i wasn’t going to post today but, you know.

i had too.

so, i harbor this mad woman crush on kate of eat the damn cake. she’s an awesome writer. she’s honest. she eats cake. girl after my own heart.

anyway, she wrote a post recently about sexiness. specifically about bodily sexiness. it’s pretty brilliant and i recommend you read it. i kind of freaked out because she put into words how i feel and how i think on a pretty much regular basis.

however, as i read through the comments section, i got all eye-brow-arched-curious. people responded to the question of what makes you sexy with “MY INSIDES”. a lot of people shied away from rejoicing in the sexiness of their sexy bodies. while, yes, i agree completely that sexiness starts from the insides and radiates outward (pretty sure i added that as a second comment because i treat comments sections in blogs like real life conversations), why the hell can we not appreciate both physical and internal sexiness?

as someone who was so out of touch with her body for like, oh, you know, her whole life, finding my physical self sexy is no golf-clap deserving feat. it’s something i want to and am and will celebrate. because i used to look in the mirror and cry all over myself. because i used to say, “i hate you, body.” and i wasn’t kidding. to rejoice in my body, to find it attractive and wildly sexy, is, to me anyway, sexy.

divorcing the concept of sexiness from your body simply doesn’t sound healthy to me. that’s disassociating. women in western media are, unfortunately, victimized and sexualized unhealthily. i think a lot of the time women reject that, and i don’t blame them. the affects of being put on display as mere sexual meat with no real substance past boobs and ass are real. i am not denying that. however, completely detaching from the body and focusing solely on the attractiveness of spirit discredits you and your body. your have a body for a reason. for a few reasons, as far as i’m concerned. to carry your spirit, to give you the ability to move, and, most importantly, to enjoy it. to appreciate it. to see it as lovely.

clearly we need to rewrite the script for what physical sexiness is, what it looks like. which, to me anyway, is this: ALL BODIES OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES AND COLORS ARE INEXTRICABLY SEXY.

maybe when we change our attitude about the word ‘sexy’ and what our patriarchal society has defined as sexy women will again own their physical sexiness and view their bodies as beautiful, sexy, attractive vessels. not things to be manipulated into an unobtainable, unrealistic version of ‘sexy’.

reclaim your sexiness. make it known. there is no reason to not feel sexy. who is telling you otherwise?

what do you think? can we own our physical sexiness without losing our feminist integrity?

namaste

zoe

i have a fucked up view of my body. aka: i have a fucked up view of myself. (until i realize: ohmygodwhocares)

most days i walk around disconnected from my body.

during my exercise compulsion/restrictive eating phase, i worried all the time about my body, about how its folds and round edges presented themselves. i observed every reflective surface. i pinched, hit, scratched. i was only my body. all the time.

when i started gaining weight, i stopped looking at my reflection so much. i started delving past surface level because i no longer connected to or liked my surface level. beneath my skin, i recognized a dimly lit soul, obscured by obsession. i detached from my physical self, took the time to reacquaint with my spiritual, emotional, and mental self. suddenly i was not just a stomach with arms, legs, hands and feet. i was a person, too.

on the off days i catch my silhouette off-guard, i react in one of two ways. on the good days, i will smile, turn one way. turn another way. strike a pose. laugh at myself and continue on with a good day. on the bad days. well. we all know how the bad days go, don’t we?

generally i cry. like i am surprised at seeing myself, truly. in my mind i look a different way. i am the smaller version of myself, the one i spent hours studying in the mirror for two years. not the heavier young woman looking back at me with empty eyes. i don’t know her. i’m scared to see myself as i am.

you know about body dysmorphia (disorder)? crude judgement call: eating disordered people have it. in a few sentences:

Often BDD co-occurs with emotional depression and anxiety, social withdrawal or social isolation. The onset of the symptoms of a mentally unhealthy preoccupation with body image occurs either in adolescence or in early adulthood, whence begins self-criticism of the personal appearance, from which develop atypical aesthetic-standards derived from the internal perceptual discrepancy between the person’s ‘actual self’ and the ‘ideal self’

oh, hey life.

i see beauty easily in other people. i see it quickly. in smiles, in eyes. in the way shoulders roll back and chests lift. i see beauty in all sizes, in all shapes.

just not in mine.

