care enough to care

the thing about learning to love yourself is that you have to ignore all outside influences.

i spent my day cleaning our bedroom, which meant hours of folding laundry, which i usually do with the television as my companion. jenny craig told me multiple times that i needed to eat their food so i could lose 20 pounds. a size 6 actress told me that "big girls wear shapers under everything". fuck you..the only time i wore a shaper was the day i got married, and i hated every second of it.

there's the television, the magazines while i'm waiting to buy my groceries, the billboards on the side of the highway, the people in my life offering to send me to weight watchers.

and all their voices seem so much louder than the one in my head.

i weave in and out of self confidence.

some days i feel untouchable. like nothing can bring me down off this high i've recently found. the high where i love the chub in my armpits, the cellulite on my thighs, and even my belly.

others i avoid looking in the mirror all together. i catch a picture of me that was taken when i didn't know it and am disgusted with what i see. i hate it all, right down to the weight i've gained in my hands and face.

and it's always the same, whether i weigh 160 pounds or 260. i wonder if i'll ever be comfortable in my own body. and why i can't find that place where i love myself enough to care.

and the worst part is that every woman, and probably even most men, who are reading this are nodding their head thinking things like "this is exactly how i feel".

it's like we're trained early on that we're not worth much outside of what other people see when they glance our way. they probably look at me and think "she'd be pretty if she weren't so fat" or "why do fat girls think they can wear short shorts?".

and in doing so they fail to ever know the real me. and if they did they'd know that i happen to be talented, funny at times, have a decent sense of humor, enjoy good music just as much as i enjoy good food, love going for walks, adore the ocean, and a good book..among other things that make me wonderful.

and none of this really even matters because those other voices will always be there. i just need to learn to employ the selective hearing skills being a mother has offered me.

i need to develop my own opinions of myself and quit relying on what others think. and i need to learn to love myself enough to take care of myself.

late night cake eating to drown my sorrows doesn't make me feel better, even if it does give me the brilliant idea of forcing siri to call me "the goddess of cake". nothing feels better than a long walk or maybe even a jog. i've been dying to try yoga but am terrified that i'll fail miserably. i adore hooping but can't force myself to go outside and play.

i'm worth it. we all are. and i want my children to grow up with the confidence to love themselves..know themselves..and know better than to listen to the other voices.

by the way, i realize i've been extremely ego-centric as of late..especially in the self portrait department. there's a good reason, other than me being completely vain. 

i'm taking part in this incredible class with a group of brave, beautiful women and it's causing me to do a lot of searching within myself. it's been challenging, exciting, and terrifying all at the same time. 

the good, the bad, and no ugly because i'm beautiful

sounds in my house at this very moment:
toys being dumped out onto the living room floor
nickelodeon playing quietly on the television
faith cutting up dried seaweed for them to have as a a snack. they seriously eat them like potato chips
the ceiling fan whirring above my head. it's actually not horrible hot today and i've had the window units off for most of it

things have been..interesting. and challenging.

at this very moment cory is applying for even more jobs. catching a break would be pretty sweet here.

at this moment, when i have 3 months left to fulfill groupon clients, i have mixed feelings about it all. would i do it again? fuck no. do i regret doing it? no, i don't think so.

i've been in a slump in mom land. and it's because most of my days are spent staring at a monitor editing pictures. i've gotten a rhythm down with groupon clients & lightroom that's made the process so much quicker, but it's still sucking my time into a black hole. which leaves my poor children to make their own fun. today was spent with dance parties and swimming, despite the water being titanic like thanks to the massive amount of rain last night.

i find myself wondering lately how people manage to live such glamorous lives. it's almost like much of instagram is "look how awesome i am!" and that's definitely me being bitter and judgmental. I haven't even posted in a few days. what am i gonna post? this is me...sitting on the toilet & peeing for the twentieth time today because my children destroyed my bladder. this is me...drinking yet another diet coke when my brain tells me i should be drinking water. this is me...staring in the mirror, squeezing my belly fat yet again wishing i had christina hendrick's body. this is me...sitting on my ass editing pictures that will never get purchased or seen again. seriously, you guys. i'm considering just giving the last groupon clients all their files so i don't have to order their prints any more or deal with it.

