I love Ken Dolls :3

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #stars #KenPlastic #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #KenDoll #OrignalVintage #KenWaterPlay #BeSuper #KenBarbie#PopScicledude #MexicanBarbie

I love the Twist n´Turn Face Sculpt

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #MackieSculpt #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #TntBarbie #TalkingBarbie #Fashionsitas #SmasherooBarbie #DearMe #Twistnturn #super #BarbieStyle #BeSuper #HStyle #popscicle #bionicpop #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #KenDoll #Ken #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #Allamerican #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #SteffieSculp #OrignalVintage #st #BeSuper #Kenvintage #Hot #skating

Wearing Original Vintage Dinner at Eight 1963-1964

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #DinneratEight #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #BlondeBarbie #LiveAction #Fashionsitas #BubblecutBarbie #DearMe #Twistnturn #super #BarbieStyle #BeSuper #HStyle #popscicle #bionicpop #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

Mexican edition of Barbie SuperStar with original mythical and rare dress and variation of colour hair.

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #stars #AurimatMexico #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #BarbieCipsa #OrignalVintage #SuperStarDoll #BeSuper #BarbieSuperEstrella #PopScicledude #MexicanBarbie

This is the second edition by Aurimat México of this beautiful doll. #Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #stars #AurimatMexico #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #AurimatBarbie#OrignalVintage #SuperStarDoll #BeSuper #BarbieLove #PopScicledude #MexicanBarbie

I love the Vintage dolls!

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #FridayNiteDate #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #BrunetteMidge #MidgeDoll #Fashionsitas #MidgeVintage #DearMe #Twistnturn #super #BarbieStyle #BeSuper #HStyle #popscicle #bionicpop #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

I love the local versions of Barbie in the 80s, she was the latest dolls made by Aurimat!

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #BarbieLaceandLights #Lights #toyphotography #PlasticLove #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieSuperstar #Fashionsitas #Mermaid #Purple #DearMe #pink #super #Star #BarbieSuperStarSculpt #OrignalVintage #Lace #BeSuper #Hair #PopScicledude #TheBarbieLook #DollCollector #80s #Aurimat #Mexico #Vintage #OriginalVintage

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #BarbieLouboutin #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Refresh #Barbiegenerationgirl #Fashionsitas #BarbieBasicJeans #DearMe #LouboutinSculpt #super #BarbieStyle #BeSuper #HStyle #popscicle #bionicpop #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

Barbie Glam of the Glam & Sporty pack

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #stars #silverStars#toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #Glam #BarbieGlam #OrignalVintage #Swappinstyle #BeSuper #Barbieggfacesculpt

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #Orange #DoctorDoll #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDoctor#Fashionsitas #BarbieTotally #DearMe #pink #super #Star #BarbieSuperStarSculpt #OrignalVintage #SuperStarDoll #BeSuper #BarbieSpectacular #PopScicledude

This is the First edition of Barbie Love by Aurimat México. #Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #stars #AurimatMexico #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #BarbieAurimat #OrignalVintage #SuperStarDoll #BeSuper #BarbieLove #PopScicledude #MexicanBarbie

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #BarbieDoll #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Refresh #Barbiegenerationgirl #Fashionsitas #Plastic #DearMe #Mexico #super #BarbieStyle #BeSuper #HStyle #popscicle #bionicpop #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

Previews Unreleased Photo by me

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #Angel #Face #OrignalVintage #AngelFace #BeSuper #BarbieSuperStar

i love this marvelous doll! Barbie Fashionsitas

#BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #BarbieBlonde #Barbiebrunette #toyphotography #PlasticLove #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Fashionsitasquad #SuperBarbieDoll #fashionDoll #Fashionsitas #FashionistasDoll #NewYear #DearMe #super ##BarbieDesireSculpt #OrignalVintage #BeSuper #Hair #PopScicledude #Fashionsquad

#Barbie #MonsterHighDoll #ScarahScreams #MonsterHighCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #BionicPop #toycollector #Screams #Scarah #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Green #MonsterHigh #Fashionsitas #fashiondoll #DearMe #pink #super #OrignalVintage #MonsterDoll #BeSuper #PopScicledude

Barbie Fashionista Glam First Edition

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #stars #silverStars#toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #SuperStar #BarbieDecades #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #Star #Glam #BarbieGlam #OrignalVintage #Swappinstyle #BeSuper #Barbieggfacesculpt

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #PinkStars#toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Refresh #Barbiegenerationgirl #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #pink #super #BarbieStyle #Ggsculpt #BeSuper #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #fashion #WhoIsBarbie

Day 198/365. July 4th, 2011.

Last night I was doing some reading. There was an article written about the presence of body-positive blogs on the internet. Essentially the supposition is that these blogs can be as damaging as "pro-ana" (pro-anorexia for those not in the know), because they presumably promote an unhealthy lifestyle. Which, quite frankly (as anyone who has actually READ these blogs knows) is bullshit.

I spent my day today in the pool. My fat body in a swimsuit, comfortable and happy and at ease with myself. That's a way of life that's starting to be my status quo: being at ease with myself. And the article made me angry-- because some of these body-positive blogs should have some of the credit for my current body-positivity. In the wee hours of the morning, I wrote a response to the article, my take on the matter. Because my point is, and the point of these blogs is that EVERY body is beautiful. No matter what size, or shape, or condition. BEAUTY does not equal health.

The blog they specifically mentioned in the article is called "Stop Hating Your Body," and my response is below.

"You want to know what’s wrong with an article that (albeit politely) breaks down one source of positive self-esteem, of body-positivity, of body-acceptance, of self-love in a sea of body-hate and self-hate and general hate? What’s wrong is that the article misses the point. It assumes that to be body-positive, you must be touting Good. Health. As defined by… well, whoever the hell gets to define it I suppose.

And that’s where the problem begins. The article in question essentially takes the stand that Body-Positive blogs can be harmful because what they really seem to promote is unhealthy lifestyles, unhealthy eating habits. What it says is essentially that a body-positive blog like Stop Hating Your Body can be just as harmful as a Pro-Ana website… but to the opposite side of the spectrum. I should take a moment to say that the article’s author herself is not condemning body-positive blogs, her sources are concerns from the medical community that body-positive blogs may in fact be causing the polar problem of pro-ana blogs.

One of the points the article makes (particularly as quoted by another blogger) is that perhaps only “healthy” measurements should be published in these blogs. Here’s where the real issue begins to get a little bit dicey. The measurement in question specifically is the BMI which, if you haven’t been keeping track— was recently admitted by parts of the medical community to actually be… bullshit. Sorry. BMI does not take into account fat versus muscle. It doesn’t distinguish between men and women. And as it turns out, there’s a little paradox involved in the BMI that shows medically that being at the “overweight” level of the BMI index can actually be beneficial to your health. But I’m not here to talk about health to be honest— that’s not really where this is going.