i am measured in rolls, cellulite, and stretch marks. not by my intelligence, laughter, and kindness. i don’t see what other people see. i struggle with physical compliments. whenever anyone tells me i am beautiful, i cringe. i think, “how can you see that? do you not see this stomach? these legs? these horrible arms?” other women are allowed to look like i am and be beautiful. i am not.

really though, i don’t hate my body. i hate myself. the self-hatred manifests in the mirror.

i constantly battle the beauty ideals born from magazine culture. the rational side of me understands i deserve intimacy, authenticity, happiness, and love no matter the size of my stomach. she knows people find me attractive. she knows beauty shows up in a variety of ways. she knows personality shines just as bright as physical beauty.

none of that matters though when you put all your worth into your appearance. personality doesn’t matter when you can’t shake the idea of worth being directly tied to an uber-processed, shallow idea of beauty. self-love won’t happen when you can’t get over the idea that your body isn’t right, that it needs to be smaller because you’re too big for your height, for yourself, for anyone else.

deep down, i am terrified this will be my forever. that i will never gain a positive body-image and allow life into my life. i am scared i will never love the person i am. that is more immobilizing than living forever with this eating disorder.

the best i can do?

take it one day at a time.

what do you do if and when you find yourself in this struggle?

namaste

zoe

i wrote that last night before insomnia kicked in. i wrote it before i found two beautiful blogs i spent too many hours looking through. tucked in between those virtual pages i found photos. videos.

like this one. (scroll down till you hit the video of the little boy. he is more in touch with his fantastic, female sexiness than i am at twenty-two.).

and this one. (scroll down till you hit the video of the blonde girl reciting a poem she wrote. it’s fucking brilliant and left me covered in goosebumps).

i listened to some spoken word last night, about what it means to be female, about what it means to be fat. it got me thinking, about the word fat. about femininity. about bodies.

think about what you think about when you think about fat.

what words come to your mind? what emotions? what images?

more importantly: are they negative?

america has this unhealthy obsession with fat. we care so much about the bodies of other people, about the bodies we inhabit. turn on your television and count the number of shows about fat people (TLC is a good place to start). open up magazines and tally the number of articles geared toward losing weight. better yet, go count the advertisements.

america is drowning in fat shame and fat obsession.

the weirdest part is this: fat means nothing.

i’m going to say that again:

FAT. MEANS. NOTHING.

NOTHING.

it only means what we choose to associate with it. and, unfortunately, america generally associates fat with ugly, unhealthy, abnormal, shame, and unworthy.

what right do we possess that allows us to pass judgement on the body of another person? what happens when we do do that? when we judge, we create assumptions. how do you know a heavier person is not healthy? how do you know they do not exercise or eat healthfully? the answer? you don’t. nor should you care. it’s not your body. it’s not your life. (i am saying this as much for myself as anyone else).

the image of a toned, tight, and fit person haunts every single person in western culture, whether we fight against it or not. that ideal still exists, still floats in the back of our minds, still affects how we view our body in the world. womanhood and femininity do not come in a one size fits all. we just like to pretend it does.

worshipping the idol of thin is a religion breeding contempt for diversity.

and contempt for our own beautiful selves.

after i watched those videos, after i read through quotes and surveyed pictures, i stumbled onto one thought:

i am so lucky to have this female body.

no matter what shape it takes.

because people like that little boy will never truly be a woman. transgendered females will never be biologically female like i am. this body is a gift. it is something to be celebrated, not cried over because it’s a little round. to be a woman is an amazing, sometimes overwhelming, experience. there is a reason we look different.

so, my god, zoe, stop worrying about your body. because you are not you body.

you are a living, breathing, soul with beauty your limbs can never measure.

namaste

zoe

badvertisements (i’m so clever)

critical thinking comes to me naturally.

