Tag Archives: body image

In a Famine, My A$$ Could Feed Me for Weeks

Make no mistake. My arse has a plethora of healing powers. Ask anyone who knows me. It’s a magic a$$. It’s an epic shelf of protection, the very source of my earthly powers. Ha!! I joke, but it’s literally a fact that due to my “largess” in the hindquarters region, I would outlive lots of people in a famine. I might even outlive the famine. Fat is a good thing. It nourishes, protects, heals, heats, and feeds. It’s necessary to life. We all have it.lizzys_tush

People often talk about the unhealthiness of being fat, but rarely do you see reports of the good that being a chunky-monkey can do for one in this world of ours. Well, I’m here to set the record straight (or, curvy as the case so clearly is for so many of us). Following are three pluses of being…well, plus.

one

Fat is actually healthy and being overweight leads to longer life for lots and lots of people. Being overweight is even cited as a boon for fertility, better skin, calmer dispositions, stronger bones, and sounder minds. Despite rampant reports that being fat equals automatic heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes, it’s simply not true for lots of people. Studies are coming out all of the time that disprove the “Fat is Always Bad” prejudice.

Unfortunately, what we have in this country is a media monster. This monster spreads misinformation so pervasively and so routinely that few people ever take the time to question, let alone challenge the assertions being made by these misinformed souls. One of the falsities that the media perpetuates is that being fat is universally bad or will lead to bad things down the road. Not true.

We all know that life is much more complex than soundbites and selling news would have us believe, isn’t it? There are way more nuances across the wide spectrum called human health than these media monsters portray. I encourage you all to dig a little deeper. Like anything in life, there are extremes at either end of a particular spectrum. And, unfortunately, these extremes are the most cited as, Du-Du-Dum! Evidence by the media monster.

But, most of us are in the middle somewhere and we know that “the middle” does not sell newspapers, television shows, or magazines. Yes, some people who are fat suffer from the results of that bodily state, but fat does not automatically equal unhealthy and sad, nor does thin automatically equal healthy and happy.

It takes all kinds of shapes, sizes, and experiences to be human and we all have a relevance to the human collective. Bodies are merely vehicles for the exploration of spirit. Your body is the way it is for a reason. If your body didn’t need to be fat or thin, it wouldn’t be. So. There. You’re free. Go forth in your new-found freedom, forget the size of your body, move into soul, find ways to be healthier every day, and be the bad-ass human you came here to be. We’re counting on you.

twoI’ve talked about this before in other posts, but being plus size is an invisibility cloak.  You can get away with alot of shi*t as a fat person. I test this all of the time and it always makes me laugh. As big as I am, I can get in and out of places without ever being seen. It’s the coolest phenomena. I literally walk right past people who, because of what I can only guess are their own prejudices and general insecurity about their body size, do not see me. And, this, my friends, comes in really, really handy. For example, when wanting to merely run into a store and grab something quick without a long, protracted discussion or “connection” with someone, being fat is awesome. It’s freedom. People don’t look at me. And, you know what, that’s okay. I actually like stealth mode.

No fighting to be seen. No more getting other people to validate me or even acknowledge my existence. I get to practice being enough for myself, break the dependency between myself and others, and push deeper into my own psyche, my own healing. It’s liberating.

So. If you’re fat, try to have some fun with it. Know that you are broadcasting an energy beam around the issue and if you look for disapproval in the world, you will find it. If you instead look for ways to validate yourself every day, eventually you will have self-esteem and you will manifest approval from the world in lots of ways. If you can, try to laugh as much as possible and know that other people do not matter one little eensy bit. It’s YOUR opinion that counts. Be stealth. And, giggle. Alot.

threeIf we are totally, totally honest with ourselves and we dig past the societal biases that we’ve maybe absorbed about fat, I bet more than a few of us would be very surprised to realize that we actually like a little cushioning versus bones or rock-hard muscle. Fat is very, very comforting. It’s silly; it jiggles and wiggles. It’s fun to grab and poke and handle. Fat is pleasing to us psychologically because it’s about nurturing; it’s about the mama, being held, being warm, and gently soothed. Fat is comfortable, encircling, engulfing, and just a delightful, never-ending softness. Fat definitely broadcasts a message of fertility, abundance, and pleasure.

This fat phobia of ours is a very recent cultural phenom. Up until the 1920s when the country was becoming enthralled with industry, being a bit fat was okay. Farm people were fatter. They needed to be to work the fields. Women were expected to be fat because they made babies. But, with the choke-hold of the industrial revolution, came the idolization of the “machine”, the “hard”, the “thin”, and along with it swept in the idolization of a thinner body type.

