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

self-love sunday: explain yourself

i lost my shit on friday.

(source)
i woke up light and lovey. calm and steady. i am due for a new pair of pants so i hauled my butt to the mall (mistake one). before i tried anything on i took a few deep breaths. i spoke to myself sweetly, said, “zoe, it doesn’t matter what size you pick up. it doesn’t mean anything.” then i picked out two pants and two dresses and took them to the dressing room (mistake two). and promptly lost my shit.

my restless, egocentric mind went insane. stole the moment to unleash hurtful thoughts. i cried and cried. i cried myself all the way to my friend’s house, where i held it together for, oh, three minutes before unravelling all over. tears did not stop. neither did the questions, the “zoe-what’s-wrong’s”. i got a lot of “it’s just clothes” type comments too. those types of comments set my anger off. because no, it’s not “just about clothes”.

i sat on that frustration for a while. until i realized:

if i ever expect anyone to understand what i am dealing with, i need to open up my mouth and my heart and explain the details.

i cannot keep complaining about how alone i am when i make no effort to let anyone understand.

friends who do not grapple with body-image issues as deeply as i do simply do not understand how clothes shopping can spark a melt-down. it’s like trying to have someone who doesn’t understand drug addiction try and understand it. to them it seems simple. “just stay away from the drugs! just don’t do it!” is the answer to them. when, obviously, it goes much deeper than a physical addition.

while we cooked dinner i brought it up. i said, “i need you to understand this isn’t just about clothes. this isn’t trivial, this isn’t superficial.” i filled her in. i opened up. i explained myself. and, you know, it turned out to be relatively easy, asking for what i needed: understanding.

i know sharing the inner workings of your mind and heart serves up vulnerability you might not think you can swallow. but know this too: your friends love you. they want to help you. there is no judgement there. just another heart wanting to know what makes yours beat, in all the best ways and all the worst ways. responses like, “it’s just about clothes” are your friends ways of not lessening your situation, but of trying to understand. if friends show frustration, know it comes out of exasperated love for you, because they don’t understand how you don’t see the beautiful, amazing person standing in front of them.

after we spoke, i felt lighter. less scared. not embarrassed. everyone deals with issues. these just happen to be mine. they’re weird, they don’t make sense, but.

there is no reason i need to hide in their shadows, trembling with shame.

namaste

zoe

self-love sunday

the right words to start this ramble are not at my fingertips.

(me and daises yesterday in san francisco sunshine)

this week was weird, right?

filled with heavy energy. i slept in weird cycles, experienced insomnia for the better part of the week, woke up foggy every day. an underlying sadness tinted the week.

i spent hours unloading into my journal. honest thoughts. confused thoughts. too many thoughts.

and saw my truth:
i am only honest in words, in writing.

i have so much to say to so many people. so many thoughts and feelings and conversations i want to vocalize. not necessarily pleasant ones, either. but each time i gather the strength and steadiness to open my mouth, it stays closed. those inflated words deflate, fall back to their homes in my chest, and i implode silently.

i am as emotionally developed as my seventeen-year-old self.

i’m too busy being nice, good, easy, to speak my truth, to find my voice and use it. as i explained to a friend the other day: “i am going through the teenage rebellion i never had.“

(although, ironically, i was very quick to share my opinion when i was a teenager)

or, maybe, more accurately, i am going through the quarter life crisis no one talks about. either way, i am a big ball of feelings with no outlet other than my pen and paper. everything inside me is screaming for release. i can’t be afraid of how other people react anymore. it’s not a burden i need to carry. it’s not one i want to carry. this lack of sense of self has me floating int a weird, uncomfortable, shaky place. i’m running around trying to find my self in other people.

i gotta get over this. i’m not as fragile as i keep telling myself.

this week, i’m shooting for honesty.

off the page.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: remember when i mentioned phantogram the other music monday? well, give the phantogram pandora station a listen. hot damn.)

(p.p.s: i haven’t felt like blogging at all this week.)

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!)

i’m not sure about that bottle of pills

on tuesday i woke up at six for a doctors appointment i called salvation a month ago.