(source)
(also: TRUTH.)

if you couldn’t tell.

i ask ‘why’ all the time. i always have. sometimes it gets me in trouble. sometimes it winds up hurting me. sometimes though, it helps in sorting through the bullshit.

like advertising. i am okay with judging the shit out of advertisements. especially those aimed at men, women, weight and appearance. my heart goes fluttery fast whenever i watch television commercials in particular.

like the progresso commercial where a woman calls and speaks with a male chef who, because he is male clearly (clearly) doesn’t care about the customer’s weight loss and the joy she expels. so she asks for a woman, instead. because, obviously, all women turn into dithering piles of giggles and claps whenever one of us loses weight.

or the nutrisystem commercials claiming prepackaged, processed, gnarly foods covered in plastic will help you shed the weight you so-desperately-need-to-lose. maybe it will. but nutrisystem won’t help you develop tools to build a foundation with food not in little boxes. it won’t teach you how to view food as nourishment and as enjoyable. because, for real, boxed food rarely compares to homemade, hand crafted deliciousness.

or how about the workout programs we see in between our shows? the ones showcasing dramatic body transformations? yes, i do believe discovering a healthy weight will increase a person’s confidence as well as health. but no, i don’t think focusing solely on physical appearance as a means to happiness and wholeness is good. it’s superficial. it leaves out the person inside, the one who believes her outsides matter more than the solidity of her character. additionally, what happens when and if you stop the work out regiment? what happens when you lose that “ideal” body and gain your natural one?

or what about proactive commercials? zits are unseemly. be smooth. be clear. be perfect. hide your flaws because they’re offensive.

or, man, the over-the-counter speed pills playing dress up as diet pills?

what the fuck are we selling here?

according to american media, our outsides matter over any other piece of our selves. the size of your waist directly affects the number of friends you have. no one will like you if you’re not thin, wearing straight hair, and a white smile proving your happiness. there is always something to fix. there is always something to improve. we’re never enough.

we’re selling unobtainable ideals. we’re selling body-consciouness and food obsession. we’re selling guilt and shame and depression. we’re selling inauthentic, pitting fake against real.

i am so angry. so frustrated.

because it doesn’t matter how smart you are (i’m pretty smart and i fell for this shit). this type of advertising weasels into all lives. it catches people unguarded. there is a reason western culture breeds eating disorders and self-esteem issues. there is a reason women trade dieting tips like old family recipes and don’t bat an eyelash when a friend complains about her thighs.

what kills me the most is the apathy, the blind acceptance, of the culture we live in. i know people fight against the negativity brought by american media. i know of body acceptance movements and women’s empowerment organizations. but i know intimately the shrugging, the “it is what it is” statements.

during the oscars my aunt kept referring to the “fat lady in the background”. pointing at the screen, at her, like some displaced wild animal in the zoo of perfection. my dad joined in eventually. i simmered. i bubbled. until, eventually, i boiled over, almost yelling as i spilled, “can we not call her fat? she’s a person, in a dress. she’s a person.”

it kills me how easily we attack one another and ourselves. how we judge without reason. how we build self-worth from the surface and stop there.

i encourage you to start asking questions. to start seeing the not-so-subtle messages tucked between dippy dialogue and uppity commercial jingles. further more, i encourage you to share your opinion, even if others think you’re nuts (e.g: my parents think i’m crazy every time i spout off at the t.v.). because, whether american would like to acknowledge it or not, some malicious force is sinking into our conscious. this isn’t okay anymore. this wasn’t okay, ever.

imagine a world in which depression, anxiety, body-shame, and self-esteem were not the biggest personal issues our culture faced. imagine if we started to consider our character, if we started to measure our worth in how much we loved, how much kindness we shared? what would we look like, then?

we have more power than we think. this doesn’t have to be forever “it is what it is”.

this doesn’t have to be shrugged off anymore if we don’t want it to be.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: ironically, i post this the week after nation eating disorder week. yeah. i would)

(p.p.s: i know it’s music monday but i wrote this last night and am still pretty fired up so. music later. and really, does anyone care? eh.).

music monday + monday lessons

mmm monday.

(san francisco on saturday on random street walks with my friend)

a light breeze, fat clouds, sunshine kind of monday.

i woke up intending to work out the whole day because i ate cake last night and militant, dictator zoe ordered it to be done. under strict authority, i laced up tennis shoes after i slipped out of my sheets and dreamy early morning haze. i skipped breakfast too for good measure. funny how plans figure their way out, though.

because the television spazzed out. and my brother came home sick from school. and my stomach grumbled loudly. and i picked up a pen and undid my tennis shoes. and i wrote into my journal. and i realized: “i still think my weight matters in the measure of happiness. so i still chase it as being the problem of all my problems” (journal quotes). silly anxious and negative self. it’s just cake, not the devil. calm yourself.

so i ate some breakfast, ate some more cake, laced up my tennis shoes, and took the walk i actually wanted. i listened to two pod-casts, did some yoga in the park under the sun, felt the grass beneath my feet. three or so hours later i am home, rested and happy and not thinking about that cake from last night or the cake from earlier. just how awesome my legs feel and how settled my heart is in my chest.

and how awesome this song is.

because i am in love with bon iver.

and mondays, for that matter.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: please don’t steal my photos. thanks!)

today (with fat-talk)

our family gathered to celebrate my grandma’s upcoming ninety-first birthday today.

