Ok so before you scroll past this thinking I’m just another annoying girl drinking Starbucks, hear me out. While everyone knows that frappuccinos are pretty magical, this one happens to be extra special. That’s because it’s the first real frappuccino that I’ve had in years. No “light version”, no “hold the syrup and whipped cream”. And let me tell you something: it was fucking delicious. Yes, it was scary. Yes, I was worried. This has been a huge fear food for me for awhile— and it feels amazing to have finally beat it. Another win for me, another ass-kicking for the eating disorder.
Victory has never tasted so good.
"no i wan swimming"
I have a sudden urge to rip out my backyard and put in a deer pool.
Let’s talk about libraries. Libraries! “Oh, hello, are you a person? Great, you’ve met our qualifications. Please enjoy unlimited borrowing of any number of any books. Do we not have the book you seek? Let us know and we will buy it so that you can read it. You will owe us nothing. Stay as long as you want.” Libraries are like pleasant, real-life morphine dreams.
-ElizabethSrs. I think I’m in love with this Peter Pan guy
I NEED TO MEET HIM
PETER PAN FOR PRESIDENT
PETER PAN FOR PRESIDENT
*holds back tears*
I’ve never wanted to go to DisneyLand until now.
I started following this blog to immerse myself in body confidence, and to also read about others’ experiences, how they cope, or what they’ve learned. I never had the intention of submitting something, but then I got to browsing the page and I kept reading and I decided to share my story.
My dad was on his second marriage, we’ll call her Wife 2, and I was 8 years old. We’d just moved out of an apartment and into a house—the first house I’d ever lived in. Everything rolled pretty smoothly until I hit puberty and my body started developing. I wasn’t really noticing my hips, just the little pimples on my forehead and chin. Then I got my period at age 12 and the whole ball game changed. Wife 2 created a strict dress code for what I was not allowed to wear. The list is as follows: NO tank tops, tube tops, halter tops, shirts baring midriff, padded bras, underwired bras, form fitting clothing, cutoff shorts, or shorts and skirts that didn’t reach passed my finger tips when my hands were by my sides. So as a girl in an age of materialism and branding, I was limited to athletic wear most of the time. Now, I’m not saying I was a materialist girl, in fact I was (and still am) far from it. But to be in fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grades getting picked on for your clothes kinda takes a toll on a girl.
Wife 2 used the Bible as a rulebook for what I could and couldn’t wear. If I looked “tempting” at all (meaning trendy, or attractive), to her I wasn’t being modest. Once we were in a Target dressing room and I was trying on some skinny jeans I’d saved my babysitting money to purchase. I picked out two sizes, 6 and 8, I do believe, and brought them back. I tried on the size 6, too tight and I knew it. I put on the size 8 and they fit like a glove—they were practically made for me. I remember the price tag said they were only $12.99 or something crazy cheap so I was excited! They fit and I could pay for them myself! I opened the dressing room door and there Wife 2 stood, waiting. “They fit!” I was smiling hard. “I love them!” I did a little spin to let Wife 2 see them. "You look like a slut."
I was thirteen years old. I had finally found an article of clothing that fit—something that made me feel comfortable about my body—and she had ripped it away from me. There has to be something wrong with me, I thought. The irony is that all the little church girls were prancing around in their white mini skirts and purple g-strings, wearing cheap Avon to mask the smell of cigarette smoke. But I was the ungodly one. (*Disclaimer: I use that description as an argument towards Wife 2’s rules, not as a judgment against anyone who wears white mini skirts, purple g-strings, Avon, or smokers.*)
I started wearing baggy sweatshirts and Goodwill jeans that were two sizes too big (I’m not knocking Goodwill, I love a bargain!), plain generic t-shirts, etc. I’d stand looking at myself in the mirror before a shower wondering what was wrong with my body. I was constantly weighing myself, not understanding that being 5’10” it was normal to weigh 130 lbs. I joined the track team and then I was 135 lbs. I started my freshmen year of high school and I was 140 lbs. By the end of my junior year I’d become a vegetarian (for mostly moral reasons) and I was 150 lbs. I was distraught.
