Cellulite is Sexy!

So says one of our beautiful Canadian sisters! Check out her new blog and her FABULOUS first post. Really, WHY shouldn’t cellulite be considered “cute”?

 

P.S. For anyone wondering about an update on me, I DID rock that bikini while pregnant this summer! Future post coming soon!

Mia’s Journey to Self-Love

~ Contributed by my friend Mia~

My body is a vehicle. I often long to trade it in for a new model. One with no stretch marks, longer torso, firmer breasts. Maybe if I had a better body I would be better in bed. Maybe if I had a better body I would say the right things, do the right moves, lead a more meaningful and passionate life.
My mom used to say to me, “I’m going on a diet tomorrow, so let’s eat this ice cream tonight”. Tomorrow would come and another food would be consumed with the energy of defeat and the hope of a new day.
My grandma meets me with greetings of how my body looks. ” My, you’re looking skinny, wish I could lose 5 lbs. If I could lose that last bit of fat your grandfather wouldn’t have killed himself.”
Well, she’s never said that per say, but really, what would really change if she lost 5lbs? Would that really make the difference in her mental health? Would that really make the difference in mine?

Awhile ago I wrote this post: I’m sitting at my computer, naked after making love, checking my email and reading through blogs. I went back to this one (Our Body Blog) and haven’t quit crying since I opened it. Thank you lovely women for posting your stories. It means so much to me to read about others who struggle with their body ~ rating your worth on your physical appearances even though you know it is NOT OK. I am working on loving my body….I have been doing this for years and it is still a daily practice, like not drinking, being kind to yourself, respectful of yourself, feeling sexy and able to appreciate your beauty in all it’s stages and phases.

I am able to make love with the lights on, with the sun shining through the windows, with my eyes wide open. I see my lover, I see how he doesn’t shy away from my belly, he loves to see my breasts in all their 6 years of breast feeding glory. How can I not be happy about that? How can I hate something that, when I get out of my own way, brings so much pleasure?

AND YET…..and yet I sit here in front of the computer today after having made love and I try to stave of feelings of self loathing and despair. I choose to eat and drink and skip yoga and stay home and watch Glee instead. Then my husband and I made love that ended in him complimenting how beautiful I am and me rolling in a ball feeling gross and unworthy. The difference is, where once I would have let that ruin my week (month,year,life) today I can see the other side, the truth that I am worthy and beautiful.

Ten Things I LOVE about My Pregnant Body

21 weeks (taken by my 3 year old)

If you have ever suffered from poor body image then pregnancy can be an especially challenging time, as you watch your body morph into something beyond your control.

And of course, the models that wear the maternity clothes look incredibly beautiful showing only the appropriate voluptuousness in their bellies. (It’s my contention that maternity-models who don’t also have fat thighs and round faces are wearing those maternity pillows ~ and should definitely be outlawed!)

But if you can move beyond the cultural norms of what a pregnant mother is “supposed” to look like, then celebrating our pregnant bodies becomes easier…and even enjoyable.

I’m 5 months pregnant with my third child and some days my body issues still pop up ~ especially when I see pictures of myself and see how “full” I look. But if I only concentrate on how I look, I miss all the incredible, wondrous things that are happening at this rare and sacred time ~ and since this is the last time I plan on being pregnant, I definitely don’t want to miss one beautiful moment. So, as I continue to heal my body image, here I go celebrating the top 10 things I LOVE about my blooming body:

1.) I love, Love, LOVE all the baby kicks I feel. To me, this is really one of the MOST magical things about being pregnant ~ feeling my little babe moving around inside me. It’s so wonderful and incredible and I can’t get enough of it!

2.) I love that being pregnant makes me take extra special care of myself ~ with foods and movements that make me feel strong and nourished.

3.) I love that being pregnant sometimes means slowing down and choosing to do only the things that REALLY matter.

4.) I love how smooth and radiant my complexion is right now.

5.) I love how my body knows exactly how to grow and nourish my baby without me having to think about it ~ it really IS amazing!

6.) I love that others tell me that I really am “glowing”. I know they are picking up on the special, sacred energy that only comes with pregnancy.

