The Ultimate Self-Love Body Image Trick

Hello angels:)

I wrote this article almost 2 years ago, when the blog was barely a foetus, and my writing was, at best, mediocre. This is not to say that I'm a bonafide writing virtuoso, but I wanted to rewrite this piece in a more eloquent and clear matter. 

This trick may seem trivial, and perhaps it is for you, but it is one I use every single day, without fail, and truthfully, I believe it to be one of the most important steps in my recovery. Take from it what you will, try it out, and let me know what you think:)

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Once upon a time, I was afraid of mirrors. 
Okay, perhaps that's slightly misleading, because I wasn't afraid of the mirrors themselves. 
I was afraid of what they reflected. 

I would wake up in the morning and I would hate my reflection. 
I would go to school, catch a glimpse of myself in a car window or locker room mirror, and I would hate my reflection. 
I would go back home, do homework or extra-curricular activities, and avoid a mirror at all costs, because I knew very well what I would see. 
I knew that at the end of the day, as I got ready for bed, I would have to look at my reflection. 
And I would fucking hate it. 

Let me tell you something: hating yourself in downright exhausting, it truly is. 

It's hard enough being a teenager, going to school with morons and potheads, studying seemingly useless equations, dealing with crazy hormones inside your body and brain; trust me I know. 
So cut yourself some slack, make your life just a little bit easier, and try this trick out.

1. Go up to a mirror, preferably in the morning, or before heading out the door. 

2. Find 3 things you like about your reflection. I don't care what they are, how crazy specific or bizarre they may seem. You are not doing this for anyone but yourself. Look, I know that for some, this will be hard at first, but keep working at it, every day, several times a day if you must. 21 consecutive days of anything forms a habit, so stay strong. 

And if you can find attributes that might not be considered "typically beautiful" by most people, but that you find unique and special, bonus points for you. You go, Glen Coco. 

3. As you go through the day, and inevitably stumble upon your reflection, know where to look and stay focused on those 3 attributes. 

Why it works: Our eyes aren't actually the ones «seeing things»; they only capture the information and send it to our brain, and that tricky little bastard can do whatever it wants with those images. 

Start looking for the good, instead of singling out your 10394855 flaws (child, don't lie, we all do it sometimes), and your reflection will change right before your eyes. 
By choosing what your brain focuses on before that bitchy, whiny voice comes in and tells you what part of your body you hate that day, you blur out the flaws and let the good shine through.

You will find with time how much you have to be thankful for, how many wonderful parts of your being are worthy of love and admiration. 

I can only hope that with time and effort, when you pass by a mirror on a long hard day, you can finally smile. 

Have a wonderful day my loves,
xoxo

Gabby

When Your Mother Says She's Fat, by Kasey Edwards

Hello my beautiful angels! 

I hope you're having a wonderful holiday season, enjoying your break and taking good care of yourself:)

Here's a piece I found on tumblr, from the wonderful author at kaseyedwards.com

Enjoy<3

Dear Mum,

I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful — in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I’d pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I’d be big enough to wear it; when I’d be like you.

But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ‘‘Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.’’

At first I didn’t understand what you meant.

‘‘You’re not fat,’’ I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ‘‘Yes I am, darling. I’ve always been fat; even as a child.’’

In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:

1. You must be fat because mothers don’t lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I’ll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.

Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.

With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ‘‘Oh-I-really-shouldn’t,’’ I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.

Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.

But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.

Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at seventy-nine years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.

I remember her ‘‘compassionate’’ response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ‘‘I don’t understand why he’d leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You’re overweight — but not that much.’’

Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.

‘‘Jesus, Jan,’’ I overheard him say to you. ‘‘It’s not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.’’

That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad’s ‘‘Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less’’ weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else’s food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.

As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth — as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own — paled into insignificance when compared with the centimeters you couldn’t lose from your waist.

It broke my heart to witness your despair and I’m sorry that I didn’t rush to your defense. I’d already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I’d even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ‘‘simple’’ process — yet one that you still couldn’t come to grips with. The lesson: you didn’t deserve any food and you certainly didn’t deserve any sympathy.

But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it’s like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up. No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.

But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better — better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.

And it’s not just about you and me any more. It’s also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only three and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don’t want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.

