Tag Archives: women

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.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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

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!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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

HuffPostLive Discussion on “Love Your Body” Campaigns

Hiya, body-lovers! Following’s a link to the panel discussion in which I participated with other lovely women on HuffPostLive this morning. Had the best time with these wonderful, gorgeous women. It was a great discussion. Proudest moment of my body-lovin’ life. 🙂 Please take a watch and, as always, feel free to share your comments. All my love and light to you, BigLizzy

 

Breaking News! Participating in a HuffPostLive Body Image Discussion Today!

Hi, body-lovers! Quick post to tell you that I’ve been asked to participate in a conversation about body image today on HuffPostLive at 10:30 am, pacific, 1:30 pm eastern. Woop!

The panel of women will be discussing how the “Love Your Body” campaigns are or are not working. One of the panelists, Isabel Foxen-Duke feels that the campaigns are not helping women overcome their body issues and posted a compelling HuffPost Women article on her stance.

So, so excited to be doing this! Thank you, universe. Thank you, my loyal body-lovin’ peeps. Thank you, HuffPostLive. : )

Self Esteem is Sexy at Any Size

It’s true. Ask any dude and he’ll tell you that a woman with self-esteem, a woman who knows who she is and can actually think for herself is far sexier than some stick-thin bimbo with big boobs who leaks insecurity and pathos all over the room. Now, before you jump on me: This is not to say that stick-thin bimbos with big boobs can’t have self-esteem or be intelligent; they can. But, in a straight, side-by-side comparison between a chunky woman with self- esteem and a woman with a “hot body” and little self-esteem, the fatty with a healthy love for herself will always win.

self-esteem-is-sexy

Don’t believe me? That’s okay. I can’t really prove these assertions anyway as they are largely anecdotal. But, I can tell you that I have observed this interesting social phenom on many occasions, mostly, through my own experiences. This is not because I’m not interested in other people’s lives, but because I honestly do not know many women with the rampant body-love that I possess, so I have to use myself as the guinea pig.

But, back to the core message. I get hit on all of the time. Yes, me, at 250 pounds of hefty Germanic-Indian-and-French origin. Seriously. I do! Oh sure, plenty of people look right past me or through me like I’m not there, but that’s about them, not me. I can tell you that lots of people, the right people, notice me and my “healthy, happy, loving emanations”. I get looked at, up and down. I get hit on. My husband tells me this all of the time; dudes look me up and down, alot. Yes, even with my big booty and my joyous rolls of belly fat. They look. Why?

The secret is that I love myself. I love my life. I adore my body and that “light” of self-love just blitzkreigs out of me and into any given space, filling it with a breathy, astonishing, and buzzing buzziness. Okay, ya, ya, ya. Everyone knows that I’m terrific. But, I want YOU TO FEEL AND BE TERRIFIC!

I want you, dear readers, to know how awesome and gorgeous you are. I want every woman to feel her power and to feel her sexiness and to truly, deeply, and abidingly know that it doesn’t matter one little bit what you look like. What matters is how you feel. What matters is your mental health, your depth, your presence. Most guys, well, guys of substance and equal self-esteem, do not care if you have a fat ass. They don’t! They care that you can laugh and poke fun at yourself and poke fun at life’s travails. They care that you are healthy and happy, not “thin”. Trust me. Guys, back me up! Leave some comments. Let’s fix this female “mind-poop” once and for all!

Women are the ones who largely obsess over their size far more than men obsess over their wives or girlfriends’ sizes. If you could spend 1/10th of the time you now spend obsessing over your weight and instead find little ways to love yourself, to think about the miracle that you are, connect with your reasons for being here, in this particular body, and then embrace that journey? OMG! Your life would explode with energy, joy, movement, passion, and love.

So, I have an idea. Do this: Stand in front of a mirror every day for five or six minutes and tell yourself how cute or sexy or happy or present or beautiful you are. The adjective does not matter so long as it’s a positive adjective or statement. Do this even if you do not yet believe it. And, do this for a total of 30 days. Look at your body and thank her. Look at your breasts and tell them: “Thank you for being here with me and for feeding our children.” Tell your hips: “You are so awesome for holding me up, for allowing me to do so many things.” Tell your neck, “I love you, neck. Look at your cute little pad of pudge and how you laugh when I do”. Tell your feet: ” What a wonderful job you have done in supporting my life and movements, feet. You take so much and rarely complain and for this, I deeply love you.”