7.) I LOVE some of the cute maternity clothes I found recently ~ and can’t wait to show off my belly bump in a white summery skirt and a sparkly tank-top.

8.) I LOVE that pregnancy makes me feel much more sensual! This is a wonderful perk that my husband enjoys too! (Seriously, a big, big, BIG perk!)

9.) I LOVE that being pregnant makes me feel like part of creation ~ a sacred and special Goddess.

10.) I LOVE that I’ve been able to run this pregnancy ~ it’s been so good for my mental health! And I especially LOVE that I feel like I’m getting fitter, the MORE pregnant I get (how incredibly amazing is THAT?!)  I LOVE that I challenged myself to run my first 5k and I completed it yesterday ~ fully enjoying it!!!! What an amazing pregnancy this has been!

Okay, so pregnancy has it’s share of challenges, but there are so many things to celebrate as well. It’s day-to-day balance (or moment-to-moment!).

How did you ultimately feel when YOU were pregnant? What are some of the things you’ve LOVED about being pregnant? (Or are looking forward to?)

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Worth the read (from other pregnant mamas):

“Surviving Comments and Weight Gain”

“Pregnancy and Body Image”

Shopping for my white bikini!

It’s been 2 months since I wrote my cellulite-confession. Immediately following the completion of my missive, I got very ill…for the next 30 days. February was NOT fun! But I’m choosing to believe all the flus I endured was a much-needed purging ~ an elimination of the things that no longer serve me. On March 1st, still with a slightly runny nose, I took my boys on a stroller run and instantly benefited from the endorphins. I vowed to make March a month of HEALTH filled with exercise and yummy foods.

A few days later I did something that scared me (why is it that all the things that are so good for us and benefit our growth are so scary?) and signed up for my first road race. It’s a 5K and it’s in my own back-yard. Before I got pregnant I had dared myself to do 2 things that stretched my comfort zone. The first (you guessed it) was to don on a bikini, the second was to enter my first road race. (Before children I used to be an avid runner but I have NEVER run with anyone ~ not a group, not a buddy, and certainly NOT a race!)

So here I am, almost 5 months pregnant, one week away from my first road race (I can ALMOST do the whole 3.1 miles. To date, I’ve run 2.8 miles without stopping!). After 25 days of exercise my body is feeling fit, firm, strong. So armed with a bulging belly, I’m perusing Victoria’s Secret to find that perfect white bikini.

Do I still have cellulite? YES!

Am I still scared to do this? YES!

Will I chicken out? I’ll get back to you on that one!

In the meantime, what do you think of THIS ONE?

Your daughters, Yourselves.

Hi everyone! Your BodyLove cheerleader is back with more words of encouragement about LOVIN’ that sexy body of yours!!

I want you to think about your daughter. Don’t have one? Doesn’t matter – think of a beloved niece, friend’s child, family member, neighbor, any young female you care deeply about. Got her in your head? Good. Think of all of her wonderful qualities.

Now imagine that this girl tells you she thinks she’s fat. Or ugly. Or unattractive. Or that she has cellulite or her boobs are too small or her nose is too pointy or her feet are too big or… you get it. How do you respond? Do you agree? Do you give her an appraising glance to see if what she’s saying has merit? Of course not! You immediately tell her the truth – how beautiful she is, inside and out. It’s EASY for you to see her beauty. Maybe she has a little baby fat still – so what? It’s adorable! Her pointy nose is uniquely her, and lord knows big shoes are easy to find on sale! She’s lucky. And probably, the fact that she feels this way about her beautiful, spectacular self makes you feel just a little bit… or a lotta bit… sad. Sad that she doesn’t see what you see. What anyone who knows her – heck, even strangers! – would see.

Play that scenario in your head.

Now reverse the roles. YOU are that girl and your mother is the grown-up who is hearing you vent all of your bodily insecurities (if you don’t get along well with your mother, then it’s your favorite aunt, teacher, neighbor, whoever). How is it making her feel to hear you talk like that?

NOW, put yourself in BOTH roles. Be the mother you are to your daughter, to yourself. Give your daughter-self a huge smile and tell her she’s beautiful, and REALLY mean it. See yourself through your mother’s eyes. And then just try to tell me you don’t see how beautiful you are.