(photos of birds i take on long walks)

yet, even as i heard “chemical imbalance” and even when i picked up my first bottle of oblong blue pills, i did not feel saved. just skeptical. and mildly uncomfortable.

the mood swings i swing through scare me sometimes. leave me trembling underneath the question of “is this normal?” (really though, what the fuck is “normal”?)

in conversation where stories of sadness and hardship are traded, i realize how unbelievably human it is to struggle. my problems and issues shrink. i become one in a whole. we’re battling, collectively.

it’s just no one talks about it.

post-tuesday-morning-diagnosis i wandered. i walked. i smoked a bowl and sat in sunshine (because february think its spring). i breathed deep and practiced a few heart openers (got all warm-and-tingly in the chest. good signs). one thought sparked two hours of feverish writing. gentle contentment replaced heaviness. i smiled at the idea of knowing how to process.

but, as i am human, subject to an ever changing scenery of emotion, the mood shifted come nighttime. stubborn insecurities i cannot shake heated up cooled over anxiety. late-night sobs stuck to the hollow of my throat. i cried words and tears over my journal. wrote furiously into pages before occupying the land of dreamers and their dreams.

naturally, i woke up today agitated. to an alarm calling for my attention. to a lack of voice. to bitterness. to another long car ride filled with music and sadness. to a therapy appointment actually scheduled for next week. to more tears, to hands too jittery from coffee i never drink, to heart filled up with fear and loathing…

to, eventually, suddenly, nothing but pure joy.

wednesday morphed into endless laughter, seventy-something degree weather, unbounding love.

and i realized:
the more i feel, the more i release.

and i realized:
sadness is normal. crying is normal. anger is normal.

because i realized:

this is the human experience.

this is okay.

i’ve got a bottle of pills now. mood-stabalizers. if i am being honest, i will say i am scared to take them. i am scared to lose this ability to feel, something i just gained access to after years of feeling nothing. i am curious about this lost anger and misplaced sadness.

also, i’m not as scared of my feelings as i was a month ago, on the desperate day i called around for someone to grant me reprieve from my mind. i just feel more human. and, oddly, more connected to people. i’ve knocked some perspective into my life, opened up the dialogue, listened and listened and listened to friends pour their souls out because every one needs an open ear. simply focusing on the people i love and opening up to hear their frustrations has been enlightening. suddenly, i am not alone. suddenly, this isn’t all about me anymore. because it never was. we’re all going through troubles together. despite those quiet moments of deep loneliness, you are, truly, never alone.

life, pills or no pills, keeps happening.

every second i breathe, i pulse. over the course of my waking hours i am one emotion and another. i am human.

and i think i’m okay with that.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: yes, i am going to take the pills, just to see what happens. it’s an avenue i think i need to explore, if only to say, “yes” or “no”.)

self-love sunday

i don’t even know where to start today.

a lot happened this week. words, however, are not lending themselves to me, rendering me a writer without expression. i’m just a big ball of feeling.

i am learning to trust my feelings, to question my thoughts. to listen to the whispers of the heart, not the analytical murmurings of a brain. i forget i live in my heart, too.

today, on two feet with arms stretched to the sky, i am open to the world and the universe and abundance. last night, a momentary ‘pop’ released pain in my left shoulder. pain i’ve carried for months. the night before i went to a restorative yoga class and cried. i am releasing.

i am creating space.

i am opening.

i keep thinking, “i don’t know what ought to be.”

over and over.

among other things.

(found in jan spiller’s book cosmic love…or astrology for the soul, i can’t remember. i stumbled across this the other day in a bookstore. i sat there and read for an hour).

love inflates the emptiness felt feelings leave behind.

i breathe deeper. fuller.

there is still salt in the sea water of my life. still waves i navigate. but i am buoyed to a warm, steady happiness.

i am learning how to float.

what are you learning?

namaste

zoe

(p.s: thanks for the comments on the last post. you’re all so supportive and awesome. thankyouthankyouthankyou. i have a lot more to say about voice and speaking and discovering. soon enough!)

naked

the naked body is a beautiful body.