(source)

a story for another day, perhaps. because today, i want to talk about a conversation my parents had in the car today. a conversation i overheard.

my dad: e (my cousin, his niece) looks like she put on a few lbs (pounds).

my mom: well and that dress she was wearing was not flattering at all.

my dad: yeah.

my mom: so few people can wear those dresses. you have to have like, nothing on you to wear those dresses.

up until this conversation, i only looked at my cousin in the long-sleeve, floor length, oceanic blue dress and thought, “e looks really, really nice.” (because she did). true, she wears a body with more curves. true, her stomach is round (like mine). true, most people believe semi-form fitting dresses belong only to the “skinny people” (referring to them as the “skinny people” like they’re a class above, worthier of all things (we’re all equal)).

no one, however, owns the rights to insulting someone else’s body. if someone feels her most comfortable in a mini skirt and a tank top but wears it with unfamiliar curves (because how often do we see larger people in tighter clothing?) let her dress as she pleases. people are people are people. we’re not bodies. we’re what’s on the inside. we’re souls with words to speak and love to share. we’re not the size of our legs or arms or stomachs.

i am getting to a point where judgmental fat shaming comments are starting to really piss me off.

they’re kind of everywhere.
in movies.
on t.v.
in jokes.
in conversations between your parents in the front seat.

the thing is, making fun of or speaking poorly of fat people isn’t funny. it’s insulting. it’s demeaning. it’s condescending and wickedly inappropriate.

what message do we send little girls dreaming of growing up and wearing pretty dresses and tops and skirts? you have to be this tall and this wide to qualify for said clothing. what cultural messages do we perpetuate, no matter how much we realize how fucked up that message is?

i don’t like listening to people comment on other’s weights. i don’t like the assumptions, the low-brow insults, the mockery. why are overweight people a target (especially by other overweight people!)? why do we think it’s okay to totally tear down a person based on his or her outsides?

i think a lot of the time the jokes or the comments or the blatant disrespect aren’t spoken consciously. the statements come from our cultural influences about fat and what it means. we thoughtlessly reiterate the doctrine of bullshit we’ve been submerged in our entire lives. in our society, we’re conditioned to view and think about overweight people in particular, generally negative ways. but, when you really get down to it, there are worse things to be than fat. you could hurt people. you could manipulate people. you could be selfish or greedy or rude. so why all this focus on fat? why so much shaming and chastising and judging? when are we going to stop seeing people as bodies and start seeing them as souls?

the body image revolution starts when we get angry enough to speak up. when we stop body snarking other people along with ourselves. when we see each other as equals, not as “you can wear this dress” and “you can’t“.

namaste

zoe

finding femininity

i cannot recall ever feeling very comfortable in girly clothing.

(source)

since childhood, i made a home in tomboyishly loose clothing. stick me in dresses, skirts, ruffles, or lace and i squirmed. pour me into jeans, a t-shirt, yoga pants, and baggy sweaters and i relaxed. on the rare occasion i did opt to glam up a bit, i generally wound up tugging and pulling enough to change outfits altogether. the saddest part? a huge chunk of me craved the frills of a girlier wardrobe. the pieces of feminine clothing i did owe hung in my closet like lost relics. i never felt pretty enough for them.

boyish clothes provided me with a bumper of sorts. dressing down allowed me to escape the gaze of people. disguising the curves of my body let me sink into a self-imposed protective state of existence — if no one looked at me, no one would touch the body i loathed. living in oversized, less revealing clothing subdued my sexuality, kept me locked up in the body of a girl. but, at twenty-two, i am no longer the little girl i used to be. i am not the insecure seventeen year old struggling to accept her shape. i am a woman. a fully developed young woman wearing the curves of adulthood. hiding who i am becomes less of an option each time i acknowledge that i currently am residing in early adulthood.