Love to all you goddesses!!

Lightening of the Load

…contributed by my dear friend, Kate Roberts….

My beautiful body is a workhorse.

She has carried me through the challenges of growing up in a family that ate for love, for comfort, for sadness, for fun, for taste, for sport, for Tuesday afternoon. She expanded to fit the family when they criticized her for being too skinny to “be one of us.” She developed a taste for overeating to fit in splendidly.

She played sports, and even though we were never good at, the two of us, she would be out there, pounding the court so that I could have fun.

She carried me through the awkward teen years when my boobs grew three sizes seemingly overnight and everyone noticed the “girl of the big boobs.”

She carried me through first encounters with boys.

She carried me through the painful death of my father. She carried me through those years after he died when I was so lost and unsure of who or what I was.

She carried me through some crazy jobs, like being a butcher’s apprentice with those 16-year-old boobs and those gawking men.

She let me use her to smoke cigarettes so I could be cool. She didn’t die. She sure didn’t seem to like it, but she let me do it and she stayed pretty darn healthy in spite of my neglect.

She survived basic training when I decided it made sense to join the Army. I hated it, every last second of all that running, all those push-ups, those interminable marches. I was sick and exhausted and would make her throw-up in attempts to not have to do it anymore. She trudged on. She never broke down and she actually never quit. I did.

She allowed herself to be groped, fondled, used when I explored my sexuality.

She carried me through pregnancy! Oh my! She offered herself as a vessel from which new life crossed from Spirit into physical. She was at times achy and weary, she expanded, she never broke. She produced the milk and immunity for those newly-arrived to grow into strong, smart, young men.

She held me up under the weight of divorce when it was too much for me to bear. When I was broken, my Spirit lay to waste and I could not fathom how I would go on, she showered, she dressed, she ate, she cleaned, she cooked, she cared for my kids.

She put up with me, all those times I told her I hated her and picked her apart. She withstood all the plucking and primping and sloughing and decorating and adorning and squeezing into binding garments, things designed to make her something other than she is and not because it was what she wanted, because it’s what I wanted.

She hugs those who need it, she’s a soft place for the kids to rest against. She rollerskates and swims…she gives piggyback rides to kids who are now too big for her to carry without great strain.

She hangs on through all the abuse when I choose to use food or drink to ignore my emotions and yet, she’s right there, always carrying the signals for me, patiently waiting for me to honor those energetic impulses.

She has an incredible load to carry. She’s been there, picking up the baggage of experiences and carrying them. She doesn’t let bags down when new ones come along to be carried. She just adds them to her load and trudges onward, carrying me and all my junk. For all that she has done for me, I would like to honor her by giving her permission to feel cherished, appreciated, truly nourished, pampered, loved for who she is, how she is, perfect in all her efforts, my body, my sister, my friend, my constant. I would like to allow her to give up carrying some of those bags. Many of them are things we no longer need to carry. I’m quite sure she would delight in the lightening of the load.

~ Kate Roberts

Words of Body Wisdom

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve never seen a smiling face that was not beautiful. ~Author Unknown

A woman who cannot be ugly is not beautiful. ~Karl Kraus (I found this one particularly interesting and enlightening!)

Taking joy in living is a woman’s best cosmetic. ~Rosalind Russell

Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality.– Les Brown

I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody. — Bill Cosby

I never  met a lasagna I didn’t like. ~ Garfield the Cat

Ten Ways I’m Lovin’ My Body

1. I love my beautiful green eyes that twinkle and sparkle!!
2. I love my smile…I believe it warms others hearts when they see it!!
3. I love my fabulous, sexy calves and I LOVE that I look great in short skirts!
4. I love that my body is healthy & strong.  I love that I can do anything I want!
5. I love the way my body moves.  I love that I am coordinated, flexible and good at almost any sport I try!!!
6. I love my cute little toes!!!
7. I love my fingers that create beautiful things….playing songs on the piano, knitting beautiful items, writing, drawing!!
8. I love my stretch marks that map my journey to motherhood!
9. I love my brain!  I love that I am able to think critically, learn anything I want and process things so easily.
10. I love my hourglass figure!!!  I love how my curves are womanly, sexy and beautiful!  I love my figure!!!

