Category Archives: body image

The Weighing Is The Hardest Part


So I went to the doctor today, and I was dreading it for so many reasons. The first is, everyone knows doctors are scary. They’re like society’s acceptable bogeymen. They take your blood and judge your lifestyle. And this was my first time seeing this new doctor (thanks, Obamacare, for screwing with my insurance), and I was especially nervous. Thankfully, she was a doll.

But another secret reason that I was apprehensive about going to the doctor is that I know I’ve gained some weight, and I was afraid of being weighed. Yup, that’s something I’m ashamed to admit, but there you go. I told the nurse I didn’t want to know my weight, and she complied.

BUT THEN, I found out anyway, by mistake. I saw the number. And my heart sunk into my fat chest. This is the most I’ve ever weighed. It’s the highest that number has ever been. If it was a Donkey Kong score, I could be proud of that number. But it wasn’t. It was my weight.

How many times am I going to write about my body before I’m over it? I mean, really?

I don’t see men do this. In my entire life I have only once heard a dude say that he had to lose weight (and he totally didn’t, he looked great, honestly. I don’t mean “great” as in, “I don’t want to hurt this person’s feelings, so I’m going to use the word ‘great'” — I mean actually great.) Why am I so bothered by my weight?

I think a big reason is because I don’t understand why I gained weight. I exercise and I barely eat, because I take adderall, and it suppresses my appetite. (I want to go off the adderall, I hate it. I’m talking to my psychiatrist about how to do that, safely.) But it’s like, how is it just my luck to be the only person who GAINS weight while taking adderall?

I’m getting old, you guys. I think that’s the only thing that can explain it. When you get old, the weight is harder to come off than when you were a goddamn teenager. And it’s crazy, because when I was a teenager, I was also complaining about my weight. I was trying to remember when I first started to hate my body. It started in elementary school. I hated my body because I thought I wasn’t tall enough. Then in middle school, I hated my body because I thought my breasts weren’t big enough. Then in high school I hated my body because I didn’t think my stomach was flat enough.

Am I ever going to be done hating myself? How much more can I put myself through before I’m really, truly, done?

So I don’t know where to proceed from here. I can continue to hate my body or I can try loving it. I’m really good at helping others love themselves; I just can’t get myself to give in. I just did a photo shoot and I’m trying not to judge every single photo of me with unhelpful thoughts like, “Double chin here”, “Fat stomach here”, “Large thighs here.” I should instead be looking at the photos and thinking, “How cool that I did this photo shoot, I look awesome.” But it’s like Tom Petty said, “The weighing is the hardest part.” (Okay, fine, he actually says “waiting.” But I needed a pun, I need puns so badly.)

Has anyone on the planet successfully given up their body hate and welcomed the body love? I want you to tell me how you did it. Let’s just talk from our hearts.

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Love Your Boobs, Everyone Else Does

love your boobs

Ladies (and gentlemen), let’s talk about boobs.

Specifically, let’s talk about boob acceptance. Yes, I said it: boob acceptance. Because so many companies want us to feel bad about our boobs. The media is so ready to rate actresses based on cup size. Magazines tell small-chested ladies not to wear bandeau bathing suit tops because it’s not “flattering” — flattering, meaning, “big breasted”. (More on this later.)

There’s nothing wrong with having big breasts. And there’s nothing wrong with having small breasts, either.

Can we all agree that breasts are great? They feed our kids. As a mother, which I am not and probably never will be, I find that amazing. We’ve got baby restaurants in our bodies.

But when you’ve got small baby restaurants, you’re suddenly forced into thinking that you should have bigger ones. I went through a few years where I yearned for bigger breasts. I called my parents, crying, like a total brat, begging for breast implants. That’s probably one of my most shameful moments. I didn’t appreciate my body and all the great things it could do for me — I was upset because I didn’t have a C-cup.

Let me pause here and say, if you’ve got or are getting implants, that’s totally fine, too! I want you to love your body, and if you have the means and the ability, and you want to pump those suckers up, go ahead. Not my business.

I would just hate if you did it because you felt like you had to. You should never change your body for someone else, especially for just an idea of what someone else wants. You should love your body. And it’s damn hard sometimes, I understand.

When I saw an article in a major women’s magazine advising women what bathing suits to wear based on their cup sizes, I was annoyed. They took a beautiful A-cup sized woman, who was smiling and happy in her “before” photo, bandeau top and all, and put her in a padded bra in the “after” photo, with the caption, “FIXED!” What the hell needed to be fixed? Why shouldn’t she flaunt her small boobs? What is so offensive about small boobs? Why do they need to be “fixed”?

Do you know how hard it is to find a bra for my boobs that isn’t padded? It’s like the world is telling me I’m not good enough. (Though I don’t feel bad; I have a theory that hipster guys love small boobs.)

But I’m sick of it, I’m done. Yes, some of my bras are padded, and some of them aren’t. Sometimes I feel like having some artificial cleavage, and sometimes I don’t. And that’s my decision to make, and yours, too. There’s nothing inherently bad about push-up bras as long as they don’t make you miserable for what you don’t have. Because I see them as celebrating what I do have: they may be small, but they’re awesome, and sometimes, they get a little assist.

I’m not going to give a list of models and actresses who are smaller chested, because that’s silly, and the point isn’t to make everyone worship at the altar of Audrey Hepburn (whoops — okay, no more names). The point is to celebrate our breasts for what they are and aren’t. We’re too fixated on boobs. Back when I was shaming my body, my argument was that I needed implants to “make me more balanced.” Where the hell did I get that notion? My body isn’t a level that’s going to be used to hang a picture frame. Balance is all in your head. Proportion is all in your head.

So use your head and accept your boobs. I don’t care if you think they’re “too small” or “too big” or “too lopsided” or “too saggy” — they’re yours. Forever. Just love them already. Life is too damn short to hate your boobs.

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This was taken around ’07 or ’08 before I dyed my hair dark. I remember when this was taken. I hated my body and thought I was fat, so instead of wearing a bikini and getting in the pool, I’m wearing track pants and posing goofily with a pool net. Being silly was my default. If I looked purposefully goofy then I couldn’t be scrutinized for my appearance. That was a very sad, very sick girl. I am now 10 – 12 pounds heavier than I was in this photo and I wish I looked as “fat” now as I did then. I’m learning every day and trying to be healthy and accept myself. If you have similar issues, please don’t listen to the voice in your head that tells you you’re not good enough. I wasted and missed out on fun because God forbid anyone see me in a bathing suit. NOT WORTH IT. I’m too fabulous. You are too!

(I originally posted this on Instagram and on my Facebook page and it seemed to get a big response, so I thought I would share it here too.)

More on body image:

A woman with curves.

Because I just don’t care anymore.

Mirror error. 


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