Go through your whole body and tell your entire body that you love and respect her. This exercise, if done diligently and with a full, soft heart, will change your mind and it will change your perspective. I promise. I promise that at the end of 30 days, you will feel differently about yourself. You will feel happier. You will begin to believe your own programming.

Try it and write to me. I want to know what you experience. And, if you want to write a guest blog post here about your experiences, ABSOLUTELY let me know. All my love to you, my friends. ~Lizzy

Three “Big-A$$” (heh, heh) Reasons to Share this Blog

bodies_dance3

Helllooooo, all of you fine, body-acceptin’ humans! It occurred to me that if we are going to start and maintain a “revolution” of the body-lovin’ variety, we need more peeps in the loop. We need to spread the message. I cannot do this alone. I need my body-adorin’ posse to show up. So, toward that end, I offer you the following, compelling reasons for sharing this blog.

Reason #1: You want to help others

It’s clear that you are compassionate. You are present. You care about your friends and family. You see others as beautiful no matter what they wear, weigh, say, or do. While that’s abundantly evident and a core part of your life, you know that many of your friends and family could benefit from a small shift in focus, a new way to view physicality, a slight change in how they think. You know that getting to a higher plateau, a deeper, more tranquil relationship with the body would truly help others and would positively impact many different areas of their lives. Nothing would delight you more than seeing your friends and loved-ones begin (or continue) the process of loving themselves as much as you love them.

  • Simply put: Helping others to accept themselves feels good. It feels good to love others and to see them prosper. It feels good to give others an avenue through deeper healing, deeper being. Let’s do this together. Let’s help other people. : )

Reason #2: Body-hating is contributing to many social ills and it’s time to fix it 

Look around. All around us are massive-piles of evidence that point to mankind’s reluctance to accept and honor the body, its needs, its messages, its wants. This mass-decision (and delusion) is threatening humanity’s lasting happiness and I argue our continued survival. With everything from dense, antiquated, and unrealistic religious edicts about the body’s various sins, transgressions, and uncleanliness, to modern advertisements that beg women to hide their skin, smells, and bodily functions with chemical-laden, unhealthy, and frankly, dangerous products, it’s so clear that we have a serious problem here.

We, as a species, largely disapprove of or flat-out hate our bodies. For many people, this hatred permeates every aspect of life. It creates an adversarial basis to everything that we do. For, as we know, from within, comes the basis of all outer manifestation. If that inner terrain is rife with angst, anxiety, and disdain for our bodies and by proxy, others, how can we fully and happily live? How can we accept others? How can we truly be at peace?

If we are to evolve as a species and become creators and not victims, we simply must vanquish this pervasive body disdain, because it is the wellspring from which bubble many of our most vexing human problems, problems that range from mental and emotional to physical and behavioral. Some examples of the most damaging social ills include: child abuse, murder, self-destruction, drug abuse, damage to the earth, crime, and misuse of power (among many others); these problems are pointing to, at bottom, a mistrust of the body, either our own or others’. I’m not saying that body hatred is the root cause of these social ills, but in my estimation, it’s a key component of everything that is “wrong with humanity”.

If we do not accept the body, our full self, in all of its qualities, we cannot truly ever accept other people. We cannot walk softly on the earth or honor the earth-mother’s body. We cannot advance spiritually. We cannot love fully and deeply like we are designed to do. If we choose to neglect or hate our bodies, we cannot form lasting, peaceful relations with other cultures or life forms. In my humble opinion, this is the biggest threat to mankind’s survival.

  • Simply put: Hating the body is not okay. Subscribing to a religion or belief system that illustrates a shame or disdain about the natural processes of the body and teaches about the body’s supposed uncleanliness or depravity is to be questioned and if needed, quickly and thoroughly abandoned. This no longer serves us as a species. It’s time to take ownership of our beliefs and behaviors. It’s time to question our ideologies and ask why we believe what we are taught. It is time for free-thinking, people. Not life-damaging, body-desecrating dogma.