The thing is, world-wide, until modern times, fat has always been viewed as wealth, abundance, comfort, and something to celebrate. This fat phobia of ours is a modern construct. It’s time to be honest. If you don’t like fat, ask yourself why. Do a little digging around in your psyche. But, ask yourself if your ideas about body structure are truly your own or if you have absorbed the ideas from other people. Touch your fat and see what comes up for you. Journal about it. Ask and ask and ask. I bet you’ll be surprised by the journey. Oh, and READ THIS BOOK that I blogged about early on in the life of BBB. You gotta read this book; it will change your ideas about Fat. Guaranteed.

There are many more very real, life-affirming benefits of being fat, but ultimately, this blog is not advocating that people become fat. I’m advocating for the journey toward self-esteem, regardless of how you look or what your bodily conditions are. I’m advocating for self-acceptance because I want us, as a species, to accept others, expand our consciousness, and become healthy. I want us all to be well-fed, happy, and taking responsibility. I want us to own our power, be a force of good on this earth, and love. I want us to love. Even our fat.

 

Guest Post: Aligning with the Highest Self through Hypnotherapy

Hi, BigBodyBeautiful friends! This is a guest post by one of the most amazing women I’ve ever had the joy and privilege of knowing. Like many people, Susan (of the kick-ass blog, Mariner to Mother) has suffered deeply at the hands of her caretakers, but what sets Susan apart from others is how she has dealt with this trauma. The difference is her unflinching honesty and responsibility. Susan takes utter responsibility for her healing and her journey here on Mother Earth. I simply LOVE this woman’s presence, her aliveness, and her willingness to work on herself. Please show Susan some love for so bravely putting her story here for us. And, please visit her blog and tell her that Lizzy sent you. XOXO

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First, I’d like to thank our dear, sweet, scrumptious Liz for inviting me to guest blog here on Big Body Beautiful.

I’m a former merchant mariner, ship’s deck officer, who came to shore and settled down a dozen years ago. During those dozen years, I became a mother to an amazing and often challenging son. Over the past four years I have been a student of energy medicine, became a Reiki practitioner, and experienced a spiritual awakening.

My childhood looked, from the outside, to be a typical middle class experience, complete with music lessons, summer vacation trips, and playing on various sports teams. However, behind closed doors, growing up with an unmedicated bipolar mother was an experience that was very tough at times. When my mother was manic, she would verbally assault me at the drop of a hat. And when she was depressed, she was often unavailable as a mother. I didn’t have a lot of childhood memories until the past few years, when through doing healing work, some memories have come back. Using a variety of healing methods, I am releasing old fear, anger, and other detrimental emotions that became physically trapped in my young body. And, I’m ferreting out old beliefs that don’t work for me anymore.

One of my favorite healing modalities is hypnotherapy. I’ve had short series of sessions with a handful of different hypnotherapists over the past 13 years, working toward a goal of not needing to use food to numb me from uncomfortable emotions and nondescript feelings. While I was working with the first three hypnotherapists, even though we were supposedly working on food issues, what came forth were some absolutely amazing spiritual sessions: including being healed by an angel. A month ago, I resumed working with a woman, Lia, who synthesizes her extensive training and experience in the fields of psychotherapy, transpersonal psychology, and hypnotherapy.peach orange rose

During my most recent hypnotherapy session, I decided to work on body image. Growing up, I didn’t have anyone to model healthy body image. My mother was always dissatisfied with her body, always on a diet, feeding me the message that she was overweight and not ok. I took that message into my little body and by the time I was 13, I joined Mom on the dieting bandwagon. For the record, my mother was not overweight, and neither was I, back then.

After putting me into deep relaxation, Lia asked me to hover above a timeline of my life and go back to a time where I first had an issue with my body (or dieting). I popped back to eight years old. Someone told me I was fat; probably my older brother, teasing me. Feeling sad and confused, I really took it in. Then, Lia had my current day adult me go talk to my eight-year-old self. I told my young self that she was absolutely perfect just as she was- she was not fat at all. And, that she had a great, strong body that was just right. When the young me heard that, she became very happy and joyful. She gained confidence and strength. I actually saw her aura pop out from her body, signifying that she developed a sense of self and some personal boundaries. She really felt good about herself.

Then, I was prompted to move forward in time to the next time I didn’t feel so great about my body. I was 13 and had gotten my period and was not sure about all of these changes in my developing body. I was very unsure about my new curves and boobs and period. I didn’t feel confident at all about myself, and was confused with all of the changes. When my older self talked to my 13 year-old self, I reassured her that the changes she was going through were very normal and natural, and that she had a great body that was very pretty, that she was cute, and everything was just as it was supposed to be. I told her that she would get used to her new body and that it was a great body. With the reassurance, I noticed that the 13 year-old me became very grounded and centered. The feeling was that nothing could knock her over. All she needed was reassurance from me. Her confidence soared.