the more i step into the woman i am, the more i sink into the femininity i tried to deny my whole life. i am shifting my attention away from jeans and towards dresses, skirts, and softer clothing. today i bought two dresses — two shape flattering dresses. i am not hiding in material any longer. i am showcasing something i love and accept more every day. the more i grow into my body, the more i grow into confidence. most importantly, however, the deeper i fall into self-love, the easier relationships and touch become.

yesterday i permitted someone to touch pieces of my body i disregard. although i expected to cringe and push the person off, i abstained easily. as much as i expected the level of attraction to dip immediately, it only seemed to go up. i felt sexy and confident as opposed to anxious and worried. the ever lovely mara reposted something the other day i really resonated with:

If someone has chosen to go home with you or share your bed, you better believe – no matter how scary – that they are well aware of who they are taking to bed. Guarenteed they already have a pretty good idea of what you’re going to look like naked. Often I think that we delude ourselves into believing that we’ve tricked someone into sleeping with use with a strategically coordinated outfit or pushup bra. Have some faith in you and your body! You haven’t tricked anyone.

(read the rest here. honestly, i think those words just changed my life).

in the end, i am only me — soft stomach, thick legs, round bum and all. i am not a woman out of magazines or television screens. but i am realizing finally that i, too, deserve love and affection and femininity because, no matter how society attempts to shape my ideas about women and our bodies, i am still just as much a woman as any woman (just like you!). i deserve dresses and skits and lace and silk. i deserve to be feminine.

the freedom i am discovering in bottomless self-love and self-acceptance cannot be compared to any single thing. freedom for the soul rarely can compare to much.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: i bought a sweet little hat today!

yes, i do feel girly in it!)

a new year

i am so ready to wrap 2011 up in a box and shelve it.

(source)
2011, in summation, has a one word description: struggle.

in 2011 i:
got cheated on
gained back all the weight i lost plus more
developed a binge eating problem
developed bulimia in response to said bingeing problem
self-harmed
fell into a deep depression
got sick more than i did in the past two years

in 2011 i:
found myself again
fell in love with life again
crawled out of the darkness
started seeing a therapist
started feeling and processing my emotions
started eating meat again (!)
broke out of my restrictive eating habits
broke out of my exercise compulsion
went deeper into my yoga practice
learned how to balance again (literally and figuratively)
made beautiful, solid friendships
got out of my comfort zone (hello, burning man!)
found my soul on the dance floor

i never laughed and cried so much in one year. i never felt more inspired and more stuck. i never felt more confident and more uncomfortable. talk about a crazy emotional, crazy hectic — just crazy period — year.

though i’m definitely not one to make new years resolutions, i somehow decided to make one last year. looking at it makes me smile. in only 12 short months so much has changed…

(last year’s list)
GO DEEPER INTO MY YOGA PRACTICE (already happening!)
START AND COMPLETE MY FIRST 200 HOURS OF YOGA SCHOOL
GO TO CULINARY SCHOOL
GET MY TATTOO (making the appointment tomorrow, actually!)
RUN A HALF MARATHON
RUN A MARATHON
COOK AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE
FINISH THE NOVEL I STARTED THIS PAST SEMESTER
CUT WHITE SUGAR OUT OF MY DIET COMPLETELy (seriously you guys, this shit just does not jive with me and i kind of need to accept it.)
ATTEND COUNSELING UNTIL I FEEL STRONG ENOUGH TO STAND ON MY OWN
LOVE MYSELF. COMPLETELY.

in review, how did i expect to accomplish any of that in one year! what a ridiculous set up for ultimate failure! i went deeper in my yoga practice and totally garnered a bottomless self-love. i cooked, but not as much as i hoped. about the only other thing i accomplished on that list was seeing a counselor. still happening! but me? running a marathon and a half marathon? whaaaaat a flippin’ joke!

this year, i have much more simple goals…

continue on my path of wellness
continue on my journey of self-love
continue to deepen my yoga practice
continue with therapy
go back to school for naturopathic medicine
read a little more
write a little more
step back from the screen a lot more
play around with and learn my camera more
say ‘yes‘ to everything i can manage, especially those things that scare me the most
laugh more
love more
play more
cook more
reach a natural, healthy weight

in the past few years i feel like i started every year by saying “this year is going to be a good year.” in my heart of hearts though, i know i never really believed it. i lived with too much foreboding, too much sadness, too much hatred to ever really believe it.

this year though…

this year is going to be the year i’ve been waiting for. i can feel it. for real this time.

do you make new years resolutions? did you accomplish any this year? what are yours for this coming year, if you make them?

namaste

zoe

sixteen hours alone

last week shook me off the tight rope.