Reason #3: It’s time to embrace that we are powerful creators and can be the change that all of humanity needs

So many of us keep doing the same stuff over and over. We do the same routine, the same workout, the same Friday night get-together with the friends. We are routine-based organisms. We largely like predictability and sameness. However, sometimes the same old thing stops working.

I think humanity is caught smack-dab in the middle of one such crisis: the old is no longer working and we are faced with sheer, abject terror over what will replace the old ways of doing things. We realize that taking power over each other and our Earth-Mother is not yielding the satisfaction that it once did. We are feeling restless, bored, numb, depressed, and frustrated with ourselves and the powers that be. Many of us have a sense that there has to be more, there has to be something else out there, there has to be a reason for all of this stuff that keeps happening to us. This is good. It’s progress for us.

I choose to believe that mankind is going to get to a healthier place in all aspects of life and soon; I feel that that we are in the midst of a huge shift in consciousness. We are largely moving away from fanatical, damaging, and harmful behaviors to a deeper living, a deeper spirituality, a deeper awareness that includes honoring the body, Earth-Mother, and the even the unseen forces that so many of us sense (and which help shape our lives).

I can feel a building hunger in mankind to get better, to heal, to realize why we come back to this planet over and over. I can feel mankind one-by-one leaping into the unknown terrain inside and emerging victorious. We want answers. We want to know what things mean. We want to know that our lives stand for something. There has to be more than just acquiring possessions and wealth. There has to be more than watching endless episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Simply put: It’s time for mankind to embrace this shift in consciousness and abandon his  long-perpetrated rape-and-pillage paradigm in favor of a more peaceful, consciously aware, and responsible role. It’s time for us to push forward into our deepest healing and one way to do that is to question how we feel about our bodies and look for any opportunity to be aware of our thoughts and beliefs about the body because these absolutely color everything else in our lives. It’s time to celebrate the body in all of its manifestations. It’s time for us to reverse or at least stop the damage that we have done to our Earth-Mother. You can be a part of this effort. You, right there, reading this post, can begin to address this issue. You are a powerful being. You can affect change. We all can. It all starts inside.

So, all of this to say that I would LOVE it if you would help me spread the word about this blog and in the process help others. Together, we can help so many people change their inner world that will in turn help and change the outer world. Thank you for reading and being a part of the revolution. I appreciate each and every one of you.

“Fat Talk:” Most Women Do It

Body lovers! I just read a very interesting article on something called “fat talk”. What is fat talk? According to psychologists, fat talk is a social phenomenon in which most women and girls routinely engage; it consists of the negative body comments that we females make during conversations.

fat-talk

While men also engage in this activity, it’s far more prevalent among women. Quel supris! Fat talk is the stuff that we say to each other about our bodies when trying on clothes, for example, or the things that we utter when talking about the latest fashions (that we know we will never fit into) or what we say when we compare our physiques to other people’s. We say things like: “I wish my butt wasn’t so poochy” or “One of my boobs is bigger than the other and I hate it” or “Why do I have to have such thunder thighs? or “You look so good in those pants; I wish I looked as good as you.” This kind of talk is very, very common among women and it’s super damaging to our psyches and I argue, our actual bodies.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that women (many, many women), heavily dislike their bodies or aspects of their bodies and they talk about that fact. Often. This makes me so sad. In the past, I also did this a great deal with my girlfriends. I remember uttering phrases that were incredibly cruel about my body. I complained about how muscular I was and how “German-looking” I was. I complained about being fat (when I weighed a mere 155 pounds). I complained about being  too big of leg and too small of boob. **sigh**

I absolutely cringe now to think of all of the negative thoughts and statements that I hurtled at my beloved body and her various parts. It seriously creeps me out and sends a dark **chill down my spine** to know that for years I thought nothing of openly and vocally criticizing my body for various real and perceived “problems”. If you are a woman and reading this, I bet you have similar recollections of similar discussions about your body.