And because I know I’m going to get a lot of hate from this rant.. .Yes. I am fat. I’m obese and I don’t need a BMI, Doctor, or random anonymous stranger to tell me that. Why? Because I’m not an idiot. I also know that I am not in the most fantastic physical health. Got it. I also know that my health level isn’t really any of your business. You don’t pay my medical bills, so unless you’re a friend or relation who actually LOVES me and wants my life to be long and healthy— you really have no right to make commentary on my level of health. Why do I say all of that? Because I want you to know that I am not using this rant to excuse, negate, or justify my being overweight. Because this rant is not ABOUT health. This rant is not about HEALTH-focused Blogs. This rant is not about HEALTHY habits, choices, food plans, or anything else. This rant is about misunderstanding Body-positivity and the idea of Beauty that we seem so willing to toss about as a term of exclusivity.

The point of blogs like Stop Hating Your Body, Curve Appeal, Big and Better and other truly body-positive blogs is not to tout healthy living. It’s not about health. It doesn’t need to be about health. Why? Because there are like 500,001 places on the internet that deal with health and weight loss and body-positivity is not limited within the strictures of healthy bodies. The point of these blogs is not about health— it’s about beauty. It’s about every woman (and man’s) fundamental right to feel beautiful and worthwhile and accepted and valued— even if the only one who does— is you, yourself.

I mentioned in my comment that we are bombarded by thousands, if not millions of sources, images, magazines, ads, tv shows, websites, forums, blogs, comments that tell us that we have to look a certain way in order to be considered beautiful. And that way apparently does not include anyone who doesn’t look like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. A commenter was kind enough to point out that these days some of these stores do now offer sizes up to 22, which is great-truly, except have you seen any size 22’s in their ads showing them off?

Exactly. Even big-girl shops like Lane Bryant, Avenue, Fashion Bug have (in the recent past at least) relied heavily (no pun intended) on “average” sized models. But I will tell you from experience, that a plus size dress does not look the same on a plus size model as it does on me. Because even plus size models aren’t truly— PLUS. In their defense, many of these big-girl retailers HAVE started utilizing larger models but even then they are so airbrushed, so edited, so photoshopped— that even if they have a size 28 on a model… the same item of clothing on me is going to look disappointing.

And that’s why these blogs exist, that’s why there is SHYB, and Curve Appeal and any other blog that supports body-positivity. Do you understand what body-positivity really means? Because it’s not about health, or weight, or size. It’s about recognizing that no matter what any of those measurements or statuses are— the person standing in front of you is valuable, and beautiful and worthwhile, just as you are.

Body-positivity is recognizing that you don’t know how a person got to the place they are. It’s recognizing that you have no idea if I have a healthy diet or an unhealthy one. It’s recognizing that you don’t know my size isn’t due to a medical condition beyond my control. It’s recognizing that you can’t look at a skinny girl and assume she’s anorexic. It’s recognizing that there is more about BEAUTY than judgement. It’s recognizing that there is more about BEAUTY than what size jeans I pull over my hips in the morning. It’s recognizing that the person standing in front of you is a human being, and that in a world that is determined to tell her she is not worthy— it is our job as fellow human beings— to make her believe that she IS.

It isn’t about healthy or unhealthy. It’s about being told that you are worth the air that you breathe, no matter the shape or size or condition of the body that breathes it.

I’m almost 30 years old. I weigh more than 300 pounds and I wear a size 26/28. And I have spent a concerted portion of my life thinking I was ugly. Worthless. Where were my role models? Where were the big beautiful women in love with themselves, loved by others for me to see and relate to?

I wasn’t always a big girl. Once upon a time I too was healthy, average. But even then— I still felt unworthy, unpretty, unwanted. Why? Because even healthy and average isn’t something you see plastered on billboards.

And that’s why SHYB and sites like it exist. Because no girl (or boy) deserves to grow up thinking that they’re not worth it because they don’t fit some impossible ideal. Because in order to be healthy, you have to learn to love yourself just the way you are. When I started therapy last year, it’s one of the first things my therapist told me— that in order to mold my life and my body into the shape that I ultimately wanted— I had to learn to love it exactly the way it is. Almost a year later— I’m there. Partly because of blogs like SHYB and Curve Appeal. Because there is finally a place in the universe that says, “You are BEAUTIFUL, no matter what.”

I don’t need a blog to tell me I’m not healthy— or how to BE healthy. I need one to tell me that even though I’m not healthy I still have value in the world. Or rather, I used to need that. Now that validation comes from within. But it’s nice to have a reminder now and then.

The problem with that article is that what it doesn’t take into account, what its concerned medical sources don’t take into account that we live in a society that is rampant with judgement and hatred. It doesn’t take into account that it is somehow acceptable for random strangers to fly in as “anonymous” and try to tear down girls and call them ugly, or gay (as if that’s a bad thing), or fat, or stupid. It doesn’t take into account that these sites are (for most followers) refuges of self-esteem in a world where every single image and opinion that surrounds you is determined to make you feel unworthy of even being alive.

What these blogs are trying to do is two-fold: the first is to teach the world that there is value in everybody; and the second is to teach that same world that it is time once and for all that we stop judging ourselves and each other. What these blogs are trying to do is revolutionize the world so that we can go back to valuing each other as fellow human beings instead of as marketing demographics.

I am beautiful. You are beautiful. And i don't have to see you to say that. i don't have to know your bra size, your weight, what stores you can shop in for clothes. I know that you are beautiful. And if you can't look in the mirror and say that about yourself-- you need to recognize that it's not about what you see. You deserve to feel beautiful-- no matter what you see in the mirror.

Day 76/365

This message, to a certain extent, goes along with yesterday's. After using my photo to reach out I was so moved by the response, messages, texts, invitations. It was a really gratifying thing to be reminded how much I am loved... it was something I think I've been needing to hear.

But it did bring up some of my anxiety again... and, as counter-intuitiive as it may seem-- it also brought out my instinct to isolate. And i think that in itself may have explained why I haven't reached out before. I WILL be taking people up on some of the offers they made, for company, for activity, for getting together. But my first reaction to some of the emails and messages... was to withdraw into my silent and safe solitary space.

Aside from being counter-intuitive... that kind of response is completely counter-productive. That response is part of what got me to the point I'm at-- lonely. I have always lived in such fear that I am not enough... not just for myself but for other people. I've felt so out of place socially for so long that finding a balance between my desire to connect and my instinct to hide is going to be a really delicate thing for me in the coming months. And yes, I have to admit part of that will always be traceable to my anxiety issues, but as much progress as I've made over the last year socially speaking-- it's time to stop letting that influence my friendships. If I hide away from everything, I'll never reach a space where I'm at peace with myself, much less with my life.

So I'm going to stop hiding. I'm going to try and ignore the voice that feels... unworthy of friendship. I'm going to ignore that instinct to be solitary because it feels safer. For me, Solitude isn't safety-- it's just empty.

I probably won't accept every invitation... but coffee, a movie... dinner... a day out to take a drive, a quiet day by the lake, an adventure. I'll start getting to know everyone again... or rather... finally. Maybe I'll start seeing what others find so worthy about Me. Maybe I'll start seeing it... and believing it. And maybe someday I won't have to rely on other people to show me my worth because I'll be able to look in the mirror and see it for myself. But I never will if I don't. stop. hiding.

i love her!!!!

