Archive for the Body issues Category


Posted in amends, Body issues, Depression, letting go, people, relationships, truth on April 18, 2017 by La Femme

Sometimes I write about things that make people very uncomfortable. Recently I wrote a poem and I’m pretty sure it freaked some people out…. including the person that it was written about. I allow myself to retain toxic connections because I am afraid that if I don’t have those, I will not have any connections at all.

Is it better to have someone who loves you dangerously, or no one at all?



The Dream


I had that dream again last night,

the one that you really want to cast off as a nightmare.

But you can’t, because even waking you can remember that night.

Glaring detail make you have to remind yourself to breathe.

That night right before you left for college,

back in mid 2000.

You and your long time boyfriend headed back from the movies.

You stop at the lake to talk because summer is coming to an end.

He knows you’re leaving.

This time talking isn’t enough.

This time he’s going to get what he wants.

Closing in on two decades later and you can still feel the terror,


People say you should let it go, forget it, bury it.

That moment has defined so much of me.

The truth is I laid down in the road after,

praying for a coal or log truck.

The truth is, I ended up comforting him.

The truth is, I have never been the same.

Take your finger off the Self Destruct Button!

Posted in Body issues, Dating, decisions, Depression, letting go, relationships, self discovery, self-esteem, truth on April 12, 2017 by La Femme

Ok. You’re marriage failed because your ex couldn’t keep it in his pants. You survived.

You now are a single mom to two beautiful insanity makers and work in a job that doesn’t cover your bills. You’re surviving.


Ok. Maybe “douche bag” is a little strong. He didn’t ask you to like him. That was all you. He was nice to you. He was there to talk to in some of your darkest moments. Yes, you’re the same age. Yes, you have a ton in common. But let’s be real. There was never really any interest.

And now you find out from a good friend, “girl don’t even worry about him, he’s always out with college girls.” So apparently I’m not even in his age range.

But just because you don’t think that you’re going to be loved, doesn’t mean you should sell yourself short. It doesn’t mean that you settle for unbridled lust. It doesn’t mean that you get to let yourself act like those 22-year-olds.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret the decisions that I’ve made, I am just worried about letting myself fall into a physically and emotionally destructive pattern of behavior. The problem being, there is no one there who really cares to catch me before I land in a broken pile at the bottom. So… this is my message to myself

Catch yourself.

Take your finger off of the self destruct button.

Let loving yourself be enough.

Remember that your worth is not based on whether anyone else loves you.

Remember that regardless of how you feel, you have two people that need you to be safe and in one piece.


Self-Worth… So Unsexy

Posted in Body issues, Depression, self-esteem on March 7, 2016 by La Femme

Why do we as humans, especially females, allow others judgement to determine our self-worth? Why is that if we deem someone worthy of our affection and get rejected we believe that that is a reflection of our desirability?

I allowed my husband’s infidelity with a 22-year-old to kill my confidence. Obviously I’m not attractive if he has to go and find someone half his age.

Then the very next person that I let myself feel anything for… rejected. But not just rejected, rejected for spending time with sweaty men… Yes, my friends had a field day with that one. Ok, it’s a consensus…. I get it… I no longer have ANY “groove”

So about a month ago I went and listened to a band some friends are in and then hung out afterwards… what the fuck was I thinking? Hanging out with a bunch of 20 somethings? Sure they’re going to notice your fat ass…. UGH. I love them, but I was largely invisible at the death trap of a bar we went to except for the few locals that looked old enough to be my father, and my one very drunk friend who kept giving me encouragement.

Why do I let all of these little rejections mean so much.


All I want to do is listen to Alanis


A lesson learned.

Posted in Body issues, Dating, decisions, Depression, self-esteem with tags , , , on February 4, 2016 by La Femme

Today I have learned not to care.

A lesson that somehow, my divorce failed to teach me.

A lesson that I didn’t want.

But that’s what happens when you say what you feel.

That is what happens when you feel at all.

Tis a far greater thing to be a good, but lonely, mother than a terrible lover.

I think I should quit the workout competition I’m doing, I don’t care if people find me attractive any more.

I would rather be fat and happy with a donut, than thin and sad with a man.

Don’t fall for people.

Do NOT fall for people.

There will never be anything that lasts, some things just never actually get started.

If the person that vowed to love you forever can break you, then anyone else can do as bad, and if they can… they will.

At least I don’t need a babysitter for Saturday now.

Can’t believe I even wanted him to meet my family, not that he would have anyway.

Do not be cold and clinical with me, it just proves that you didn’t really care in the first place.

How many days can I be a sobbing mess at work this week before someone has me committed?

I need a donut.


The Naked Truth

Posted in Body issues, decisions, Humanity, letting go, self discovery, self-esteem on January 28, 2016 by La Femme

In getting naked I learned more about myself than I ever thought possible. I realized exactly what my fears were, and in that process… let them go (mostly, I’m not perfect, ok?) In confessing this, I know that my family will eventually get a hold of this, and someone will feel the nosey need to tell my mom, who will then shame me into oblivion, but I don’t care.

I can not even begin to describe the inner peace found lying there, listening to the sound of paper and charcoal and feeling not an ounce of criticism directed towards me. It was transcendent.