Then, I moved forward to when I was barely 15 and just had my daughter. The 15 year-old felt completely ruined in every way. She felt physically ruined, emotionally ruined, just ruined. I told her that she had been through a tough time and got a bad deal, but that she was awesome and perfect. And, because she was only 15, her body would come back to being a cute teenage body with a little bit of healthy eating and exercise. Yes, she will always have the stretch marks, but that’s OK because she brought a beautiful little girl into the world. A little girl who would make a couple into a family, who would raise her well and that she would be happy. I also reminded her that she did NOTHING wrong. It was NOT her fault. At first, the 15 year old got really mad, mad at the perpetrator who molested her, because he had ruined her perfect body. She was pissed!! It took a while, but she slowly came around to the idea that her body was great, and that she totally rocked. She was able to see that she did get her cute body back after some healthy eating and exercise and that it was a great, strong body. Finally, she felt awesome about herself.

Then, Lia had the energies of the various me’s roll up the timeline and join in with present-day me. I felt the confidence and strength of the other me’s, and it felt more confident than present-day me. As the energy of each me moved forward up the timeline, I received a message from them. First, the eight-year-old, who had been waiting a very long time for her knight in shining armor to come riding in to save her, when all along, she realized, it was the adult me that she was waiting for. She was in tears of gratitude, thanking me for saving her. Then, the thirteen-year-old expressed her thanks to me for coming back and rescuing her as well. More tears. Finally, the fifteen-year-old was filled with love and gratitude that I had finally come back and saved her as well. Her message also included, “What took you so long?” Tears and laughter.

Once the transformed energies of the past merged into present time, I clairvoyantly got the message: “You don’t need food anymore. You have all of the me’s holding you up, keeping you strong.” What a powerful message.

From there, Lia reinforced all of the positive, new thoughts and beliefs, rewriting my past and rewiring my brain.

I have learned that with each session, I clear away old, trapped energies. And, in doing so, change happens. It’s a process. Over time, small and even not-so-small shifts begin to add up. Specifically with food, I have already shifted the types of food I eat so significantly from what I grew up eating, that the last time I stayed with my mother for a visit (a few years ago), she was having difficulty knowing what to plan for dinner. She hadn’t changed a whip, but I sure had. And, when uncomfortable emotions come up, my knee-jerk reaction isn’t to go eat something (most of the time). These days, I truly appreciate how amazing my body is; all of the things it does for me without my thinking about them. And, that it is designed as a self-healing, divine vessel for my beautiful soul so that I can experience this life I have.

Guest Post: Yoga Saved Me from Body Hatred

This is a guest post by the darling Jen at Yoga-Moods.com. Jen and I have connected deeply on our mutual love of yoga and the body. On her highly informative, wonderful, and serene blog, she writes about the precious gift that is yoga and how it is helping her and others live richer, fuller lives. So, my BBB friends, let’s show Jen some love for so bravely exploring her transformation from body-hater to body-lover.

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Hello! I’m so honored that Liz invited me to write a post for Big Body Beautiful! I hope that my words resonate with you and perhaps help someone who is searching for a way to deep self-love.

For many years, I struggled with self-hate. I didn’t realize that’s what it was at the time. It was more a feeling of the world being against me. I see it clearly now, though. I didn’t love myself enough. I was painfully shy as a kid and I felt inferior to my peers. I remember the first day of kindergarten feeling so overwhelmed by everyone around me. I felt different from the rest of them.  While they laughed and chatted freely with each other, I shrank into the background, feeling as if I didn’t fit in. My red hair and freckles set me apart. I felt ugly and cursed my uniqueness. I was uncomfortable when called on in class. I surely couldn’t have anything valuable to contribute. Anxiety exuded from me and others felt it, too. This exacerbated the problem. Kids teased me, bullied me, and sometimes simply ignored me. I felt left out and diminished. I truly believed there was something wrong with me – and it started with my looks. Thankfully, I was blessed with real friends who accepted me and celebrated my individuality. But, that wasn’t enough to change my opinion of myself. I cringe to think how much easier things could have been had I discovered then what I know now: self-love is necessary for happiness!  Cultivating self-love is crucial in order to serve your purpose and live your dreams.

I remember as a second-grader sizing myself up in a full-length mirror.  My body is OK, I thought, but my face and hair? Terrible!  When I was 12, a family member asked me why my belly wasn’t flat like my friend’s after a day at the beach. I often heard this person bemoaning her own “thunder thighs,” saying I was lucky that I took after Dad. She often talked about how many of the women in her own family thought of themselves as ugly, though most of them were quite beautiful in reality. Still, the message was that my stomach was “too flabby” at age 12. I wish I could have ignored this comment, but it cut me to the core. For years, I focused so much on that belly wishing it would shrink. I starved myself. I berated myself. I did sit-ups and crunches like there was no tomorrow! My family then worried that I was getting “too thin.”