I Love My Reflection

Contributed by my dear friend Misha….

I Love My Reflection

As a child I was told I was the pretty one and my younger brother was the smart one, starting right in elementary school.

As we got older my brother was enrolled in private school and given whatever he needed to succeed. I went to public school and was encouraged to start studying beauty so I could work in a salon (which would be great if that was what I wanted to do.) When I suggested other careers I would be told; “you can’t do that you are not smart enough,” or “you are beautiful, can’t you just stick with what your good at.” Even when my grades and ambition would show otherwise. My mother would show me Victoria Secret catalogs and tell me which women looked the best, and which I should try to look like. I was constantly told by her that I ate too much fatty foods and I should be taking better care of myself.

My breasts grew huge and I kept myself as close to 100 pounds as I could. Since I am only 5′ tall this was the “right” weight because the BMI chart shows I should be at 105 pounds.
I had a boyfriend all through high school who was just as obsessed with his body. He took steroids and lifted weights in all his free time. If there was anything wrong with my body he would let me know in case my mother hadn’t had a chance yet.

Then my step father was asked to leave his Middle School teaching job for being to “touchy” with girls. Which made my feelings of being uncomfortable around him and the way he hugged me even worse. I started to hate being hugged or touched. I started to really hate my body, especially my breasts, and my face.

The summer after I graduated from high school I went to visit my boyfriend one day. He was in one of his roid rages and he pushed me down the stairs and raped me. This was the end.
I was done being pretty and I didn’t want anyone to be even slightly attracted to me. I bought bagging clothes, really baggy, and stopped wearing makeup. I shoved food down. Gaining weight at quickly as I could. It didn’t help, I was still pretty just thicker.

So I decided to have a have a breast reduction. I was told:
“I made them too small.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“No one is going to want you.”
“You are ruining a perfectly good body.”
“Who is going to marry you now?”
I thought what kind of man would I be spending my life with if the reason he was with me was the size of my breasts. Really. What would happen if I got in an accident and my face was all scared or I lost limbs. Wouldn’t my soul mate stay with me no matter what I looked like?

I asked my grandfather for help. He helped me move away from my attacker and my step father, and go to college for Culinary Arts. Here I made my new start. I learned how to love food and enjoy making it. I had new friends and a new me. And it was the perfect place to be on the thicker side because I had a reason to be.
“Well of course she is over weight, she is around food all day.”

I thought I had found happiness. My professors loved me. I did so well I was able to go to Switzerland to study chocolate. It was beautiful there. I didn’t know any German so I could not understand anything anyone was saying. I got to just work.

Eventually my visa ran out, and my extended visa, and I came back to the USA. I got an amazing job being a Banquet Manager. My boss loved my work and sent me to classes I wanted to take. I had a big beautiful office and was extremely successful. That is until the Executive Chef (who was married with children) decided he couldn’t keep his hands off me.

The Chef came into my office and locked the door. He got me on the floor and put his hands all over me. Fortunately he didn’t get as far as he would have liked. The hotels account came to my office and started knocking on the door. He jumped up and fixed himself and left. He was fired and I was given “as much time as I needed to heal.” But I couldn’t work there anymore. Looking at my office made me sick. My boss switched offices with me, and said he would do what ever he could to keep me. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep working there. So I left and took time off from everything.

I went to visit a friend from college who I knew was safe. He was going through a lot also and we would just sit and talk for hours.

I thought a lot about cutting my face and making scars. Gaining weight didn’t work. There are plenty of people who are very attracted to thicker people. I am one of them. A guy who is skinny just doesn’t do it for me. So what if I cut up my face. I would drive as fast as I could hoping I would get into an accident and be scarred because I could seem to get the courage to do myself. I got as far as scratching my face and holding a knife to my cheek, but I could never just cut up my face. I took terrible risks. Why not? I had nothing to lose. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe the thing I would be best at would be being someones pretty wife or play toy. I must be useless.