The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends — and the people who love them — wouldn’t give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body’s thighs or the lines on its face wouldn’t matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.

Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ‘‘flaws’’ is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.

Let us honor and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.

Love, Kasey xx

Once Upon A Time

Hello my loves!

This is a translation of a piece I wrote for Derriere le Miroir (available here: http://www.derrierelemiroir.ca/donc-mon-prince/) 

Enjoy:)

Once upon a time there was a young princess

Who danced in the rain and jumped into puddles

She was wild, she was free, she was fearless.

She didn’t mind if her hair was a tad too curly.

She didn’t care if there were 300 calories in her cookie.

She didn’t need a prince charming.

With or without him, she was a princess worthy of respect.

“Maybe later, when I’m older” she told herself

“For now, I rule this kingdom just fine all by myself”

But the seasons changed, and a princess can’t stay young forever.

All her friends were attracting the attention of dukes and earls,

Dancing the night away in the arms of their admirers

While our princess spent her nights all alone.

And she started to ask herself when her prince would come along.

She stared at her reflection in the puddles she used to jump in

Desperately looking for the reasons behind her solitude.

Suddenly the rain started pouring, deforming her reflection, so that all she could see

Was that her problem lied in the atrocity of her body.  

Her hair was now much too curly

And every single inch of her skin was a prison keep

Trapping her in a tower, too ugly to be saved.

And those 300 calories in her cookie? Those were 300 too many.

She made herself believe that her prince would only visit

When her collarbone was protruding enough for all to see.  

So she lived in this sad fantasy for many years,

Without the kingdom noticing their shrinking princess.

Until one day she had had enough of starving.

And as she looked at her reflection in the mirror with new eyes

She realized she had hated herself for nothing.

Okay, so this prince had yet to show up at her door

But a hunger strike won’t make him arrive sooner.

From now on, this princess worries little of her happy ever after

« Because I never needed a prince to be the greatest ruler »

How To: Acne and Not Hating Yo Face

Hello my beautiful dolls!

I'd like to start today's post by shamelessly plugging my (FINALLY) uploaded article for Adios Barbie entitled Are Disney Stars Getting Thinner? I've been working on this thing for many months, so please check it out, comment, share, whatever your heart desires:)
Back to business.

It has been over a year now since I wrote this rambly, ridiculously dramatic blogpost about my volcanic allergic reaction to Clindamycin. It was an amazing learning experience, and I've grown a lot since that day. I am about 50000% more comfortable with my bare skin, and most of my problems are related to scarring, which is honestly easier to wake up to in the morning.

I have already written about being confident with your natural face (today is apparently advertise-your-ass-off Friday), but I want to go more in detail about what it means to struggle with acne, dark spots, scarring, discolouration, insert miscellaneous face demon here...

1. Join the club

It's cute how some of us, myself included, think we are fighting this war alone. 

Few quick facts for you to chew on:

• Of the 85% of teenagers (between the ages of 12 and 24) that suffer from acne, 25% will have permanent scars ranging from severe to light
• 20% of all adults have active acne
• 20 million Americans have acne badly enough to cause scars.
• Acne is the most common skin disorder in the United States, affecting 40 million to 50 million Americans.

2. Pesky Flawless People

Okay, fine. You aren't alone, there are many more "disfigured freaks" (this is actually a descriptor I used when writing in my 8th grade diary. 14 year olds will be 14 year olds). 

But it's those annoying milky skinned, flawless complexioned angels of Heaven who ruin it for the rest of us. Right? 

Not really.

Sure, those people may have perfect skin, it is what it is. But my lord I don't think I have repeated this enough: we all have our insecurities. 

Because I promise you, somewhere on those supposedly modelesque creatures' bodies, they have their own metaphorical volcanic breakout. Stretch marks, lack of thigh gap (I can't even...), frizzy hair, the list just won't stop. 

3. Living Your Life

As annoying as I am right now, I highly suggest you read my DOP article linked above. 

Because here's the deal; you should never let something so LITERALLY SMALL get in the way of your life. 

If you don't care, or pretend not to, then trust me no one else should. 

And if heaven forbid some dips**t has the nerve to make a comment, shoot me a quick email with his/her address and I'll have my body positive army take care of it. 

JK, I wish. 

I'll just rip off their eyebrows:)

xoxo

Gabby