So I stopped weighing myself.
My senior year of high school was a big step. I never stepped on a scale once. I wore the clothes I was comfortable wearing. For the first time in my teenage years, I wasn’t being punished for liking my body, or wanting to wear flattering clothes. Something I had to learn is that numbers on a scale have nothing to do with being healthy. Pants size has nothing to do with being healthy. Healthy is a state of mind, and I had a very unhealthy mindset. When I started letting myself look in the mirror with love in my eyes instead of shame in my gut, I could see that my body is perfect the way it is. Never again will I let someone have control over my well being and my body image.
I’ve weighed myself once in two years. And what I want to make clear to those who are insecure about numbers and sizes is this:
You are so beautiful. Your weight is going to fluctuate. Your body is going to change. One day you may be seriously uncomfortable with the way you look, and the next day feel like a million bucks. The point is that you should wear what makes you happy, and know that it’s YOUR body.
There’s a song that I consider fitting in ending this post, so I’ll include an excerpt of the lyrics below and a link to the YouTube video.
"She said, ‘I like giants—especially girl giants. ‘Cause all girls feel too big sometimes, regardless of their size.’" "I Like Giants" by Kimya Dawson —-> http://youtu.be/pyJChP-mzqw
Mancuso showed a slide depicting how trees in a forest organize themselves into far-flung networks, using the underground web of mycorrhizal fungi which connects their roots to exchange information.
The pattern of nutrient traffic showed how “mother trees” were using the network to nourish shaded seedlings, including their offspring — which the trees can apparently recognize as kin — until they’re tall enough to reach the light. And, in a striking example of interspecies cooperation, Simard found that fir trees were using the fungal web to trade nutrients with paper-bark birch trees over the course of the season. The evergreen species will tide over the deciduous one when it has sugars to spare, and then call in the debt later in the season. For the forest community, the value of this cooperative underground economy appears to be better over-all health, more total photosynthesis, and greater resilience in the face of disturbance.
Michael Pollan, “The Intelligent Plant”
The trees are socialists.
Self-annealing properties of trees in a forest.
That’s why it’s better to look to nature for organizing metaphors than machines.
i wish more people said that being single is normal
and you’re not going to meet and marry someone
and that’s fine
and if marriage happens, it happens. and it’s not the next big ticket to check off in life’s checklist
because not everyone meets someone they want to marry. and that’s normal
you’re not broken or unfulfilled if you are single
Here is how the internship scam works. It’s not about a “skills” gap. It’s about a morality gap.
1) Make higher education worthless by redefining “skill” as a specific corporate contribution. Tell young people they have no skills.
2) With “skill” irrelevant, require experience. Make internship sole path to experience. Make internships unpaid, locking out all but rich.
3) End on the job training for entry level jobs. Educated told skills are irrelevant. Uneducated told they have no way to obtain skills.
4) As wealthy progress on professional career path, middle and lower class youth take service jobs to pay off massive educational debt.
5) Make these part-time jobs not “count” on resume. Hire on prestige, not skill or education. Punish those who need to work to survive.
6) Punish young people who never found any kind of work the hardest. Make them untouchables — unhireable.
7) Tell wealthy people they are “privileged” to be working 40 hrs/week for free. Don’t tell them what kind of “privileged” it is.
8) Make status quo commentary written by unpaid interns or people hiring unpaid interns. They will tell you it’s your fault.
9) Young people, it is not your fault. Speak out. Fight back. Bankrupt the prestige economy.
The “internship” crisis is bugging the hell out of me. I did three internships, and they were all about education, not my working. I wasn’t asked to come in early and stay late, I wasn’t asked to do any Work. Because you got paid for Work. I was there to learn.
The second you put someone into a role where there is an expectation of accountability - deadlines, deliverables, labour, customer service - or where what they made is in some way contributing to the success of an organization - well, then you’ve got yourself a job. And you need to pay them.
Want to start your own magazine? Great. Want something written for free? You need to revisit your business plan.
Your bonus is not a charity.
what … what have you done … . .WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
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