In my opinion, here’s the worst part of fat talk: Our bodies listen to us. Intently. It’s true. They hear every word, every thought directed toward them. If the statements that we make are negative, our bodies suffer. They do. In my belief system, our bodies have their own consciousness. Yes, it’s a consciousness that is closely linked and entwined with our psyche, soul, and ego-based personalities, but the body has its own gig and agenda. The body has its own ecosystem, it’s own management system, it’s own reality that’s largely disregarded and consciously unavailable to most of us.

Because the body has its own life, wishes, desires, reactions, and solutions, they are often frustrated with the person inhabiting them and the choices that that person is making. For example, I used to know a psychic holistic health practitioner who could readily connect with a person’s body and tell them what their various body parts were saying when imbalance had set in. It was fascinating to hear her say to me: “Well, your knee is really displeased with you for the the things you’ve been saying about her. She can’t help the damage that you did to her in your early 20s. She is pretty ticked off at you.”

I sat there stunned and thought: “Wait! I didn’t come in for a problem with my knee. But, yeah, I was just telling Susan about how my ‘bad knee’ affects my ability to do yoga. Son of a gun!”. This experience displaced my entire understanding of the body. Going to see this health practitioner deepened my dialog with the body. And, it helped me to see that yeah, our bodies actually listen to us and have their own reaction to the things we think and say out loud.  When I followed the practitioner’s advice and assured my body that I was listening and addressing the problems, things really calmed down. I could feel a shift inside from some deep place and my inflammation would go away, sometimes pretty miraculously.

Here’s the thing: We are inhabiting these immensely complex, elegant, and miraculous physical bodies that respond to every thought that we think. We are here in the physical to do something in the spiritual. We know this whether we have an organized theology or not. The body is the part of the path through our process of expansion as souls. There is absolutely tons of evidence out there, in an exhaustively wide variety of scholarly and spiritual media, which confirms a very real and visceral mind-body connection.

We know that that the mind is capable of eliciting tremendous feats of strength, endurance, and even healing from within the body. We know that we are electromagnetic beings who emanate energy into the ether by way of our physicality. If you don’t believe me, walk into a room in a bad mood and watch your dog or cat’s reaction to you. Ya! it’s real. We know that the thoughts we think affect our health because we can measure it, quantify it, and document it. We know this. We have proven that negative thoughts negatively affect water molecules and positive thoughts positively affect the structure of water molecules. We understand that our emotions create reactions inside our bodies for good or bad.

Doesn’t it then stand to reason that the words we use to describe our physical bodies would affect not only our physiology but potentially trigger other people’s reactions to their own bodies? Think about that. The words that we so carelessly push into the world are registered; they are recorded. They are chronicled. They are living. Where? In the body. In the ducts, cells, and ligaments. These statements live in the mind of the body. They are stored in the gut. They travel the circulatory system. They are tiny emotional pockets of destruction (or creation) depending on intent. And our bodies are wise to our sh*t.

Why are we women so flippin’ adversarial with our bodes? Without the body, we can’t be here. Without a healthy body, we cannot easily achieve a happy life. Without the body in all of its various states of health, we cannot expand as a consciousness. It’s time for us all to think about what we are saying to the body and think about what we are pushing into the world with our words.

Let’s teach our young women this. Let’s individually and collectively send a message to other females that it takes all kinds of bodies to be here and we are all beautiful and miraculous. Let’s stop talking and start asking the body to tell us what it wants. My body at the moment wants cake, but that’s just me. ; ) Please help me help the women of this world feel good about themselves. Start with you. And, I’ll keep working it from this angle.

Welcome to the Quiet Revolution

you don’t know me yet, but you will. soon. my name is self-esteem. i hang around at the periphery of most people’s lives, especially women’s lives. but, that is all going to change, eventually, because this entity, self-esteem, is going to start a quiet, earnest revolution, a ripple in people’s thinking, a wave of new consciousness, a profound shift.

how, you ask? simple. i, self-esteem, am going to remind other people of their decisions, their freedom, their energy, their attitudes, their power and show them that all of these become the body. body is beautiful, body is necessary to expansion, to exploration of the earth plane, and thus, it should be celebrated, not hated. join me. let’s change our thinking. let’s change this world. let’s love instead of hate. yours truly, self-esteem.

Related articles