(source)
the weirdness started on wednesday. i woke up thinly veiled in sadness. i spent the majority of the day working my mind around the reasons why. nothing really came up. i got frustrated and panicky and desperate.

soo i up and drove eight some odd hours to san diego to stay the weekend with my best friend. it was a much needed get away. much.

unfortunately, i’m still sad. but. now i know why.

eight hours there and eight hours back gave me a lot of time to think and sing really loudly and really obnoxiously. something like sixteen or so hours. i thought some funny thoughts. some sorrowful thoughts. weird thoughts. insightful thoughts.

the insightful thoughts are what i want to share. i spent a lot of time working over my emotions. the full moon fucked with some energy. PMS too (you guys. i cycled up with the moon cycle. wtf?) also, recently, the urge to binge has returned. the effortlessness of the past month and a half stalled, easy happiness right along with with it. i understand happiness cannot be constant (in fact, i don’t think it should be. that’s a thought for later.). however, the lack of enthusiasm and the sinking sadness are way too familiar and kind of scare me. troublesome thoughts that kind of scare me float into my consciousness sometimes now. that tightness is back, the one where it feel like i am a step away from the edge of some terrible uncontrollable, unknown. it’s like i’m hunkering down for the next storm.

the truth is this: i did not treat myself well last week. at all. far too little movement despite my body’s asking for it. far too many indulgences. far too many “steps back”. as a result, i am jumpy, unsettled, confused, and totally scared (on top of scared and deeply frustrated).

on the ride home today, i kept thinking about my body. some days i don’t feel it, but today i felt it. i still feel it. all the extra weight. all the emotion i am holding onto. often when i think about my body, i get angry. i get sad. i get weepy reminiscent. thinking about my body always triggers the urge to binge. i am so caught up in body-hatred sometimes. it stresses me out. i am tired of thinking about my body. i am tired of keeping tabs on it. i am tired of not trusting my intuition. i am tired of being angry, of continually fighting an impossible war.

then, a follow up thought:

I AM NOT MAD AT MY BODY: I AM MAD AT WHAT I DID TO IT. WHAT I DID TO IT. I AM MAD AT MY SELF.

you guys.

this is big. (for me anyway).

my therapist likes to tell me the body is neutral, that it reacts to your actions. it didn’t do anything but listen to you. you guys, why am i fighting myself? why am i continually choosing to hurt my body and my self? quite clearly, i am holding onto my past and punishing myself. i am sad i allowed myself to gain so much weight. i’m angry i lost all any sort of control. i’m frustrated and keep taking it out on myself.

i think that, in order to move forward, i need to truly forgive myself. i need to accept that what happened, happened, that every thing i am mad at already happened and i can’t change it. not a single thing. i need to meet myself where i am, now, and not where i dream to be (i don’t know that woman’s needs because i am not that woman. i only know the woman i am, right now). really though, i need to forgive me, just like i might forgive a friend who unintentionally hurt me. i need to stop being so hard on myself and be instead unbelievably kind. it’s time i relax. release. and move on.

this is going to be hard.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: always feel free to weigh in. i am a fan of honest feedback. it’s like a different perspective i can’t see, you know?)

why the holidays are not scary this year

every winter magazines roll out the same old same old.

the articles filled with tips and tricks and advice on avoiding weight gain. the lists upon lists upon fucking lists of eat this not that. instead of “share love and compassion this holiday season” we read “how to look hot this holiday!”. when, i wonder, did the holidays lose their focus on others and turn into focus of the body (not even the self)? no wonder food fills the role of arch nemesis during the holidays. our strict avoid-all-holiday-goodness-to-fit-into-your-jeans standard creates bingers out of non-bingers.