Despite having boyfriends who were clearly attracted to me, I still compared myself to models. I was unhappy with my face, my hair, my breasts, my butt…. One time, a boyfriend remarked how sexy my “potbelly” was, and instead of taking it as a compliment, I fell further into self-destruction. Strict diets, outrageous exercise routines, and constant self-criticism ruled my life.  It didn’t get me anywhere except unhealthy. Not to mention, I was thin – talk about body dysmorphic disorder. And, I was so focused on myself I couldn’t possibly serve others, which was always my life’s goal.

And then, something miraculous happened. I discovered yoga! It was, quite literally, as if a light shone down from the heavens! I felt as if I had found the key to life. Yoga has healed me in so many ways; I’d need to write an entire book to scratch the surface. But, the most important way yoga healed me was in allowing me to cultivate true self-love and acceptance. I got physically healthy in a gentle way, pushing myself to my limits but being kind to myself when I needed rest. I gained strength, which led to confidence. I had found a refuge – my yoga mat or my meditation cushion – where I could put everything else aside for a while and just be. All of this led to a profound self-love, which continues to grow and enhance my life today.

Jen-Yoga-Moods

Years of asana practice helped me tune in to my body’s capabilities, strengths, and needs. I discovered I could do things I never would’ve believed. When I mastered a new pose, it was an instant confidence boost. Yoga helped me finally come to peace with my body, and to actually develop that more toned stomach I always yearned for. It helped me begin to make healthier choices in my diet, my lifestyle, and with whom I surrounded myself. It helped me to accept that, as a woman, my body is constantly changing. My weight will fluctuate, I will experience break-outs, I may not always feel energized, and that’s all OK. Under it all, I am a beautiful soul, perfect and complete. When I focus on this, and my “connectedness” with others (which yoga also encourages), I am much more happy and productive. Every day I practice asana. Whether it’s a 90-minute class, a few sun salutations, or a quick break at work, it is a part of my life. If, for some reason, I can’t do my asana practice, though, I don’t worry about it. It’s not a chore; it’s a joy. I do it because I love it, and I do it for the continual benefits it brings.

Asana practice alone, however, I’m not sure would’ve done the trick. Dedicated meditation practice (also a major part of yoga, though we often think of yoga as physical) was also essential. Meditation took me to the depths of my soul and back. It was difficult, and I encountered things I’d have preferred to keep hidden. I emerged from meditation in tears on more than one occasion, but it was worth the effort. Over time, a deep, profound love developed inside of me. Love filled my entire being and overflowed into the world. Love sustains me every day and has enhanced my relationships. I confronted my deepest fears and allowed things to arise in my consciousness that I wasn’t fully aware were affecting my daily life. My self-limiting beliefs became very clear and I started working on changing them.

yoga_buddhaRegular meditation practice and checking in with myself, with love, keeps me steady, confident, and calm.  As much as possible, I wake up every day and meditate for 20 minutes.  I try to do the same when I come home from work. If I miss a day, I don’t fret, I just continue the following day. I take the meditation off the cushion, as well, engaging in mindful walks, eating, listening to music, creating art, making love….The list goes on. Just being present wherever I am. Meditation gives the gift of mindfulness that seeps into all areas of life. It trains us to bring ourselves into the present moment, the only moment during which we can act. This precludes worry and anxiety and allows us to truly enjoy living! Namaste, my friends!

Co-Creating Some Body-Love over the Airwaves

BEST INTERVIEW EVER!! Claudia Moss, my friend, sister, and gorgeous light-of-the-soul interviewed me this morning on her TalkShoe radio program and we had the best time together! We were cracking up. It’s sure to bring a smile to your heart. Claudia and I had a delicious conversation and it was literally one of the best experiences of my life. My heart is so full and happy right now.  <3<3<3

Claudia_Moss_Radio_Program

Aside from listening to me, you’ve just gotta catch this recording to get a delectable dose of Claudia. She is is so full of energy and spirit. She’s like a B-12 shot, I tell ya! It’s just very satisfying to be connected with and interviewed by such a gifted, deep-feeling, articulate, intelligent, and fully “lit-up” soul. We had the best time. Come join us, friends.

Thank you, Claudia. I love you so much, sissy!

A$$ Fat and Other Splendors

Ahhhh…the joys of ass-fat. In this post, I take a tongue-in-cheek (yeah, I said it) look at a recent craze sweeping our modern culture and offer an antidote to it. Disclaimer: In case you missed it. This is not a serious post. This is a silly, ranting, and slightly crazed post. I am NOT advocating plastic surgery. Please do not sue me for expressing my opinions. Please do not think, for a living second, that I am in any way saying that I agree with anyone at any time. Ever. There, that should cover me.