sometimes i consider giving up coffee and trading it for tea. then i remember i would be dead without it.

i noticed a penny stuck on the kitchen floor yesterday. i should mop at some point.

you know how the pioneer woman posts pictures of the trash she sweeps off her floors & claims she's "keepin' it real"? i call bullshit. she should see what i sweep off my floors.

i've come to the realization that i have two sons & a husband. i will never again have a bathroom that doesn't smell like piss 24/7.

i haven't folded laundry in weeks. it's liberating..until i need to find clean clothes. then it's horrible.

is it wrong to be jealous of my 7 year old daughter's skin tone & trim physique?

here's a secret that won't be a secret any more: i'm closer to 300 pounds than 200 now. barely, but i am. this is heartbreaking, depressing, and so discouraging. it also means that every time i see my mother now she has to say something about my weight. my tongue starts bleeding from the excessive biting i end up doing. this was the woman who told me i was fat then fed me more food. and fed me an exclusive diet of take out food and frozen pizzas.

but then i realize that i'm a 31 year old woman dammit. i need to take responsibility for my own bad habits & quit blaming other people. but it's just so much easier to point fingers. it's why we all do it.

31...i'll be 32 in 9 days. i feel like only decades matter now. 30 mattered. 40 will matter. 32 doesn't mean shit. although i have noticed wrinkles around my eyes.

right now you'er experiencing a serious case of verbal diarrhea.

and those were the bads... i should share some goods.

cory is my light, you guys. i won't lie & say that we're always perfect. in fact, we're far from it. our marriage has definitely had it's ups & downs. right now we're climbing upward and it feels so good.

i had my first thai food experience last night and i'm a changed woman. so fucking good.

after 7 1/2 years i'm finally okay with the idea that having happy children means more than having a clean house. some days it's spotless in here. others it's an episode of hoarders minus the dead cats. every day my kids are fed and laughing. that's a win.

i've re-found my photography mojo when it comes to taking things for myself. i need to get back into the habit of doing it every single day, but at least i'm getting back into the groove.

i finally own an epiphane camera bag/purse. i'd been waiting for 2 years for one of those babies. i will never not feel guilty for spending the money on myself, but we agreed it would be my birthday present from everyone in this house..and i'm totally okay with it. and the thing is amazing. seriously.

even though i'm officially fat, i actually feel more comfortable in my own body than i ever have before. it's crazy i realize. and probably just me making an excuse to stay fat & not work to change it...but it feels nice to feel disgusting for once.

every season of buffy is on netflix right now. my soul is dancing.

we've discovered the joys of stacking dominos then knocking them down. hours of entertainment here, and i'm sure they're learning the importance of something really vital..like physics or something.

my children are healthy, tender, perfect

and stupid cute.

Melons

It was either junior or senior year of high school. I can't remember exactly..because I'm too lazy to take ginko whatever in an effort to better my memory.

But I was sitting in a classroom..or the cafeteria..the location doesn't really matter. It's what happened that helped to build a lonely girl's self esteem that really matters. I overheard a guy behind me talking about boobs.

And he said something to the effect of "Vanessa's are nice, but they're not perky enough. I like 'em perky." That was heavily paraphrased...but there was talk about how nice my boobs were. I happen to be friends with this guy on facebook, so if he happens to read this (which I doubt he does..I have it on good authority that a good number of my "friends" hide me from their news feed. Probably for reasons like what I'm doing right now..writing a blog post about the perils of having giant boobs.) what I'm trying to say is "thank you".

Thank you for the self esteem boost. It didn't hurt in the slightest bit that mine weren't what you would classify as perky. But the idea of someone of the opposite sex finding anything on me "nice" was life changing.

I was a lonely, lonely girl. One whose only boyfriend was a boy she shyly held hands with in church for about a week. And she had only been on one date ever. One that ended with her in tears at a payphone calling her big sister to come pick her up because she was hopelessly lost while trying to get home after a traumatically awkward experience.