for a really long time the holidays felt like a wicked treat. the once-a-year indulgence in everything your eyes love. the eat and eat and eat because you can and because its there. holiday treats taunted me into a nasty game. especially the treats of the past two years. i dreaded the cakes, the pies, the cookies. the bowls of candies, the sees chocolates, the candied fruits. the words “no, thank you, i’m full” squeezed out through clenched teeth. as i watched my family laugh and smile and eat forkfuls of dessert, i slumped in my chair, swallowing back the waves of pride and envy.

well, we all know what happened when i finally snapped. i ate pie. i ate cake. i ate cookies and chocolate and candy. i ate all the things i stood so high above. and, you know, those magazines were right. my pants stopped fitting. holiday weight gain became something like a new sport, one i basically mastered in a matter of weeks.

however, when you slow down to honestly consider the holiday season and all its gluttonous treats, you’ll see the hysteria isn’t all that real. because, no matter how you dice it, christmas (or whichever special holiday you celebrate) is just another day. one we assign meaning to. one where the meals mean so much more then the day before or the day after. where the foods we eat take on labels like “good” or “bad” to such ridiculous levels of heightened craziness. binge eating on christmas or any other holiday isn’t that fun. feeling sick and bloated and uncomfortable isn’t what the holidays are about. right? plus, pie is avaliable all year round anyway. so are cake, cookies, chocolate, and candy (just ask me. i know all about it.). so why do we continuously make holiday desserts out to be hit men after our own bodies? pie is just fucking pie.

for the first time in years i am not scared of the holidays. i am not terrified of over eating (i didn’t on thanksgiving!) or gaining weight. i’m not thinking about what to eat. i’m not thinking about counting calories. i’m not thinking about doing anything other than what i’ve been doing: eating how i like to eat and moving how i like to move. i’m not treating this holiday season as anything other than a special time i get to celebrate the love in my life. there will be no battles of will-power fought this year. this realization alone left me so god damn happy. PIE ISN’T SCARY OR CONTROLLING!

this christmas i encourage you to give up the magazine chatter. i encourage you to listen to your intuition, your inner guide, to bring you to the right choices for you. if you want dessert, eat dessert. if you don’t, then don’t. just don’t sacrifice what you really want in order to fulfill the rules someone else wrote.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: by the way, i kind of feel like i need to clarify something. i am IN NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM saying that i am better than anyone. i am not saying that all magazines suck. if you happen to get a lot of comfort from them, then that’s great! what i am saying is don’t live in fear of the holidays. don’t subscribe to someone else’s way of living if it just doesn’t suit you.

p.p.s: i really hope that came across.

p.p.p.s: i think it goes without saying, but the photos are mine. please don’t steal )

self-love sunday

ah, sunday.

my most favorite day of the week. funny how, as a kid, i loathed sundays. mainly because monday followed sunday and monday brought with it a new week of school. now i am a year out of school (pause: when the fuck did that happen?) and out of work on mondays so i can truly appreciate the lazy in lazy sunday. (though, usually, mine consist of enjoying the sunshine).

usually i wake up slowly, bike ride to some brunch, and return home to hammer at my key board. some sundays i struggle to figure out what i want to share. not this sunday.

i want to talk about something very specific: appreciation and acceptance of all bodies.

the topic keeps wanting to be written and, seeing as natalie brought it up earlier this week, i figured today was the perfect time to finally write it out.

often times, in an effort to settle into love for our own bodies, we openly discriminate against other, different bodies. pride or envy or insecurities drive many a person to tear apart another person, body part by body part. i am speaking mainly to the female gender here. labeling women “real” and “unreal” perpetuates animosity. all bodies are real bodies. no matter how you choose to categorize people, every human being has bones, blood, organs, and skin. short, tall, round, flat…we come in all different sizes and shapes. no one body is better than another body. the only reason we think so is because, for some inane reason, our society indoctrinated into us the “good” and “bad” way of thinking. there is no “good” and there is no “bad”. there is just beautiful.

i don’t want to go on and on and on (because i can). i just want to make a simple point. bodies are amazing pieces of art, no matter how the pieces differ. the more you appreciate your own body for the masterpiece that it is, the more you’ll see the artistry around you and the less you’ll feel the need to pit yourself against others.

you know?

anyway, beauty exists outside of bodies. why not appreciate that, too?

(i went disk golfing yesterday instead of the city. save the city for the night time!)

namaste

zoe