#Barbie #BarbieDoll #BarbieStyle #BarbieCollector #doll #dollcollector #dollphotography #toy #toycollector #Mattel #BlueFlowers #toyphotography #look #thelookinspiration #fashiondoll #fashionphoto #Refresh #BarbieNewFace #Fashionsitas #BarbieFashionistas #DearMe #fashionTrend #EndlessHairKingdom #BarbieStyle #Flowerprints #BeSuper #OrignalVintage #Style #BeSuper #Beyourself #WhoIsBarbie

Day 94/365

This was actually a message sent to me by a friend earlier this week. And in addition to the fact that it just flat out made me grin from ear to ear, it gave me a moment of pause because my very first reaction was, "Yes, I am!" Which is a far cry from how I would have reacted 3 months ago. I am strong, I am incredible, and I am, in at least some sense... everything. And once I was done being excited that my own sense of self-worth has grown so far, I wondered what exactly had spurred her to send me such a random outpouring of love.

It took me a little bit to work out what spawned the message, outside of just her having a big heart, which she does, but I finally figured it out.

i post this project in several locations on the web, one of them being tumblr. If you're not familiar with it, it's essentially a sharing/blogging site that seems (in my experience) to be at least primarily populated by the youth of the world... young women (and men) who seem to range in age from 14 to 20 or so.

One of the hazards of being active in a community like that is that you come across a lot of sadness, a lot of despair-- and yes, a lot of young people (and not so young) are gripped by the belief that suicide is the only answer to their depression, that suicide is the only way out of their fear and pain and anxiety.

This last week alone, I saw several posts being re-published by friends of young people who were at the very edge of suicide. One of them really spoke to me, close to the heart. And although I usually stop at a silent prayer for the young person in question, to this particular post, I responded-- sending a message to the young woman in question, and in turn, posting my letter in my own blog.

There have been times in my life when I thought suicide was the answer. Times when I've been at the edge of that particular abyss and have been, by the grace of God, saved. Most notably, almost 11 years ago, when a dorm-mate walked into my locked dorm room and stopped me from taking a handful of pills that were laid out and ready on my desk.

If you are a close friend, or family member... the letter I wrote to this young woman may be hard to read. But I think it's important to post it here as well. Please know that it's been many years since I've felt the way I felt that day... and suicide is not something I would ever consider the "answer" to hardship. Although I was once there, I am not now, nor will I ever be again. Because I am stronger, happier, and safer than I have ever been in my life. And I know that I will never be in that space again.

That being said... what follows is the message that (i think) spawned the message of tonight's photo:

-------------------------------- -- -- -- -- -- ------------------------------------

If you are in the grips of depression, if you are on the edge of suicide and thinking things will never get better, that no one understands what it is to stare at that end-space that no one else seems to see… I DO. I do because I was there. I have been there. And I have come back. And even though I never believed it when anyone told me I could… I did. Because my life is worth more than the pills I would have once used to take it.

I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I know where you are. I have been where you are.

I have stared at a small pile of pills, white with red letters, against a fake wood background, next to a keyboard, and a computer, and a mouse and a notebook, and a cup of water.

I’ve watched them swim in a haze of tears that never quite fall.

I’ve felt them in my hand, played them through my fingers. I’ve watched and waited for the “courage” to pick them up, to put them to my lips. And as the moment came, my “locked” dorm room door sprang open to reveal a friend, arrived just in time to stop me.

And 10 years later, I am so glad to have been interrupted by a dorm-mate, to have been stopped, to have been helped. Because 10 years later, my life is nowhere near where it was in that moment. That moment where it seemed like the end was all that was left.

I want to walk in your door. I want to drop them down the sink, the drown them there with that glass of water. I want to take your hand so it is full of love and support and healing… instead of pills. I want to sit with you until those tears that won’t quite fall— do.

There is so much more than this moment and those pills. There is so much more than an ending.

And I know it doesn’t feel like it now. It took years for me to forgive her for interrupting me. But I thank her now daily in my prayers… thank the universe for the yielding door that I swear to this day that I locked behind me.

My life is not perfect, nor will yours be dear girl.

But it is worth more than a pile of pills and cup of water. I promise you. I swear to you. I know, because once upon a time, I didn’t think mine was either.

Please don’t.

-

Please don’t.

-

Please talk to me.

-

Talk to someone.

-

But know that you are worth more than a pile of pills and cup of water. Please… don’t let that be what you trade your marvelous, magical, wonderful being for.

There is so much more than this one moment. It’s not an even exchange. Even if it seems as though it’s been years since you’ve been happy— it’s not an even exchange.

You are loved.

-

I don’t even know you and I love you.

-

You are worth more than this one moment. And someday I hope you know that. Someday I hope you are still around to know that. To believe it.

Please. don’t.

------

But now, 11 years after my own battle with suicide, I’m heading to bed… feeling Incredible. Strong… and yes… happy too.

Day 145/365

Tonight's therapy session was hard. The hardest I've had in awhile I think. It's the first time I've seen SuperTherapist since my last gyno exam, since my trip to the ER. And there was a lot on my mind, a lot in my heart that I needed to talk about. It helped, she helped, but then again she usually does. We talked a lot about the last couple of weeks, about some of the emotional backsteps I've been taking. We talked about dealing with some of the issues that came up after my exam, and about the fears I've been dealing with after my allergic reaction.

It's not so much anything I've done, it's more about the way i've been feeling the last couple weeks. Scared. Sad. Frustrated. After how upset I was at my last Gyno visit, I honestly wondered (for the first time really) if I ever WILL be in a place where I can have a relationship with someone. If I will ever be in a place where I can handle the kind of intimacy that comes with a real and lasting relationship. And the truth is, until last Tuesday I'd always just assumed that someday I would be able to handle it that someday I will reach a point where I can let someone be that close to me-- emotionally and physically. But after last Tuesday, for the first time I actually had the thought that... maybe I've been wrong.

And that made me so sad. To think that that may be something I never move past. I don't want to be alone for ever. I don't want to live my life without having that kind of intimacy with another person. After a tearful session with SuperTherapist I realize of course how unrealistic that is. I know that just because I'm still struggling with this doesn't mean I always will.

I'm a work in progress. Top off all of that with the fear I've been feeling since my trip to the ER and it's been a challenging couple of weeks. But it's going to get better. It is. I believe that. And in the meantime, all this will do is make me stronger, and braver, and wiser too. I deal with all of this now so that I can be better in the future. So that I can be ready someday for all the things I want from my life. Someday all of this will just be... more baggage that I can say is behind me. I can pack it all away and be done with it someday.

Someday this will all just be.. the stuff I survived to get the part of my life that's meant to be. The stuff I survived that made me stronger, and smarter, and braver. The stuff that created ME.

Day 119/365

The truth is I actually wrote this quote a little bit backwards. The first line is actually the last: "The hardest thing to do is leaving your comfort zone."

For someone who lived for years (2 decades really) with a severe anxiety disorder, this quote has extra meaning. But even now, facing my doctor-fears, my health concerns... it is relevant as well.