Really though, that experience in high school was when my boobs started working for me. They helped land my adorable husband. I know this for a fact because he's confirmed on several occasions that my boobs were one of the first things he noticed. I mean, my C cups were pretty magnificent back then.

But things have changed. And now they work against me. Three children and a number of pounds I'm not comfortable with divulging later and my melons have grown to epically gigantic ridiculous stupid proportions.

How epically gigantic you ask? Well, my PLP (that's platonic life partner, y'all) called me from the thrift store a week or so ago. She wanted to know my bra size because there were some pretty sizable ones up for grabs. My boobs are too big, I told her...I knew for a fact they wouldn't work. And that's when she confirmed, "Oh there's one that's REALLLLLLLLY big." Yea, still won't fit. So I did the walk of shame to my dresser, pulled out the massive purple bra in the top drawer, and told her "40G". "Oh..yea....this one's an F."

Every time my sister sees me in my bra she exclaims, "Good lord, woman! Where did those things come from?!" And that means a lot coming from her, because she's a luscious goddess with beautiful gigantic boobies. Not stupid clown boobies like I have. I mean, these are the kind of things you only see in cartoons. Or porn. Big girl porn. Which I'm not really in the market to dive into at the moment. After birthing three children it would be a challenge to even see what was going on down there. It's a mess.

But we're here to talk about my boobs, not my vag.

So in an effort to form some kind of solidarity between myself and my big breasted sisters, I would like to share with you some of the horrors of carrying around gigantic watermelons on my chest that probably weigh an average of 10-15 pounds each...minimum. Although a lot of you who read this probably won't get this, because most of my female friends happen to belong to the itty bitty titty club.

These are in no particular order, as if that matters....

• Clothes don't fit. Seriously.
  When my brother got married I was forced against my will to be a bridesmaid. When I went to try on the dress I discovered to my horror that it was strapless. This is a big girl's worst nightmare. Fucking strapless. And here's the best part: The boobie shelf surface area was 1/3 of the size it needed to be. The line that should've sat below the girls was smack dab in the middle of them. I'd show you a picture, but I untagged all those pictures of myself on facebook and I can't see my brother's photo albums any more since he unfriended me. (Oh family....)
• My back hurts. A lot. And pretty much all the time.
  Remember that episode of "Roseanne" where she got her boobie fat sucked out & insurance covered it? Guess what....this girl ain't got no insurance. And I've seen what those state approved plastic surgeons do to breasts.
  Did you know the have to RELOCATE YOUR NIPPLE when you have a breast reduction? Yea no. 
• The straps on my bra totally dig into my shoulders, and pretty much everywhere they make contact with my skin. Imagine someone stabbing an exacto knife into your armpits. It's awesome and just one of the many horrors they refer to as the "underwire".
• My bras cost more than any other article of clothing I own.
  I can only wear bras from one specific place. And they're a minimum of 50 bucks a pop. And the fuckers aren't even comfortable. But they're the only ones I can wear that will insure I can sprint across the parking lot at Target to catch my 3 year old running into traffic and not give myself a concussion and two black eyes from the blunt force of my boobs smacking me in the face.
• They're all anyone ever looks at.
  Seriously. Don't believe me? Stuff the largest watermelons you can find into your shirt the next time you go out and watch the awkward teenage boy scanning your groceries stare at them while trying (poorly) to not be terribly obvious.
• My children touch them. All the fucking time.
  I breastfed all three of my children. And they still have the psycho impression that even though I haven't lactated in well over 2 years they still belong to them somehow. I am no longer a cow, people. Leave them the hell alone. 
• People judge my boobs being so big and automatically assume it's because I'm also fat.
  Listen...I had to buy my first bra years before any of my friends did. I don't know if my mom dumped extra BPA into my food every day or only fed me the milk from dairy cows who received quadruple the amount of hormones their lady friends did, but these puppies have always been there. And yea, in high school they were large C cups. But I've been suffering the wrath of G cups since I had my first kid 7 years ago. And even in times when I wasn't breastfeeding and weighed much, much less..well, they were still hanging to my belly button. 
• Cleavage. It's there all the time, no matter what I wear.
  This gives off the impression that I'm trying to draw attention to them when, in fact, it's the exact opposite. I just lack any ability to control them.
• It's literally impossible to sleep on my stomach. Or on my back without a bra on. I'd hate for my obituary to read "She was smothered by her own breasts in the night. Her husband and the 17 year old checker at Crest will miss them dearly."