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In days of yore, women did everything they could to avoid having fat a$$es. I mean, they did, like, seriously damaging (and not-so-damaging) stuff to control the size of their trunks: for example, lipo, taking the stairs two-at-a-time, calf-raises, running–{{{shudder!}}} (I very much dislike running)–seated butt crunches, regular crunches, and so on. Remember those days? Gawd, I do. And, am I ever glad those days are over!

Because now, my friends! NOW we apparently want our butts to look like J-Lo‘s or Nicki Minaj‘s, Coco‘s or some Kardashian or other. Yes, we want big butts and we cannot lie. We now strive for round, full, fleshy, and abundant tushies that hang out there like a landing strip and proclaim to the world that we (A.) Actually eat (B.) Our men like it. And, (C.) We are genetically, “buttocks-ically gifted”, every single one of us.

If you’re not buttocks-ically gifted, not to worry! You can buy a butt and have it plopped in there in no time. You’ll emerge with a round keister of such voluminousness that others will stop, stare, and point. They will secretly covet your butt. They will wonder why they never noticed it before. They will ask you if you’ve been working out or dieting or taking the stairs. Ha!

Yes, you can buy an a$$ and look like you spend hours in the gym without actually doing so. Butt augmentation is one of the latest plastic surgery crazes currently sweeping the world. Apparently, from a quick bit of Internet research, the Brazilians are best at it (big surprise there) with something called the Brazilian Butt Lift. Google. I don’t have the stomach (ha!) for providing links here. Tons of people are going under the knife to look like, well, plastic. Hurrah!!

Hmmm…well, I, for one, have been waiting for this day to arrive for a very long time. Not just because I have a big bedonk and I know how to use it. Hahah! No, I’m happy that this day has come because I now possess what women all over the world are paying to get.

In fact, my arse is so perfect that I wrote a verse about it. Sing it with me:

I have a shelf. It sits up high. It has its own zip code. It does not lie. My butt is round, it’s full, and happy. My butt is so PERFECT for slapping.

Buwhahahahaa! Yes, I have a$$-fat for days. And, it’s now being celebrated. Thank you, Jesus. It’s about damn time. Whoop!

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The following passages will show you, my friends, that I can be and often am judgmental. Ready?

<Now, imagine Liz pulling out her soapbox and standing upon it.>

As long as I shall live, I’ll never understand why people go under the knife. I just do not understand the psychology of how it comes to that or why it does.

I get that people are unhappy and often blame their bodies for making them unhappy. They spend countless hours suffering over some perceived flaw. They obsess and quantify and lament all the ways that they are wrong or ugly or less-than. They relentlessly exercise. They hurl a wide variety of soul-sucking expletives at their hard-working, under-appreciated physiques. I get it. Hell, I used to do it; but, eventually, doesn’t that get exhausting? Don’t you just get tired of carrying all that stuff? I mean, aren’t you sick-to-death of your own opinions and needless suffering and bitching, like, LONG before you go under the knife? Sigh.

I ask you this: isn’t it far easier to find a way to just accept what you’ve got, be as healthy as you can, and sit on the couch with your rosy cheeks (ha, ha!) and cellulite? We all have it! All of our asses sag. All of us have wrinkles and moles and dry skin, and “waist-boobs”. Not one of us is immune. We age, people. We get fat. We sag and crease and droop and poop. Everybody poops!

The kicker? We are in our 20s for exactly 10 years and then guess what? It all starts going to hell. But, it’s normal. It’s healthy. It’s RIGHT! (And, most 20-year-olds have their heads up they tiny a$$es anyway. Look to Miley Cyrus for a perfect example of said ass-hattery. Oh, okay she just turned 21, but yeah, she has her head way up “you know where”.)

Sagging skin is beautiful because you took the time, the years, and the life lessons to get it that way. Hello!

GD-it! it’s time for us to put plastic surgeons out of business, don’t you think? It’s time for us to love our lot in life, accept ourselves and move into higher consciousness. It’s time for us to feel, really feel all of our emotions and sit with them. It’s time for us to question our egos and ideas about the body. It’s time for us to demand self-acceptance from ourselves. It’s time to ignore what other people are doing or saying about us and do what we feel is right. Let’s do what our bodies want for a change.

Does this mean that we should sit like greasy lumps and shovel food into our head-holes all the live-long day? No. But, for poop’s sake, cutting into the body is the easy way out.  Yes, it’s easier and faster to simply get some surgery done rather than address your own psyche and emotional issues. But, addressing what is, at bottom (ha ha!), an emotional issue by cutting into and altering the body is so, if you’ll excuse the pun, a$$-backwards!