My comfort zone is to be as self-contained as possible. The truth is that these days though, I have a lot more support available than once I did. One of the things we talked about a lot last week in therapy was using the support that I have available. My fears for my upcoming Dr. visit, the anxiety that I have about it and we talked about me taking someone with me to the appointment. For support, to keep me calm, to help ground me during the exam. A hand to hold.

My hesitation, my reluctance was palpable. I have friends that have offered to come with me to this particular appointment, but none that I would feel comfortable having with me. The whole gyno thing is just so... personal, so intimate and uncomfortable.

My mom has also offered. And Supertherapist was a big fan of that particular idea. For me though, it was a pause. I've actually declined the offer several times in the past. Because I know that no matter how much I prepare myself emotionally for this, I am going to have a hard time. This is a situation that makes me feel extremely vulnerable and honestly-- very scared.

In truth, I've not been touched--at all really- below the waist since I was molested. Aside from one "boyfriend" who rested once a hand on my thigh when I was 20, and the one pedicure in my life (which I survived but have never had any desire to repeat). Not friends, not family, no one. Not intentionally anyway. So the idea of being examined in a paper gown, so intimately, so ... nakedly... ...

I don't like feeling vulnerable (who does.) My instinct in those situations is to draw inward, rely on my own wells of strength. Not the answer Supertherapist wanted to hear. In fact she made a very valid point... and it was this point in particular that led me to ask my mom to come with me.

Being adopted... my birth family missed out on so many life events, so many moments that my adopted family got to see, got to be part of... that they get to remember. And good bad or indifferent... this "women's visit" is in itself a bit of a rite of passage too... belated as it may be, and even if I didn't need support to go through it-- is it fair to deny my mom a moment that she might otherwise have also missed?

I know that she is eager to support me in this moment. I know she's eager to support me at any moment. It's one of the most comforting things about having her, and all my birth family in my life. There is something different about the support that comes from blood.

And while I've forgiven my adopted mom for her failings, for her humanity, for the things I know she would wish could have been done differently-- maybe it's time to go to the next step and really move forward... to move forward holding another mother's hand for support, for love. I have to let go of my emotional self-reliance and accept that my family is here to support me. That they are here to love me and comfort me.

And I am so grateful for that. That after 23 years apart, we found each other, and now 6 years later... I am in a position to say-- "this is difficult for me, and I want you to be there-- I need you to be there."

This whole experience is going to be ridiculously awkward. And I know that no matter what steps I take to try and be calm and OK with this exam... I will need a hand to hold.

It's time to let that be my new comfort zone. To let my family in. To let my mom in. Because she wants to be there, and I want her there. And how blessed I am to have that in my life.

Day 66/365

I had some tears today. They welled up out of nowhere... springing from a well of loneliness that I'd forgotten about. One, I thought, I had covered over. Imagine my surprise to suddenly find water falling on my cheeks as I sat quietly at my desk-- seemingly apropos of nothing. And I wiped them away, until they were falling to heavily for me to keep up with, and then I just wondered.

What, on earth, was wrong with me tonight?

And I accidentally clicked the scroll wheel on my mouse, which, on my Mac, brings up my calendar. That's when it clicked. I don't watch the calendar anymore, I don't wait for certain days to appear. Once upon a time I did, I dreaded them. Days when my heart just... hurt.

Today was one of them. This was a day that changed things for me. The year my first brother died, this was the day he went into the hospital for the last time. It was the end of the day, 7, maybe 8pm and after staring pointlessly at my homework, I gave up and climbed into the shower. I had just started to rinse the shampoo from my hair when I heard it:

*THUMP THUMP THUMP* Pounding, the heavy sound of fists against the wall downstairs... my heart jumped. I scrambled from the shower, water streaming down my back, down my face, tickling up goosebumps on my arms... I snatched a towel and raced to the top of the stairs to see my mom leaning against the stairwell wall down below...

"Michael's sick again. I'm going to meet Daddy at the hospital, do you want to come or do you want to stay here?"

I opted to stay. I felt the fear creeping through my bones, following the trail of goosebumps through my body, tracing across my skin as I headed back to the bathroom, where I plunked myself on the closed lid of the toilet seat, and just... sat-- shivering and scared. I had no one to call. I had no one to reach out to. I had no words to voice what was happening in my head anyway. What would I have said?

And I felt so disastrously alone.

That was the night I began cutting. I was 12. And I had no idea what else to do. I had nowhere to go, no-one to call, I just needed to stop feeling. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to stop the tears while I still could. And maybe it's the fear of that pounding on the wall. Maybe it's the curse of visceral memory. Or maybe it's just that February 22nd was the day I finally realized that the boy who defied all the odds really was going to die. Whatever the reason, 17 years later, my heart welled with tears that I couldn't place, couldn't identify-- until I realized what today is.

2/22, 3/25 (the day he died), 4/25 (the day my adopted mom passed) and 5/1 (the day of mom's funeral)... these dates have a mind of their own, they live in my heart and draw from their own wells of hurt and loneliness and longing even when I'm not conscious of them.

I looked at the date a million times today. But until my cheeks were wet with mysterious teardrops, I never made the connection.

And to my credit, for once, I didn't fight them. I stopped brushing them away and let them fall, dripping in trickles onto my shoulders, my desk, even the backs of my hands as they rested on my keyboard. I let them fall, I allowed myself my moment of grief, and then I tried to move forward. I didn't entirely succeed, but I do feel better. And as I was feeling frustrated and lonely and wondering how I was ever going to be inspired enough to come up with something to do for tonight's photo, I came across this quote. It reminded me of a few discussions that SuperTherapist and I have had about grief, and emotion. About how in the past I've always tried to push them aside, move past them without moving THROUGH them. And maybe it's time that I lived with my grief for a little while. Maybe it's time I allowed it some room to move in my life, allowed it to course through my veins, to shed itself in my tears. Maybe if I let my grief have a life of its own, if I let myself really FEEL it for once, then it will start to actually fade. And maybe someday, some year... I won't find myself wondering about the tears on my cheek at the end of February... in March, in April. Maybe someday I can look back at the loss and just be able to quietly and calmly stand in my own space and say, "I miss you... but I've moved on."

Maybe it's time to allow myself the sacredness of tears. So that I can finally move from a place of overwhelming grief... into a space of unspeakable love.

Day 23/365

I was surfing tumblr today as I'm wont to do of late, and saw this note posted by one of the blogs I follow. i needed that today. Work was stressful and hectic, and it was the kind of day where even if I had stayed until 8, or 9 I still wouldn't have gotten done a fraction of what needed to get done.

So, I left shortly after 6, and accepted that I just wasn't going to get enough done. Well-- I tried to accept it. But in truth, I went home frustrated and a little depressed, feeling- yet again, as though i just wasn't good enough.

I know that's not true. I know that this is the industry I work in. And so I surfed facebook, and tumblr, and I looked for inspiration, for something uplifting. And while I won't say it changed my whole mood-- seeing this quote did make me smile. And today-- I just needed a smile.