(source)
(this picture is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. if it offends you, that wasn’t my intention.)

but to a lot of people, a lot of american people, the naked body is a shameful body. birthday suits are worn without celebration. we keep backs turned. lights down low. mirrors become things to be avoided, sleeping a thing to do clothed (well, unless you live in snow in the wintertime).

why so much embarrassment over our physical selves?

i avoided my naked reflection for years. stepped out of the shower and toweled up quick. changed in front of dressing room mirrors without long observant glances. i did not grow up viewing my body as a positive thing. just an embarrassing, incorrect thing. too squishy. too round. too wide. too much.

a year and a half(ish) ago i woke up to the insanity that was my life. the running. the broken down knees. the tears, always. the numbness. a year and a half ago i took a deep breath and vowed to love myself, to love my body. i dove into yoga. i bent and stretched, spilled and splayed in ways i never wanted to be seen. i held my breath, waited for the remarks, the “zoe, we’re offended by your body” comments. no one said anything. i kept breathing.

eventually i, the forever naked-phobe, stepped onto my mat — sans clothing. i giggled, a pre-teen once again. the brush of skin against skin was so foreign. alone, in my house, i flowed dressed in the most natural clothing i owned. at the end, as i lay in blissful, sweet shavasana, freedom tingled just beneath my skin.

i learned how to be naked elsewhere, too. one night during summer, sunk in the middle of the heat trapped in my apartment, i stripped off sweaty pajamas and delighted in the coolness of sheets against my warm skin. i never put them back on. winter simply means more blankets now.

during the summers my roommate left the apartment. for three whole months i lived alone, the small space my own for endlessly stretched out days. in the mornings, before clothes, i putted around the house nude. waking up unrestrained guarantees waking up comfortably. i promise.

the more i practiced at nudity, the more comfortable i got sitting with my own body. i felt more connected to myself. i found i liked what i saw when i took the time to look. and i find now i indulge in the naked time i do get post shower, in bed, or on my yoga matt.

if you can’t look at your body or be naked with you body, how do you expect to cultivate any sort of self-love?

nakedness is the epitome of physical vulnerability. we cannot disappear or conceal anything behind clothing, behind layers of fabric. we present ourselves as we really are — squishiness, dimples, roundness and all. all the bits and pieces we call flaws are put on display for other people. kind of terrifying, especially if you and your body do not get along.

which is why i write to you today with gentle words of encouragement. notice how often you wear clothing. notice how often you don’t wear clothing. become aware of the emotions that come up while you are naked. notice the thoughts that float up and try not to attach to them. try not to believe them. remove eroticism and just be, for a moment, in your most free physical state. see what happens. see how long you can stay undressed. practice nakedness in small doses if you’re just beginning — in the morning, at night before bed, in front of the mirror before and after showering. it’s not as scary as it sounds. really, i promise (and i don’t promise much).

lack of body confidence seriously affects lives. think about it. think about all the places you hesitate over because you question the beauty of your body. the beach. the pool. the dance floor. the bedroom. think about all the beautiful moments you forego. think about all the life you shut the door on.

body confidence does not happen over night. it takes effort. it takes consciousness. it’s a practice. which is why i am nudging you in the softest of ways towards little naked baby steps. waking up to the gorgeousness that is the landscape of your body will benefit so many areas of your life. other people already see the beauty you hold. imagine what would happen if you saw it, too.

namaste

zoe

things my ego gave me

i don’t remember when i got so scared.

(source)
of sharing. of speaking my truth. of life itself.

i don’t remember forfeiting my happiness. i just remember waking up one day with a vague idea of having lost something.

i don’t remember fanning out the fire of my character till it glowed so dim as to be easily forgotten.

i don’t remember when doubt crowned himself the king of all decisions.

i don’t remember embarrassment building me a house to live in, a house to never leave.

somewhere along the way, the fiery, opinionated, passionate, mover of a girl i was, (am), decided to play a really long, really difficult game of hide-and-go-seek. every time i thought i found her, it turned out i had only stumbled on the echo of her.

i used to laugh all the time. i used to crack jokes over jokes over jokes. i dipped into my weirdness openly, showcased it for friends and family and newcomers alike. i enjoyed the awkwardness, the oddities of my personality and character. i rejoiced it. i knew no one like me simply because there was no one like me.

then, i stumbled. my ego hissed at me: “no one will like you. what are you doing here? what did you just say? dear god, why did you just say what you just said?”