So there you have it. A few words on the perils of having large boobies. 

If you can relate, please raise a glass and know that I'm toasting you in an effort to say "I understand". Also, if anyone who happens to run across this has a connection to spanx, a product that controls boobies would be greatly appreciated. 

"Gimme dat boobie!"

Pass the Pie, I'm Fat

*This isn't one of those blog posts that I'm sharing in an effort to get comments like "You're awesome, girl!" or "You're beautiful! Rock on with your bad self!" Although, rest assured, those will happen from time to time. This post is just me documenting thoughts that have been running through my head today and an earnest effort to do something constructive with those emotions besides sitting in a corner and crying. When I don't know what else to do, I write things down....

There are some things that I really and truly despise doing.

These are different from the things I have to do on a regular basis that I find tedious and exhausting..like shaving my legs, brushing my teeth, or bathing the children.

But things I despise doing? They include the following..
Calling anywhere that has an automated system. I despise them.
Putting away laundry. The washing and folding I can handle. But for some reason, when it comes to actually putting them away? I have a serious mental block...
Making awkward conversation with strangers.
Shopping for clothes. Especially since I have to try on every single thing before I buy it.

That last one.... it's incredibly difficult.
Unless you're a size 10 or under shopping for clothing can be so stressful...and expensive.
I've finally found my go to bra and jeans, after many many years of searching. But both of those are way more than I can afford on a regular basis. It's more like..buy one once a year and make it last. But in my line of work where I'm crawling around in the dirt and chasing 2 year olds, they rarely do.

And then there's the tedious task of dressing for weddings.
As a photographer I'm supposed to disappear into the background and be barely noticeable.
That's where the idea of having a simple black dress comes into play.
It wasn't intentional, but a lot of the several weddings I have booked between now and the end of the year are quite formal affairs. And me and my size 22 ass find it difficult to blend in.

Which means that yesterday I had to do one of the most dreaded things ever.
I had to go shopping.

And I discovered that shopping in a skinny store that happens to have a plus size section isn't all that awesome. I mean, I would've loved to walk my fat self into Lane Bryant or Torrid to shop, but all of their clothing is about 4 times more than my budget allowed for.

And I have to tell you.. it's humiliating and totally degrading.

The internet is a wonderful place. There are blogs where fat women are celebrated..worshipped even. My favorite tumblr blog is a place where I'd love to live. Where curves aren't just accepted, but celebrated. But even there are so many images of gorgeous plus sized women have had their cellulite magically erased by the gift from the powers that be called photoshop.

This woman is stunning. Absolutely incredibly beautiful. She oozes beauty and confidence and obviously could give two fucks what people think of her.

And I'm missing that... that ability to not give two fucks. I actually give a lot of fucks..too many really.

Even now, while I'm writing this, I want to give you all a list of excuses for my jeans being labeled with such a high number.

Things like...
fuck off, I've had 3 kids.
I don't have medical insurance, and thyroid issues run wild among the women in my family...so I'm sure that's part of it.
We live in an incredibly meager grocery budget. Which means that things like making bread in our bread maker or pizza dough from scratch is way cheaper than buying fresh, good for you food.
I can't afford to go to a fancy gym. And while I try to run or walk outside fairly frequently, that only goes so far...especially when you have 3 small children and literally no extra time on your hands.

But the truth is, you guys, I just really love food.
Seriously.
Nothing soothes me on a horrid day like a giant chunk of brie on some fresh baked bread.
Or those horrible cosmic brownies from the grocery store. You know...those ones with the tiny chocolate candies on top? Oh god.
Or putting an extra drop of syrup in my coffee in the morning. Because, dammit, I work hard and I deserve it.
Then I wake up the next day and despise myself..hate myself...and I'm determined to make a change. Then it's a huge shit storm the next time a conflict arises. Which is every second of every day.
One of the boys throws a shit fit in the store? I want to come home and stuff my face with anything...everything...
I'm behind on all of the massive amount of work I have to do? No better way to motivate myself than sitting at the computer with a giant bowl of ice cream.