Day 40/365

It should be no surprise, given the theme of my latest posts, that tonight's therapy session focused heavily (no pun intended) on my body issues. On the difficulty I have accepting and loving my physical form as it is now. We talk about how my body has been my protection from unwanted attention after my abuse. About how it has been a border for me, a wall to keep people away. It has been my control.

"What would it take for you to love yourself as you are?" "What if this body is all you were to ever have? What if this IS the form you were meant to have, the shape you were meant to live in for the rest of your life?"

Tears on that one. The idea that my rolls, my stretch marks, my curves, my cellulite, my fat... that those pieces of me could be Me. forever. It was a quick jump to tears, I didn't even see it coming really. We talked about learning to love my body. To isolate parts of my body and give them attention, love, touch. To appreciate that my body DID protect me, that it did keep away unwanted attention, unwanted touch. That the job of protection is done now. Now, I need to start letting go, and start loving my body-- one piece at a time. Start with a foot she said, rub lotion on it, thank it for getting you around, for walking you from place to place. And I did my bobblehead thing... where I nod and nod and nod and process.

And inside I'm thinking, I wonder how many chins I have when I'm sitting on the couch like this? Is my shirt covering my stomach enough? And when she asks me what I'm thinking... I tell her. So we talk about my negative self-talk, and about how (as even I have admitted) I have to learn to love myself now so that the changes I make to my body will come form a place of love and not hate.

Every session (well, we try to remember every session) we end the session with an "Angel Card." It's this tiny set of cards and on each card is written a word. SuperTherapist has a little notebook and in the notebook there is a little blurb to correspond with each card's word. The definition is in there, but then there's these little... nuggets of wisdom. I always pull my card at the end of the session and so far every time it's been eerily appropriate. Never so much as tonight though. We spent an hour (and a half actually) talking about loving myself, about learning to love myself and what card do I pull when all is said and done?

Love.

:sigh: Damn you universe, you are clearly paying way too much attention to my therapy sessions.

So, at the risk of running a little long in the tooth, here is what the book says about the Love card:

"Definition: A strong affection, attachment, or devotion to delight and take pleasure in; passionate affection

When you draw this card it usually makes you smile! Make the connection. Reach out and share yourself with those you love. It is an appropriate time to turn your intimate attention to your own feelings. Know your worth. All love begins with loving yourself. This is a card of well-being. Feel the joy of life. Be in the moment and be what you are - LOVE.

Love is the key to happiness. Do you love yourself enough to risk making changes? Sometimes love means letting go. (Grow!)

Love is a positive emotion. Do not allow it to be a crutch.

"Do What You Love and the Money Will Follow," is the name of the book and very sound advice.

Try to feel the oneness with all life on this planet. Allow others to be who they need to be. unconditional love takes practice and discipline.

To truly love you must let go of your tight control.

Love is the fullness of feeling that arises out of your need to open and connect. Love is the reason for life. Take the rare opportunity to discover love as a sacred path which calls on you to awaken to the fullness and depth of who you truly are."

Thor was annoyed by the Christian crusades from Spain. He took them out to rebalance to the Vikings or so he thought.

Size: 8 x 10 inches

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Day 52/365

This was something I probably should have carried with me all day. Sometimes I have days where I just... ugh.

I booked 2 orders today. 2. My minimum is supposed to be an average of 13. I only booked 2 because I spent my whole day ... My WHOLE day, dealing with late cars, and things exploding on my desk. I walked away 3 times out of sheer frustration, I spent my lunch hour trying to step away, reading my book in my car away from the office, but in the back of my mind-- trying to figure out what to do about a difficult rental situation (which didn't end up getting resolved by the way).

And even though I worked my tail off all day, stayed after our meeting to finish a few things, and didn't even end up leaving the office until after 7... I still did not get done everything I needed to. And tomorrow...

Tomorrow it won't even start all over again... because it will just be me trying desperately to make up for the bookings I didn't get done today, while trying to resolve all the issues I couldn't resolve today, or didn't even have time to find out about.

And I know I am stronger than this job-- but I am struggling to find that peace. I've come leaps and bounds from where I was last summer... if I were still in that space I would probably STILL be working (albeit from home) trying to catch up ... a tempting idea to be honest. If I were still in that space I wouldn't be talking about it. If I were still in that space I would be having panic attacks. If i were still in that space I'd be cutting. I'd be questioning myself. I'd be doubting myself. I'd be desperate.

But I am not there anymore. I am stronger. I am calmer. I am more in control. Because I have released some of my control and accepted that not everything will get done. The problem I have is that in my head-- I still have the unrealistic desire to GET everything done-- even though I know it's just not possible.

Tonight at our weekly meeting, I was praised. For my empathy with my customers. For my ability to take a bad shipping experience and turn it into something that a customer can still be positive about. It was said that others could learn from that-- from the empathy that my customers can sense in me. And empathy is the right word-- and it's sort of the crux of a lot of my problems with this job. I am an empathetic person. I am an emotional person. I am a caring person. I get vested in my customers, vested in their needs. And although I can separate better from it now than I could over the summer-- there is only so much of that that I can turn off, and in truth there's only so much of that I WANT to turn off.

I don't want to be an automaton.. I don't want to be robotic. I want my customers to know that I DO care, that I DO understand, that I DO empathize with them. But somehow, I have got to believe I am STRONG enough that being empathetic doesn't have to mean losing myself in every issue, every hitch, every hiccup. I have to learn to balance caring with professional reserve. Which is a great idea in theory... but how do I create a wall between my head and my heart? I care. It's part of me. Do I want to have to separate from that piece of myself-- just to survive in a job?

I am stronger now than I think I have ever been. But somehow that peace portion... still eludes me when it comes to work. Because even when things are going relatively smoothly-- I just can't seem to be at peace with what I do. I need to get that back. I need to go back to being at peace with my job. I'm just not sure how to do that.

Edition of Barbie Magic Moves made in Spain i love the variations of this dolls of the 80s!

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Day 137/365

In truth, I don't really even want to talk about tonight. I was trying to be proactive. To get cleared for the procedure that will fix my female issues, I have to see my primary care physician. I made an appointment for next week, but since I've been feeling like my bronchitis might be making a comeback-- I decided to be SMART about my health for once, and go to the Dr. when I started feeling punk, instead of when I was already full-blown sick.

So I went to Doc-in-the-Box and got an antibiotic, cough syrup, steroid. I picked up some cough drops and tissue at the pharmacy and came home to start medicating. I was careful, at the Dr. to give him the list of pain pills I've been taking, hoping to avoid bad med interactions.

At home, I got ready for bed, took 2 vicodin for the pain, took an antibiotic, swigged some of the cough syrup, popped a cough drop and laid down to hopefully sleep soundly for the first time all week.

And then my face started to get hot, my hands started to itch and for the first time in my life I had a severe allergic reaction. As we rushed to the ER (for the first time in my life) my whole body itched like fire and I struggled to keep from screaming. I stepped from the car to go check in while Kris parked, and suddenly-- pavement. I remember feeling sick to my stomach, leaning over and then just... hitting the floor and then nothing.

