more importantly, I WILL do anything I please. 

I give myself permission from here on out to really love myself. I am stepping down from being okay with myself and moving on to being floored by the person I am. I declare today the first day that I will not look at ANY part of myself and feel negatively about it. I will not wonder if those stretch marks will fade or hang that shirt back up because, God forbid, it shows what my body really looks like. I will no longer speak of my body as if it is almost there, nearly there, pretty darn close to perfect. Beyond that- I give myself permission to be proud of the person I am. I am going to be proud of my tenacity, my positivity, my hopefulness, my rowdiness, and my all together me-ness.

I am officially saying YES to everything that being a woman has to offer! I am sick and tired of avoiding make-up colors, hair styles, or fashion because it's too risky. I am now a risk-taker, baby. I am going to have more fun showing who I am on the inside with style on the outside. In fact, I vow to pick up those things in my closet and wear them. I am never again going to look at something on a hanger and decide not to even try it on because "It's not for girls like me." I am not going to make myself an exception any longer. 

I AM IN-BETWEEN. I am finally going to acknowledge this and EMBRACE it. I am normal, I am small, I am fat, I am muscular, I am me. Instead of "having" to shop at more stores than other ladies, I get to shop at more stores. I get to work the best of both sides and never again will I feel out of place in a store. I am never going to go shopping under the premise that I will not have fun. In fact, I will make it a point to try on stuff that is goofy or wild because I, too, am goofy and wild. 

I will no longer limit myself. I will apply for jobs that I am under qualified or barely qualified for. I will not look at doors as if they are closed to me any longer. All opportunities are mine for the taking. My success lies in giving my all. I will not half-ass my work, my house, my husband, or my friends. 

I allow myself to be 21, damnit. I say it's okay to show my midriff, go without a bra, get drunk, and go dancing. I can go to the beach and lay in the sun, go wind surfing, go rock climbing, and generally do whatever I want. I am young and I am spirited. I am going to be inappropriate, be clumsy, and tell bad jokes. I am going to make too many plans too close together and get burnt out. I am going to embrace my sexuality in whatever way I please. I am going to speak up when someone condones me because I am married or "blames" it on my sexual orientation. 

I will mess up. Every once in a while or...all the time. 

I will forget things. Really, I'll forget a lot of things. 

I will fall, both physically and emotionally. I will get back up.

I will worry. I will stress. I will plan myself to death. 

I will love as deeply as my soul will let me and then try to love a little more. I will never get as much love in return. I am okay with that. 

I will fight. Myself, my body, my emotions, my family, my future. I will fight and sometimes I will lose, but I will fight. 

I will hope. I will spend all day wishing on eyelashes, candles, and fortune cookies. All night I will wish on stars. 

I will dream. I will let my imagination take me wherever I'd like to go. I will use it as inspiration for my life. 

I will put good out into the World. Even if I must sacrifice to put that good out, I will do it. I will find a deeper sense of selflessness.