Please, please please stop hating your body and adding stuff that wasn’t there to begin with or taking away stuff that was there and you’ve decided has got to go because some airbrushed celebrity got ginormous a$$ implants. PLEASE! Run on the beach because you love oxygen not because you want to be a size zero. (Zero plus zero still equals zero.) Play basketball because you enjoy how your body moves. Eat a friggen’ chocolate cake because it’s tremendously mouth-gasmic and so satisfying and so necessary sometimes! Stop trying to look like a Kardashian. The friggen’ Kardashians don’t even look like Kardashians. Trust me.

Keep the butt that’s sitting on you now. Keep the boobs that hang off of you now. Keep yourself emotionally clear now. Work to resolve your inner resistance and tensions. Find out how to relax. Celebrate every single thing that is currently in your experience because you put it there. You asked for these bodies and you asked for these life lessons. Now, learn them, bless them, and move past them.

<Liz stepping off of her soapbox and sliding it into the closet>

I love you all. Gobs and gobs. 🙂 And, to prove it, here’s some “imperfect” boobs that I drew just for you! Note: In the original post, I had just one booby down there, but my adorbs friend and brother writer, Dan Hoger wanted to see both of ’em. And, can you really blame him? Here ya go, Dan:

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Breaststrokes: Titty City; A Guest Post by Claudia Moss

Shoot. That’s kinda cute. Talk about giving up something, like a sacrifice, we’d have given up our Claudia Moss LIVE picprized ace-boon-coon roadie, Sita, to have the kids at school and random ole common folks in the street look at us and see “cute” and “shotgun” in the same thought. Kinda like they saw Sita, whose ‘breasteses,’ yeah, that’s what we said, put them in the mind, we know, of sexy melons a couple years shy of plucking, at least in this country. Where Sita from in New Delphi, way over across the globe in India, she’d already be some ancient, wealthy man’s wife and him and her babies would be hanging like Christmas ornaments from her breasteses right now. Then again, they probably never be as gargantuan as us, we don’t care how many old men and babies laid gums to them.

We so huge, we make Sita’s grandma look flat chested.

And we won’t even mention her Amma, Sita’s word for Mama. It blows us away every time we see her and those two handballs she got. Won’t even mention she done had five babies. Five. Sita is the baby, like me, but she got four brothers, who all try as hard as they can to keep they eyes in they head when we come around.

Yeah. We that huge.

Make it so bad, we have nothing to blame but Mama’nem gene pool. We come from a long line of big-breasteses womens. Mama’s make her look like a capital letter P. You can’t even tell she got hips and legs and a stomach under her clothes, her top that heavy. We’d never ever tell her, cause we only told Sita that Sunday after church, when Sister Foote whispered to that nosy Johns woman that Mama’nem were “catfish,” one and all.

“Catfish?” Sita ask, that black braid snaking down her back riled up and flopping. “I don’t understand.”

We didn’t either until we passed the word back and forth between us for a day or so. Daylight got shed on matters when our sister Kat overheard us on the back porch, thinking out loud, swinging on the scratchy wooden swing.

“Who call who that?” she want to know.

We told her.

“They can talk,” Kat growl. “All them favor water buffalo.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t tell us what ‘catfish’ mean,” Sita chip in.

Kat open the screen door on her way back into the kitchen. “It mean a woman favor a huge fish, a catfish be good as any, just that her feets be like two lil fins and her body go up into a oversize fish head that stick out, ‘cept her stick-out mouth be her humongous bosom.”

In that minute, fish-faced, too, we must’ve looked as crazy as Chicken Little.

“Should’ve known. Mama’nem so pretty that’s all Sister Foote and that ole Johns woman could make mention of—her breasteses,” we say.

“They jealous.”

“That and mean,” Kat add.

Sita nod her agreement.

“Wonder if the kids at school jealous when they call us Titty City. The boys say it mostly. A few of the girls join the Peanut Gallery, when they aiming to show off. They say, ‘Girl, if all titties in the city disappeared tomorrow, you got enough titties to give every girl and woman two cups each. DAMN. You a titty factory. Just a titty plant. How you sleep? You ever topple over standing up with all that? Bet it’s a sheer miracle you can get out of bed on yo’ own in the morning!’”

Kat turn around, step over to the swing. “Scoop over, Baby Girl,” she say.

We scoot over and she hug us, her arms squeezing our shoulders tight. Then Sita, face droopy and cute, like one of the new puppies in the backyard, reach over and hug me from the left, her lil thin Indian arms hugging Kat’s. All of us in a group hug.

“Don’t pay folks no never mind,” Kat say, her tone grown up, sounding more like Mama’nem. “Remember. It ain’t about you.”