I recovered a little, as Kris' out-the-door dose of benedryl finally eased some of the symptoms ever so slightly, sat back up and with some help, sat back in the car to wait for a wheelchair.

When I woke up again, I was confused... I felt the gravel of the drive under my fingers and thought, "Wait... I already got up from the ground..." Apparently I'd passed out again, toppling from the passenger seat back onto the ground. That's when they brought the stretcher.

For the next couple of hours, they poked and prodded and searched for my damnably invisible veins, injected epi, struggled to get my blood pressure, made me repeat myself a million times to explain what I'm being treated for, what I'd taken, why I'd taken it.

I'm a person who likes a certain amount of control-- it's one of the reasons I do usually wait so long to go to a Dr. when I'm sick, one of the reasons I have a hard time asking for "help" with my emotional and physical health. I like to feel (or seem like) like I have control. Tonight was a nightmare for me. Not just because I was terrified about what was happening (i was), but because it really was the ultimate loss of control. I couldn't even walk myself into the hospital once we were there.

Add all of that to some leftover emotional baggage from last night's exam and I needed today's message. Needed it desperately. To remind myself that I am strong, that I'm capable. That there is peace and calm within me, and that I am strong enough to move beyond my fear.

I don't know that I'm in that space right now, that I'm in that space this week. I just don't. But I wanted to remind myself of it. Even if right this second, I'm still just tired and sore and yes, even still, a little scared.

Day 25/365

The last few weeks, I've been bothered a bit by both some recovered memories, and some obnoxious scars. I spent about 12 years of my life as a self-injurer, cutting myself as a means of trying to deal with the aftermath of my abuse. And although I would consider myself a "recovered" self-injurer, it is a battle that I still struggle with on occasion. This week especially I've been very aware of what is left behind by all those years. Fading marks, itching scars (blessedly few of those thankfully), off-color lines on my arms and legs. They are things that I will someday have to explain to a lover, a girlfriend, a wife. A map on my skin that illustrates a pain I once was unable to express with words.

On top of this increasing awareness of my scars, I've been reacquainting myself with my memories. Good, bad, indifferent... some memories I've gone in search of, and others have found me. It's odd-- the satisfaction you can find in "recovering" a memory you've been looking for. But it's a different kind of peace that comes when a memory finds YOU. In the last few days I've been blessed to remember some GOOD things, moments from when I was a very small girl, still innocent, still hopeful, still believing in so many things that I later lost faith in (at least for awhile). Having a good memory settle around your spirit... it's a bit like-- sleeping a cold room and having someone tuck a quilt in quietly and carefully around you, nipped up under your chin as even in your sleep you feel the comfort of warmth spread from your toes to your nose. Being found by a good memory is like that. Warm, comforting, peaceful.

Now, there have been less pleasant memories too. But even then-- well, how can I move forward if I don't know what I've left behind? When I first started noticing the holes in my memory being filled I was actually disappointed... there is a complacency in being forgetful. A numbness even. And in truth, sometimes even the good memories are bittersweet... finding pieces and moments when I can remember the way my life was before he ruined it, before he ruined me. Before I decided I was worthless, and bad. Before I took everything so seriously, before I was afraid and insecure and angry. In some ways, it was easier NOT to remember that I was different before.

But the truth is, this message is dead on. If I don't remember where I started, if I don't remember what changed and when, and how and why... if I don't have my scars as markers of what I've been through-- How can I honor a journey if I have no mile-markers to show me how far I've really gone? These are my markers. These scars, these memories, these recovered moments in time.

This is how far I've come. Headed back to where I really started from.

Day 41/365

I have decided that today was a test. I didn't outright fail, which is good... but I didn't exactly pass with flying colors either. I think if I had to grade me today... we'd probably be looking at about... a C+... maybe a B-.

It's been a crazy couple of weeks at work, and today was the cherry on top. Issues abounded, and when I took a deep breath, stepped away to go and enjoy a carefree lunch hour-- I got most of the way to my lunch choice-- and heard "pfbthffffffffffft." Which any seasoned bad-luck driver will recognize as the sound of a tire falling flat.

But I was cool, I can handle a tire change. I did accept the assistance of Chivalrous Gentleman #2 who happened along as I was deciding that the bolts might actually be superglued to the car. But I did the rest of it myself. Back at work, and things exploded on my desk, as usual. And by the end of the day, I was tired, sore, scraped (tire changing I can do, but apparently not without scraping my arms, or cutting my fingers... stupid tire), and incredibly frustrated.

At one point I actually walked away from my desk, logged out of my phone and hid in the bathroom to post on facebook, "So Frustrated I could SPIT." To which several of my friends and family said, "Go for it!"

As I walked in the door at home, my work cell rang. I answered, but heard the sounds of conversation... assuming I'd been butt-dialed, I said hello loudly a few times, then hung up. My personal cell rang shortly after. I knew who it was. It was the same number. Only one customer has both numbers. I groaned, answered, and shot my whole night to crap.

Overwhelmed at not even being able to SIT for a MINUTE and relax before being confronted with a major customer issue... I lost it a little bit.

Ok, I lost it a lot. As Kris and I headed out to dinner, I started to feel the crushing anxiety that used to plague me daily. I couldn't stand the thought of being out, being seen, being in the world. I made her take me home.

Safely ensconced in my room, I bawled. Ugly-cryin', nose-runnin', choking sobs. Like I haven't in MONTHS. Like I haven't since I started therapy.

And while I was drowning myself, feeling small, and stressed, and overwhelmed... I remembered the words of SuperTherapist from our session last night.

"I think that you are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for."

I have come a long way since last summer. I am not in the same emotional space that I was. I have new tools to use. I have a foundation of hope and knowledge that I didn't have before. And I allowed myself to cry, allowed myself to feel a little stressed, and a little overwhelmed.

And then I let it go. I called Kris, met her at the restaurant and tried to loosen up. I am still exhausted, and I probably wasn't the BEST company I've ever been. But I moved through it. And that's something I couldn't do 6, 7, 8 months ago.

My strength, my capabilities, are not limited to being able to change a tire... it's about more than that. It's about the ability to move beyond these moments that used to be my constant. About knowing that they are just that-- moments.

And tomorrow, when I go into the office to deal with my end-of-the-day-almost-ready-to-relax issue... I will breathe, I will deal with it, and then I will leave it behind me and go get my tire replaced. I will know that I am capable of dealing with stress and frustration and not letting it take over.

Because I am stronger.

Day 15/365

This is one of my favorite quotes from Winnie the Pooh. A reminder to myself that there is more within me than I generally give myself credit for. The more time I put into this project, the more I share about it not just with strangers but with family and friends as well, the more I have to remind myself that I am stronger, braver, smarter than I've ever believed before.

