self esteem

Writerly (girl) Crush

I admit it, I fall hard for witty, smart, talented writers. Add approachable and adorable and, well, my admiration borders on creepy stalker vehement devotion. last year, I crossed paths with one such writer and    I’m    still    reeling. In the same fashion that one brings home a boy/girlfriend to meet their parental units, I bring Katie Cross to Sisterwives Speak to meet you. Prepare yourself for a monstrous crush.

To read Katie’s light, adorable story about how one’s self-image can be totally skewed, hit THIS.

Are you still here? Click the f#cking link already. Geez.

WTF’S, Beards, BJ’s, and Anniversaries. Related, but not.

I feel very restricted by the internet today. What I really want to do is jump out from behind a door and yell, “HEY! I HAVE ALL KINDS OF SHIT TO TELL YOU!” I’d have a giant creepy grin on my face and it would scare you so bad you’d pee a little, and we’d laugh….and laugh….

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I’m a Whore!

A word whore that is…I’ve been sharing them all over the place this week! Or does that make me a pimp? Not sure….

Last week I was at Laura’s talking about a negative thing that changed the trajectory of my life for the better. You can read The Dog Bite here.

TODAY I’m over at Michelle’s talking about another moment – this time good one – that completely turned my world on its head and shaped my life in more ways than I can count. Take a gander over there and read Mountain Mama.

Also debuting today over at the Sisterwives blog is a brave and candid post by Samara about domestic abuse. You do NOT want to miss this. Read it here.

*puts pimp hat on and struts away*

The Dog Bite

When Laura A. Lord asked me to guest post for her Women’s Issues series, I said yes without hesitation. But as my date crept up, I struggled with what to write.

Last night I sat in front of a blank computer screen for hours.

I knew exactly what story my soul wanted to tell. But I was fighting it.

Finally at midnight, I undammed the words.

I wrote about a single incident.

One that changed the trajectory of my life.

Read about it here.

 

I SMELL CAKE!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the most supportive hop EVAH: Ten Things of Thankful!

Without further ado, here are my thankfuls for this week…

1. This HOP. Duh. And the fact that it made it to the ripe, still-sexy age of 50! WOOOP! I’m so grateful for this community of incredible people!

2. The ability to muster strength and courage this week, which was only possible with the tiny shred of confidence I’ve managed to build over the past few months. I realize this is vague, but just know I had reason to feel ten feet tall. I conquered something. Something that has conquered me in the past. For now, I rule the kingdom. LIKE A BOSS.

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Lexicon of Lust

This poem is in honor of August McLaughlin’s The Beauty of a Woman BlogFest III: #GirlBoner edition. If you haven’t read the bloggers who participated, you need to. Just hit that link in August’s name. I didn’t know about it in time to contribute, but it did inspire this poem. Lexicon Of Lust was sitting in drafts all lonely. Today I set it free. (more…)

Sticks and Stones aren’t Shit Compared to Words.

A lovely, insightful comment on my last post got the ole noodle crankin’, and you know what happens next: I have to write it or it won’t leave my head.

Growing up, my room was right across from my mom’s and I could hear everything she said. Under the same societal pressures to be “perfect” we all are, she was always frustrated with her weight, a perpetual dieter. She never met an exercise craze she didn’t try, but I do remember the emphasis being more on weight than fitness. When she was getting ready I would hear her mumble (or sometimes yell) things like:

“I’m too fat and ugly to wear this in public.”

“I’m such a fat cow.”

“My ass looks like a bull-dozer in these pants.”

We’ve all done it. It’s just crap you say when you’re frustrated, tossing that third pair of *shrunken* jeans across the room.

Of course, when a young girl hears her mother say things like that, her mother who she thinks is beautiful and perfect, she does one thing:

She adopts that same self-criticism.

Her words became my inner dialogue, and my weight became my measurement of self-worth. It’s vicious and ugly to hear those things in your head. It stops you in your tracks. I had zero awareness of body issues and – in an instant – became so hyper sensitive to them I remember skipping school because I thought my body was unacceptable. I was a size 8. But I was curvy. I hated my curves and saw them as fat. I wanted to look like those no-booby-stick girls that walk the runway, because yeah, on top of everything else, this was the 80’s and I had media pressure to be a waif.

I remember once my mom joking and saying it looked like I had gained 10 pounds over the summer.

BLAM!

That stung. I was twelve, so my zoom lens on a comment like that was about 1,000X. That began the era of giant shirts to hide my body. The takeaway: never make an inference IN ANY WAY to a young girl’s weight.

Between girls being nasty to me in school, and the pressure to find a place, any-freakin-place, to fit in, I didn’t have a chance in hell. Not when I started out-of-the-gate with such negative inner dialogue and a horrible self-image.

*I just wish someone had warned her*

That’s why I wrote this. Because my mom had no idea her words were doing damage. She would never want that.

All of us make mistakes. Hell, I’ll probably make four today. But if this post reaches even one person who might be saying these types of things within earshot of a youngin’, whether it be about their nose, their value on this earth, or their weight….well, that would be everything.

**Happy ending. It took  thirty twenty a handful of years and the Frankenstein of patch jobs, but my self-image is intact and healthy. Oh, I still hear the negative voices. The difference is now, I don’t believe them. I have perspective on what true beauty is. And my diet and exercise goals are based on fitness and feeling comfortable more than a size on a tag. My therapist probably drives a Range Rover to her lake house, but who cares, right? Thank God for therapy.

What about you? Do you remember hearing anyone talk like that when you were little? How did it make you feel? Was weight, beauty, or perfection over-emphasized in your house? Please share. I value and look forward to your comments!