so i tried on pieces of personalities i liked, absorbed well received traits of others like a vortex. i worried so much and so well over things like “do they like me?” and “if i do/say/act like that he and she and all of them won’t like me anymore. they’ll think i’m weird.” the real me got scared. she hid and stayed hidden.

yesterday, i danced in an empty house for ten solid minutes, giggling like a five year old laughing the whole time. unfavorable thoughts snuck their way into the happy space i created. i stopped laughing. my ego found my self dancing freely and said, “um, do you know how stupid you look right now?”

my self faltered. stopped flailing. arms found tighter, more controlled movements. legs suddenly preferred mere shuffling over jumping and swinging. my self apologized. then, thought further, and corrected herself: “oh, fuck it.” wild limbs were wild once more.

the people i find myself admiring the most present their whole selves. all those flaws and all those beauties. they don’t apologize for who they are. they just are.

i used to be like that.

which means i can be that, again.

it means i can move out of the house embarrassment built me. it means i can coop d’etat doubt right off his throne. it means i can relight my fire, let it burn and burn. it means i can be happy again. it means i won’t be the wrong kind of scared.

it means, simply, i can be me.

again.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: thanks for your anxiety tips. using them next time i feel all kinds of uncomfortable!)

self-love sunday

sleep.

(source)
just, sleep, lovelies.

sleep and love will follow.

last night i slept for eleven and half hours. i crawled into bed at 8:30 and woke up at 9:30. sickness be gone! sleep might be the miracle i forgot all about. in the dreamy REM cycle hours, the body heals. the mind heals. when both body and mind awaken alive and alert, we navigate our lives a little easier.

sound choices come from sound minds.

so indulge in sleep. when you want to do badly by yourself, go to sleep. when your mind starts circling the pit of despair, go to sleep. often times all we really need is a good recharge. listen to your body. when you feel run down, borderline sick, edgy, anxious for no reason, sad…just sleep. often times, especially now, we forgo sleep for other things without realizing that sleep helps us do the things we truly want to do — and well.

it’s sunday. tomorrow starts the new week. sleep well tonight and start the week off on the right foot. your mind and body will thank you.

namaste

zoe

i think…

i think i spend too much time on the computer.

or, rather, in front of a screen.

i enjoy life the most while out engaging. experiencing. exploring. busy sunlight hours, peaceful moonlight hours, my ideal schedule. lately though, life’s pace has shifted. late nights lead to late mornings. early afternoon mimics a typical morning and ten p.m plays early evening for a few hours. sleep comes in the first few hours of the new day, gently releasing me an hour before noon. sleep exists in broken hours and splintered dreams. i am always tired. inside, my spirit vibrates, grows restless in its dull cage, the heavy limbs and heavy energy its nuisances, its keepers.

i am not paying much mind to self-care. the word ‘stagnant’ burns in my mind like some endlessly dying ember. stagnant routine. stagnant energy. stagnant thoughts. the spirit i mentioned? asks for something different. asks for risks. asks for yoga. asks for connection. for rest, laughter, love. but i live in hollow buildings built on old beliefs. i lock myself into rooms of ideas too full to accept any one new. i am not comfortable here, pinched between these old fears grossly inflated by their sense of importance.

for the past number of months i’ve focused so much and so hard on mentally caring for myself, tending to the emotional wounds. i forgot physical care mattered, forgot self-care stitched together many squares of fabric for its quilt. i forgot self-care included resting regularly, drinking enough water, moving appropriately. i forgot it included meditation, deep breathing, stretching.

instead, i’ve been sitting a lot. watching life instead of being in it. i am not tending to my physical self. i’ve been spending a lot of time away from home, late nights outside of my bed. my body is still catching up with the zealousness of my spirit. it feels heavy in a sense outside of weight.

this is a really long winded explanation for saying i-am-backing-away-from-the-computer-for-a-bit, simply. there is too much sluggishness circulating around my system for me to sit here, in front of a screen. it can be easy to get sucked into the blog world in favor of the real world (and the internet in general). and i need to spend a little more time caring for my whole self. so that means diving my time differently.

i was feeling so well in the early weeks of january because i was still caring for my whole self. i want to move back into that space. that felt healing. this feels…counterproductive.

namaste

zoe