Then the Universe gave me a gift. I didn’t see it as a gift at first. At first I was angry. So angry. I was filled with all this energy sucking anger. My dear sweet friend who was so safe asked me out on a date. How dare he? He was the last person I could turn to. He thought I was attractive. He wasn’t allowed to. He was safe and kind and caring. Why would he do this to me? How could he possibly think it was okay to like me as more than the great friend I had been for years.

After being angry for quite sometime I started to miss my safe, kind, and caring friend. My safe, kind, and caring friend, who I could talk to, and laugh with. Who had never put a hand on me. Who had seen me in college in pjs and after a night of too much drinking. My friend who had met my mother and knew what she was like. My friend who knew everything that had happened to me and still loved me. My friend who had seen me skinny and fat, with big breasts and little breasts, makeup and no makeup, happy and cranky, angry, sad, depressed, thrilled, energetic, tired, successful, excited, smiling and crying. My friend who loved me no matter what.

I am now married to my friend. He is my best friend and I love him. He is on the thick side and I love it! After 3 children and a few surgeries he still loves my naked scarred body.

I am still the stupid daughter who would look beautiful if she would just lose weight. But I choose not to listen to it anymore.
And I still sometimes hate my body and face when I look in the mirror.

But MOST days I choose to love my body and dance.

I dance while I am alone. I dance with my children. I dance with my love. I dance in my beautiful body that has been painted with life scars. I sing with my body with stories that made me stronger. I run with my body as hard as I can in the direction I want to go. I feel with my body all the love in world. I cry with my body because it is okay to be hurt, I provide safety with my body because sometimes my arms make everything better for my children, I help with my body with how hard I work, I give with my body everything I can to make the world a better place, I see with my body all the beauty in the world, I smile with my body because I am happy to be me and I love my reflection.

–~~~ Misha

L.J.’s Story

I use my view of my less-than-perfect body as a way to beat myself up.  It becomes a weapon every time I catch my image in the mirror and see my belly pooch protrude.  I see myself and I feel weak.  I feel guilt and shame.  I use it to prove to myself that I am not good enough.

I asked myself, ‘What is this pooch telling me?’  Why am I carrying it?  How would I feel if I had the perfect body?  The answer surprised me.  The answer was fear.

I was transported back 17 years to a party where I looked really great.  I had a lot of male attention and I loved it.  But then someone I trusted forced me into a situation where I felt powerless and victimized.  I made the connection that being really desirable was a bad thing.  I gained a significant amount of weight that month.

But this wasn’t the beginning, it was just a culmination of what I had been living most of my life.  It began early on with me feeling I was unlovable and feeling I wasn’t good enough.  I felt worthy of having some of what I wanted…but never all of it.  I could be cute, but not gorgeous.  I could be attractive, but not too attractive.  I tell myself I can be good, just not great.  My distorted body image became one of the ways I continued to reinforce these hurtful beliefs.

I turned to external validation to feel better.  I loved being told I was cute, I liked being liked, and I liked being the center of attention.  But going outside of me to heal something within is only a temporary fix.  Seeking external validation becomes like a drug.  First, one compliment is enough, then three or four are needed to feel good and eventually it feels impossible to get enough.

I looked to others to feel better about myself because if they found me attractive, sexy, desirable, it would trump the way I judged myself.  That’s what led me into that situation; my desperation to believe I was good enough and only being able to hear it through the voices of others.

I seek now to hear my own voice.  I seek now to heal and meet my needs within.

I go back to that younger version of myself.  I tell her that it’s okay.  I tell her it’s not her fault.  She can let go of feeling weak…she can let go of the guilt and shame.  I tell her I love her.  I tell her I love her body.  I tell her it is safe to be attractive and desirable and she can walk tall and proud and feel good about herself and her body.  I tell her she is good enough.  I tell her she is lovable.

I come back to my present self and tell her that it is safe for me to be desirable.  I remind myself that I have learned and grown since then.  I show myself how I ignored my intuition in the past because my need for the “Approval & Attention Drug” was so great it overshadowed my inner voice.  I point out how aware I’m becoming and how good I am getting at meeting my own needs.  I tell myself I can have it all…I can be great!  I tell myself, with or without the pooch I am beautiful, I am desirable…I am safe. 

Thank you, little pooch for all you’ve shown me.  Thank you for helping me understand and love and accept myself a little more.