So here I am... telling you all about it.
And I don't really even know why, except for the fact that while I was trying on clothes I was sending Cory pictures to get his input...and looking back today at the picture of me in the dress I decided to get sent me into near hysterics.

So of course I posted it on instagram..and here...for everyone to see. 

And I feel as though I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place right now.

I have two options:

I can either slap myself and do something about it. Which I've done. Lots of times. I made it through two weeks of couch to 5k then life happened.

Cory didn't wind up getting the huge bonus he was promised at work... Groupon started getting even more horrible and backed up.... and I gave up on it all.

And instead of moving forwards, I moved backwards.

Or, I could just accept me for who I am the way that Cory does, and maybe even learn to love myself. Because he loves me. 

Life isn't about being perfect. It's about embracing your imperfections, right?

I want the confidence to be able to wear shorts in the Oklahoma summer heat without worrying about the cottage cheese consistency of my thighs.

I want the confidence to not cover up with a cardigan every time I wear a sleeveless shirt.

My hair? I want to dye it hot pink and turquoise without feeling like I look like a fat girl desperate for attention. I want to do it because I've just always wanted pink hair.

I've spent the majority of my life feeling unwanted because of my size. 

I feel the constant need to make excuses for myself, or make a joke about being gigantic so it's not that one thing everyone's thinking and avoiding all at the same time.

Maybe some day I'll find some other way to deal with stress or my emotions and just quit eating everything in my path at the end of a hard day. 

Maybe some day I'll wise up and replace the food with nicotine and alcohol.

But for now, I felt the need to post something about it here..on the blog that only the people I love and know will ever see...

And mostly as a reminder to myself. 

Self,

Fuck everyone else.

Fuck that guy who kept looking at you like you were a piece of garbage today just because of how you looked.

Fuck that girl at the mall yesterday who looked you up and down when you asked her to get that 3x shirt down for you off the rack.

You're talented, funny, have really strong nails that never break, and your farts rarely smell.

You're also a kick ass wife and mom to some of the most amazing people on the planet. 

So what if those pants you tried on at Old Navy today didn't fit? 

They're judgmental assholes for not carrying plus size clothes in their store anyway..they don't need your money. 

Now go eat your brie and drink your diet coke like the amazing goddess with her tree trunk legs and flappy underarm fat that you are.

And yea, thank you to the lovely Clay for posting this on tumblr today.... it made me cry, and spawned this whole post. So really if you're thinking anything negative about me posting this you should take your complaints to him. 

Guide to loving your body:

“ 1. Get naked and take a good long look at your body. Trace your stretch marks, feel your hip bones poking out, place your hand over your tummy and take a fistful of yourself in. Appreciate your scars and pimples, your uneven,large,or nonexistent breasts. Take pride in your un/shaven, un/cut, fantastically odd private bits. Hold up a mirror to yourself and study your body. Love it.

2. Be Ugly, reclaim words that are used to put you down and shut you up and scream right back at these fascist beauty standard reinforcing scumbags. Give them the finger and tell them to kiss your fat/skinny/somewhere in between ass ‘cause you ain’t got time to waste with their body hating bullshit. and remember, you don’t owe prettiness to anyone. Validate yourself by accepting yourself.

3. Wear clothes that don’t fit, that are too big or too small and show all your “problem areas” that cosmo insists you hide and walk down the street like the fucking fabulous queen you are. Sashay the hate away.

4. Do what YOU want with YOUR body. Shave or don’t, wear makeup or don’t, whatever choice you make is yours to make, and anyone who shames you for your decision can keep it moving. This also means respecting the choices of others, even if they differ from your own.

5. Surround yourself with loving and supportive people. Rid of the toxic bullshit in your life if possible, and immerse yourself in a community that embraces body positivity and diversity. ”