Deciding to make this project public was not an easy one. I have purposely not spoken about parts of my journey because for years I've tried to downplay them, negate them, or ignore them altogether. Which is how, 20 years later, I am just now starting to move beyond. So, although it's led to some difficult and emotional conversations-- the benefit is that this journey is not just mine anymore. I am supported, encouraged, and held-up in prayer by those that know and love me best... because now they know so much more than ever before.

we're goofballs

Day 19/365

Ok, this is going to get personal. Sorry. No-- you know what? I'm not. The whole point of this project is to share, to let go, to move forward. So I'm not sorry to get personal, I'm just going to do it. 20 years ago, I was abused by a now long-estranged extended family member on my adopted mom's side of the family. Since that day, one of the things I have struggled with on a regular basis is touch. Being touched specifically, on my legs.

Today I have my first full-body massage scheduled. I am blessed that a dear friend who is a massage therapist also works in the same building as my actual therapist, and they have done joint sessions before. I have participated in this before, but the last time we kept it all above the waist, back shoulders, arms... I just wasn't ready to confront the rest of it yet. But in recent weeks I've come to the realization that I *have* to confront it. I have to if I really want to put it, and him, behind me. So tomorrow, I'll be in an office upstairs instead of down, supported by 2 women instead of one and I'll force his memory away from my body and replace it with something healthful and healing and loving.

I don't expect a miracle, there is no panacea for something like this. But I do expect peace. I expect to start reclaiming my own skin, my own body, my own power. This will be the first time in 20 years that I have allowed someone to intentionally, purposefully *touch* my legs. skin to skin. And I am... afraid. Not because I don't trust the people who are supporting me as I do this, but because I'll be tackling something that to me has seemed insurmountable for so long. In recent years i've been able to stand casual touches without breaking down, to have someone lay a hand on my jean-clad knee without melting down. But with body issues, and body memory, and my own insecurities-- this step today is big for me. And scary. And exciting.

The quote in today's letter is something I'm known for throwing out as advice to my own friends, family members, acquaintances. I guess it was time for that to come back to me too. I think all the really brave things you do, all the really worthwhile things you do count because you were afraid to do them in the first place. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave. And I am stronger than he is. Stronger than he was. And I will take my body back and make it MINE again-- the way it always should have been.

Day 143/365

I didn't really have anything major happen today. Which was kind of nice for a change. The last month or so, really since the beginning of the year everything's been so "major." Stress, illness, anxiety. It was nice to just have a regular day for once.

Tomorrow I go to see my new Primary Care Physician and hopefully get cleared for surgery. Then I just have to find a surgeon since the Gyno I saw seems to now be unwilling to do the surgery she herself is recommending. But let's not go there shall we?

Every night when I sit to find inspiration for these photos, I go through pages and pages of quotes and images and sayings to find things that speak to me. This particular quote keeps popping up and each time it does I stop and read it once more and think about who has taken time in my life to tell me I can't do something.

And the truth is, that list is pretty small. The biggest and loudest person on it? Is me. I'm the one that holds me back, the one who has always held me back. Today, when I saw this quote I went and looked at myself and the mirror. I stared and evaluated and did everything I'm not supposed to be doing. I listened to the voice in my head that critized and critiqued and spit hatefulness at my reflection.

I listened to the final tolling of "you can't, you'll never, you won't." And when that voice finally quieted. When it finally ran out of ways to bully me. I stared at myself a little bit longer and responded for the first time ever.

I can. Watch me.

Today I got kudos from an account that has been problematic since the day they were signed. An email was sent to one of our owner's that the account's team had provided really great feedback about their new point of contact (Me). And I say that not to toot my own horn (toot!), but as proof that no matter what the naysayers may think (myself included) I am capable and smart and talented. No matter how many people say that i can't, no matter how loudly that voice in my head shouts it... I can. Watch me.

I've said before that it's a challenge for me, to turn off that voice, to erase that tape. But it's time. Time to stop listening to that voice.

So this is my new response, this is my new refrain. I can. Watch me.

I can. Watch me.

My Birthday Doll :3 i love her! Is a golden girl!

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Day 155/365

I spent the day editing photos from last night's show. All day. And I know some people think it's weird, fangirling over burlesque dancers, watching shows from behind my camera lenses, finger constantly on the trigger, sore muscles, taking 15-20 shots that may seem almost identical to a casual observer.

But I don't see it that way. A lot of people equate Burlesque with stripping but their only partly (and a very small part at that) right. Burlesque is about art. Music. Comedy. It's about pushing the envelope of convention. It's about confidence and beauty. It's about being a size 2, a size 12, a size 28, a size 32 and getting the same level of applause and cheers when a skirt hits the stage. It's not about how voluptuous you have to be, it's about how you shake whatever you have!

The truth is, I think my attendance at these shows has helped my own confidence. Hell, didn't I just commit to wearing a dress myself at the next show I attend?

The thing is, if these events have taught me anything it's this: it really truly does not matter what you look at. It doesn't. It doesn't matter if you're looking at someone across a room, or at yourself in a mirror. It's about what you SEE. Do you see beauty? Or do you see flaws?

One of my favorite dancers is a woman named Pixie O'Kneel. She's probably about my size (maybe a little smaller) and when she gets on stage she shakes it for all she's worth. And the first time I saw her perform I thought, "oh man. Here we go. The applause will stop, the cheers, the howls. It's over now." Not because I didn't think she'd be amazing, but because I've had so little faith in other people-- I thought surely I'd be the only one who appreciated how BEAUTIFUL she is.

And that's about the time I fell in love with the whole Burlesque community. Because as she shook off her top costume-- the auditorium ERUPTED in applause and cheers and cat-calls. It didn't matter to them how big or small or pretty or plain the dancer is. The fact that she is confident enough to get up on that stage and shake. her. shit (pardon my french) is really what matters. Because what people see in those girls isn't cellulite, or fat, or stretch marks. They don't see stick-thin legs, 6-pack abs, and perfect chests. They see confidence. They see beauty. They see things that the rest of the world misses altogether.

And when I come home from these shows, I feel better. I feel stronger. I feel more confident. And a little jealous too, because I have a long way to go before I would even being to approach the level of confidence that Pixie O'Kneel, or Ginger Snaps, or Black Mariah, or any of the women big and small that grace burlesque stages all over the world have.

But what I see at these shows besides all I've mentioned already... is hope. Hope for me. Hope for my body, for my confidence, for my body future. Because if these women big and small and in between can have that kind of faith in their own beauty, someday I will too.

Day 110/365

I used to believe that old adage that "time heals all wounds." I held onto my hurts thinking eventually they would just-- go away. Waiting for time to heal me. And the truth is, there are things that time can erase... pains and injuries that are forgettable. Because that's all you get from time... the blessing of forgetting. And for some things, that's all you need.

But the things that truly hurt, the things that rock you, change you... time isn't enough on its own. To heal the things that stay with you, there's more to it than just waiting passively. There has to be action, passion, determination. You have to have faith in yourself, in your future, you have to have and accept love. You have to believe that there is hope for a time when the pain will recede.

I've stopped waiting for time. Partly because I don't want to forget anymore. I don't want to just forget the things that happened to me. Good or bad, they shaped the person I am today-- and while I do want to move beyond the hurts, the pains, the hardships-- I want to be able to heal and remember.