“No,” Sita chip in again. “It’s about them and how they feel inside.”

The most important thing is how we feel inside, this much we do know. The first chance we get we gone look into getting a breasteses reduction, we don’t care what nobody say about leaving this life with what you came with. Even though we loving all the love Kat and Sita showering us with right about now, that don’t discount the fact there ain’t hardly no room in this swing, we squeezing out the air and space, between us and Kat’s breasteses and Sita—well, hers ain’t even touching my arm, they so small, and she squeezing the wind out of herself.

Next time one of them boys, or girls, for that matter, say something to us at school, we gone get up and plop out of this T-shirt and bop somebody upside the head. We can see it now: “Boys Assaulted by Classmate’s Chest.” Teach them who to mess with.

As for Sister Foote and that Johns lady, they better not let us overhear another conversation like that last one. If so, we gone forget Mama’nem home training and inform them they need to hush up and figure out which pond Brother Foote and Deacon Johns splashing around in.

Now there.

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This is part two, in a series of three guest posts provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful peeps; better yet, visit Claudia’s links below, tell her how you feel about her writings, and connect with this Goddess of self-esteem.

Claudia Moss

The Compassionate Body: Love Yourself Before All Others – A guest post

The Compassionate Body: Love Yourself Before All Others – A guest post. Hey, guys, here’s a link to my guest post on the beautiful, energy-filled Tip of My Tongue blog, which is lovingly proffered by one of the most heart-connected and talented women I have ever had the joy of meeting. Thank you for letting me play in your awesome playground, Jennie-babe!

Breaststrokes: Shotgun T*tties; A Guest Post

By Claudia Moss.

Before she identified us, as though we were standing in a line-up, her words a poke in the ribs, a shove to the shoulder or a definitive finger to the tip of the nose, we were nonexistent. Just twin mosquito bites with a dark-brown, unblinking eye on both sides of her chest. Not much different from her twin brother’s chest. And we were okay with that.

Yet, the moment shifted when Aunt Marion named us. Just like that.

Said it before everybody in the room: her oldest sister, my mother, my Aunt Suda, and my sister, all of whom had a “bosom.” That was Mama’s word for us. Maybe that’s why we caught her sister’s attention, us poking persistently through a white T-shirt, no training bra to tame us, considering Mama didn’t think us big enough to bother about hiding us respectfully away from society and its groping eyes. So, Aunt Marion opened her mouth and exercised her right to name us, as if God had given her dominion over everything under her gaze.

“Shotgun titties!” Everybody looked around, but there was no mistaking about whom she was speaking. We would have fainted and receded back wherever we’d come, if we weren’t smooched under tight cotton. The sound ripped into our preteen world and parted the curtain on everything that held no prior importance…until then.

Laughter fountained from every corner of our mother’s bedroom. We hardened in embarrassment. And as if her words weren’t enough, Aunt Marion made twin pistols of her hands and fired them at us. “Pow! Pow!” she joked, blowing the smoke from her manicured nails. “Bet those little peaks could hurt somebody in a traffic jam.”

That’s when she turned and raced out of the room, heading for her bedroom. Safe behind her locked door, we rose and fell on her chest for several long minutes, her belly trembling, until she could pull herself together. Then, she domed us lovingly under her palms, although the seed had already been planted. All we thought about from that moment on was how to get into the cup of a bra. With white pads. Obsessed, we were willing to do whatever to be larger and favor two perfect pyramids under blouse or dress, preferably her low-cut ones.

If other girls could boast of having to adjust their bra straps, their titties nestled daintily in A cups, then Mama should do the same for us. She owed us that. Didn’t she know her baby sister had already poured the cement for a major complex?

After that, we couldn’t go anywhere or meet anybody without studying her chest. Did she have boobs? Titties? Bump? A rack or a bosom? Floodlights? Flashlights? Candles? Party hats? Raisins? Breasts? Sugar babies or teats? Maybe, like my teacher Mrs. Ferguson said, “sugar teats,” molasses in cloth, like the slaves used to keep the babies quiet on the railroad to freedom? Every word I’d ever heard to name us seemed better than “mosquito bites,” though “shotgun” still left a sour taste in our mouths.

Months afterward, Mama eventually stood in Sears and Roebuck with a woman older than her measuring us, top and bottom, for our first bra. Why they insisted on referring to it as a “training” bra was a mystery? What was it supposed to be training us to do? Not be visible? Not show our nipples? Quit being so noticeable for hands other than our own to palm us? We never learned the answer to any of this trivia; the only thing we did learn was Mama’s commandments: “Keep these bras clean. Don’t go showing off at school. And, never come out of it for anyone, definitely not boys.” We tingled all the way from downtown to our front door.