I can remember and still heal and be whole. I have so much love to draw from, and faith, and yes... hope too. I don't need to forget when I'll be so much stronger for remembering.

two. dear me.

Day 77/365

Tonight, I just wanted to do something simple, something to remind myself what it's all about. Not just this project really, but my whole journey.

I wanted to remind myself that this process is not about finding perfection... in my life, in myself, in my relationships. It's about changing, about growing, about becoming more than I started-- or rather-- becoming who I was MEANT to be when I started.

Sometimes it's so tempting to be overwhelmed by the steps I have left to take, that I don't give myself enough credit for how much progress I've made. I've come so far from the place I was in when I started seeing SuperTherapist last August. I'm healthier, I'm happier, I'm more open. Instead of waking each day trapped in a well of anxiety and fear, I strive to give my emotions the transience that is their nature. Instead of feeling constantly unworthy, riddled with guilt and regret, I recognize where the blame should be for the moments that brought me anguish in my life.

Instead of seeing only hopelessness and the constant cycle of depression and recovery and depression and recovery... I see light, and hope and have faith that regardless of how much work is left to be done-- I CAN do it.

And I think it's important to remember that the end goal is not for my world to be perfect, but for me to find peace in my progress. To realize that the ultimate goal is progress, and peace. And I will get there.

Each day I take another step, I learn another lesson, I accept (or start to at least) another piece of Me.

Progress. Peace. Love.

My original "Dear Me" photo, and the first important message. This is a guilt-struggle I've carried for along time. Feelings that the abuse I suffered was my fault, that for many many years I was a bad person because of it. Recently, I let go of that guilt in a major way. My life started the day I truly believed the note written on my fingers.

Day 101/365

I found this little flower and I think it's meant as a gift tag, but it caught my eye because all of the words inscribed on the petals have been used to describe me by people I love and admire.

And it seemed almost to jump at me, in my fever-addled haze this week, that maybe it's time I actually believed that sometimes other people see me more clearly than I see myself.

We are so quick to believe the negative things that people say throughout our lives, to believe the one mean kid that called us ugly, or stupid. But at the same time we constantly and consistently dismiss when people tell us that we are, for lack of a better word: wonderful.

When we start to believe that maybe those lovely voices are actually right... we blossom. I blossom. I'm trying to blossom.

So, instead of hearing over and over and over the one single voice of dissent... I'm trying to hear the myriad of people telling me I am better than I've believed myself to be.

Day 92/365

I spent a good part of my afternoon/evening with my family. And it's always such a lovely, unstructured, unpressured time. Between my time with my family tonight, and time with a dear friend last night, I've been feeling rather lovely, truth be told.

It's been two evenings free of all of boxes I tend to pack myself into. It's been anxiety free time where instead of being hyper aware of all the labels I (and others) seem determined to live under so often.

Earlier this week, I sent an email to a friend who has been dealing with the labels others seem intent to use to classify her and when I read it back, I realized that it was perhaps a letter I needed to send to myself as well. The statement I wrote this evening is a piece of that letter. And the rest is below, because I think it's a reminder we all can use sometimes.

One of the things I do struggle with still in the self-esteem department is what other people think of me, not because I care necessarily about their thoughts, but because for some reason I can't seem to get past that it doesn't matter. That what someone else thinks when they see me doesn't and shouldn't affect how I see myself. My therapist is constantly amazed at how easily I manage to avoid judging others... while still being so judgmental of myself. And perhaps what I need is to remind myself daily of what I was so quick to counsel my friend. That the labels that decorate the box I live in aren't necessarily true.

------

"Labels labels labels. You know one of the things I adore about you? You defy labels. You rip them off and send them flying into the wind.

Why is everyone so keen to stick you in a box? To stick anyone in a box?

Straight. Gay. Fat. Thin. Healthy. Ugly. Beautiful. Smart. Dumb. Stuck up. Virgin. Slut. Goody-two-shoes. Poor. Rich. Loser. Dork. Nerd. Jock. Lazy.

Why do we insist on labeling everything? On labeling everyone?

You are a remarkable creature full of life and love and brains and heart and humor and you defy labels.

Dear World... stop trying to put lovely things in a box. And climb out of whatever box you are in as well. You may find some of the labels that decorate it uncomfortable, unwieldy... or even... flat out untrue.

We'd all get along so much better if we'd stop trying to approach everyone around us as though we belonged in boxes.

The only good thing about being in a box.. is unwrapping yourself like a gift and climbing out of it once and for all.

Give yourself a gift: tear up your boxes ladies (and gents) and live your life freed from the labels that define you as anything other than the Marvelous beings you actually are!"

This week, I'm resolving to really and truly see myself differently. To start noticing the labels I keep assigning myself, to start seeing the limitations that those labels place on me. To start seeing how they hold me back from being my true and authentic self.

This week, I resolve to defy my own labels.

Defy yours.

Day 20/365

This is one of my favorite quotes. From The ever-elegant Miss Maya Angelou, after last night this seemed incredibly appropriate. My massage was wonderful. Don't mistake me-- it was considerably harder than I had imagined it would be. Frightening. Emotional. There were many tears, a moment of panic, but also some much needed surrender.

I am blessed, as I've said before, because I have a therapist who is willing to walk WITH me while she helps me heal. And when that massage moved onto my legs she was on the floor, by my side, holding my hand. Grounding me. Helping me survive.

Last year, this year, this project, my life right now is about this quote. I have survived. My whole life to this day was about just that-- survival. The choices I am making now, the sharing of this project, the opening of my life and my heart to my friends, to my family, to complete strangers-- is about Thriving. About choosing to move beyond simple survival and into the elegant, eloquent, BEAUTIFUL space that is ME.

Thank you Ms. Angelou... for the reminder.

Day 29/365

Today I'm going to see my favorite singer/songwriter at a house concert. Usually when she performs locally it's either at a house belonging to my own friends, or at a venue where a group of us get together and meet up to enjoy. Today is a little different. Most of our group either isn't going, or hasn't responded yet... and it's at a stranger's home, which means there will be a lot of people I don't know there as well.

As I sat last night planning out my day, I almost changed my mind about going tonight. I know I should believe I'm as valuable, as beautiful, as interesting a person as my loved ones tell me I am, but in truth there is a piece of me inside that still doubts their claims. I've been overweight for most of my life, I'm not the one anyone would really call the "pretty girl" by traditional standards, and in terms of social experience... I'm pretty far behind my peers. That's what happens when you put yourself in a prison for 20 years, thinking you're a bad person. You tend to miss out on the standard social milestones.

I've gotten better in the least couple of years especially. I can carry on a conversation, I can meet the gaze of someone I'm speaking with. I can debate and argue, and even have and stand for my own opinions. But a part of me still feels very insecure physically. And while I recognize I am not ugly, I still struggle with the notion that I am beautiful. I'm working on the physical part-- both emotionally and nutritionally. Although I slipped this week and went back to my old ways of eating, I can and will be back on track again. And in the meantime... i know I need to learn to accept and value my body as it IS before I can really make any lasting changes.

And that's my challenge, learning to love who IS so I can create who WILL be.