And, would have promised Mama anything only to get behind our bedroom door, strip, slip on a delicate bra, one behind the identical other, adjust and readjust the straps, and admire our creamy brown skin against soft, white cotton. She smooched us together, her hands making us strain to form cleavage, what we admired most about the women in Uncle Junior’s girly magazines.

But we stayed “tee-notchy,” our Grandma’s word for little, for years afterward, no matter what she did to make us bigger. We might have gained a tad more plumpness when a new girl appeared in our class the year after we tired of being suffocated by bras every moment of the day, except nighttime. (And, sometimes she’d sneak and wear a bra to bed, sweating us horribly, until, gratefully, Mama caught her and made her stop, saying she was wearing out too many bras and money didn’t grow on trees.) Anyway, she was a big, peach-colored girl, country, although she came from the North. Name was Cathy. Cathy Robinson.

Her claim to fame was the song she taught the girls in our class. “I must…I must…I must increase my bust!” She crooned it as if she were on Broadway. Her hands flew over her own huge titties, massaging them like they had to hear as well as feel the song. We liked the ditty at first. And then it got old, unless somebody else was doing the massaging, and then it started too much stimulation in lower places, not to mention news getting back to Mama we was being felt up in public and she was being fresh to let it happen.

For all the times we stared proudly back at her from the dresser mirror or the bathroom mirror, who’d have guessed that one day we’d contemplate being enlarged so as never to slip down her stomach as if we were on our way to her navel? We might have started out as shotguns, but we eventually found our way to C cups that favored little brown balloon boobs. Just didn’t know we’d take a whole half of a lifetime and a baby to do it!

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This wonderful guest post is provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful friends, visit Claudia’s links below, and revel in the power of another woman squarely in her body and lovin’ it!

Claudia Moss

Guest Post Series: Breastrokes, Starting Tomorrow!

Hi, BigBodyBeautiful peeps! How are you all doing?

Quick announcement to tell you that starting tomorrow, we’re launching a new guest post series called Breaststrokes by Claudia Moss a wonderful author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN and sister-of-my-soul. I LOVE this woman so much. The light in her eyes, the fire in her belly, and the love that she beams at the universe is simply a gift to all of humanity and is breathtakingly gorgeous. Claudia is a Goddess.

The Breaststrokes series is a compilation of monologues, written from the point of view of the breasts and in which the breasts share their thoughts about life and enlighten us to the concerns of, and messages from, this part of the body. I love this series so much, because these writings are funny, interesting, poignant, and such a celebration of the body consciousness. BBB will be sharing works from the Breaststrokes series over the course of several months.

So, the first post will go live sometime tomorrow. Please give the series a read, leave your comments, and send a sister some love and support! All my love and light to you, friends. ~BigLizzy

If Your Body was a Little Baby…

…or a little child, what would you say to her or him? Would you talk to a baby the same way that you talk to your body? For example, would you hold an infant in your arms and say: “My God, look at those fat, little legs, you little porker. Get a grip and lose some weight!”

My guess is no. Most of us would not address a little child in such a critical, demeaning way, but we do it to our bodies all of the time. Many people tell their bodies hurtful, damaging, and frankly, beyond-cruel things on a daily basis. Our bodies cannot possibly be expected to function properly or live healthily with this kind of treatment and nor do children. Why do we talk to the body any differently than we talk to other people? What is it about our bodies that just drives us so insane that we abuse them and demean them like we do? Why is most of our rancor, disdain, and fury reserved for our own bodies? And, why don’t more people even question this?

So, for the next, oh, REST OF YOUR LIFE, imagine that your body is a precious, sweet, impressionable, and tender little baby that relies on you for everything; it is your job to help this little one grow, express, and thrive despite the rigors of life. It is your job to see this baby into her future. How will you help her grow and trust? What can you do to ease your little one’s anxiety? Are there things that he needs and isn’t getting? Is he well fed and clothed and rested? If not, why and better yet, what can you do about it?

Our bodies listen to every single word we speak and think; they hear us and respond to our emanations instantly. The body is electrical. The mind, consciousness is electrical. Our bodies sponge up every thought, every word and then carry out our demands. We know about the mind/body connection, yet so few of us every really apply these concepts to our self image, our relationship with the body, or our behaviors. It’s time, my friends.

Treat your body with the same love, understanding, and tenderness that you would for a little baby and watch what happens. I bet things get better. I bet you will feel better. I bet that your body will be sitting there wagging his or her tail like a Labrador puppy waiting to play. And, I bet your life will improve tremendously.

Pick up the baby, love her, hold her, whisper to her, tell her how vital she is to your expansion as a human being and feel how much you appreciate the sacrifice she has made to be here with you. Love that body-baby and wait for the love to come back to you. It will.