In college there was a night… a completely sober night. .. where somehow everyone at the gathering of friends ended up naked. No sex, no wierdness. And we didn’t think so damn hard about it. I used to love my body. Yes of course I complained, but deep down… I thought it was magical. Now my body scares me. The human body has been over sexualized, in my opinion. It shouldn’t be something that I am ashamed of or afraid of. It is mine, it is me. But it is not all of me. It is not even the best parts. I just want to love my body again.

I have made the mistake of trying to find that love of my body from external sources in the past, and I can’t do that again and won’t. I was always comfortable with myself, no matter what state of dress. How can I ever expect anyone else to be if I am not.

Beauty in the Modern Age

Posted in Body issues, self-esteem with tags , , , on September 18, 2015 by La Femme

Recently I made a post on my Facebook in response to my frustration with the way we, as humans, treat each other. It had my friends rushing to my defense and posting reassuring comments, but that wasn’t what I had desired…. don’t get me wrong, a compliment is always nice, but my point was meant to address a deeper issue. The post was:

I have come to terms with the fact that I am not attractive, but still, having it pointed out so blatantly…. hurts.

I can understand how that may sound like a post of self-pity, but really it was a post of self-acceptance.

Now don’t misunderstand, I’m not saying that I’m a hideous troll, I just accept that my the world’s standard of what is “beautiful,” I am not. Even 15+ years and less 30+ pounds ago, I wasn’t.

When you Google “beautiful women,” this is what you get:

Beautiful Women

Let me tell you how much I DO NOT look like them….

On my best days, and with a good Instagram filter, I look like this:


So lets just go with this…. we won’t even talk about my extra “wobbly bits”, or my total and complete lack of a “thigh gap”

One, my complexion is ruddy, at best. I have an excessive amount of freckles, and I turn red at the slightest bit of heat/irritation (note my chest area in this picture). I have nearly hidden my almost-double-chin in this photo with good knowledge of positioning, but still with that it exposes the rather obvious scar on my neck. My nose is slightly bulbous, and my eyes, in color, (I know you can’t see them) are murky and indecisive. My hair is too thin and never lays right.

Also, I am too short, too curvy. I have a mom body. Which means that I have bits that I didn’t have before and that my breasts and gravity are not friends.

I know, I know, that is A LOT of negative, but none of it is “untrue.” Sure, there are things to love… my lips are well shaped, my shoulder line and collar bones are nice, I am occasionally graceful, I have cute feet, and my legs, while a little thicker at the top than acceptable, are nice.

My point of the original post though was not for sympathy, or an ego stroke, but simply a call for people to be kind.

Yes, you may be an Adonis and know it; but just because I don’t look like a magazine cover does not give you the right or permission to belittle, overlook, or dismiss me.

Marriage, Kids, Divorce – Part 1

Posted in Body issues, Children, Divorce, Marriage, Reality with tags , , , , on August 19, 2015 by La Femme

Yesterday I was reading a very poignant article about C-Sections and the stigma that we assign to them.

The article is at the link below and is completely worth the read, but the part that stuck with me was a quote from a father at the end which reads,

“My wife had both our children via c section,” one father wrote. “She tries to hide it and wishes it wasn’t there because it’s a scar but every time I see I think about how she’s the best mom I could’ve wanted for my children.”

That quote bounced around in my head all night, and finally the reality of my divorce sunk in… No one will ever look at my scar and say that, because the children that I bore are not theirs.

As women, alright… as humans, we have a lot of hang ups about our bodies. But no one more so than mothers. Up to very recently I had finally gotten comfortable with my mom body… I wore it like a badge of honor; “Hell YEAH I have a scar, and stretch marks, and other issues! I grew 2 humans, what the hell did you do?” But apparently a great deal of that was due to the fact that the only person besides myself that ever saw me naked was the other person that helped me create those 2 humans. Now…

Now I’m getting divorced. Now my marriage of almost 8 years has do be broken down into meaningless numbers of who took care of what, who owns what, who pays what….

Now what?

Now I don’t want anyone to see me naked…. ever. No one else is going to see that scar and know that it gave life to 2 beautiful kids and feel the same way about that as their father would. I’m not saying that it’s impossible for step-parents to love step-kids, but they will never love them like their own. They will never have been there when your water broke and it was time to go, or when the Dr. kicked them out to prep you for surgery, or when they pulled the baby out and said “IT’S A GIRL!” First tears, first words, first smiles…. So how could they love the shattered remains of my body?

I think if someone would do a study they would find that men in divorces involving kids are much more likely to end up remarried than the women. Part of that is due to the above and part of it I would say is due to the fact that the vast majority of these cases end up with the mother and the primary custody holder. Dating, I’m sure, is much easier as a part-time parent than as a full-time caregiver. That’s not fair, I realize. There are a great many dads I’m sure that are still very involved in their kids lives, but I would say that not many of them are the primary residence for those kids. If you only have the kids 2 nights a week that means you have 2.5 times more nights to have a social life than the other parent. For that other parent, their life is their kids. Those 2 nights “off” are spent cleaning the house, doing laundry, and getting everything ready for the coming week. There is no time to put back the pieces, you just glue it together as best you can and keep on moving.

Part 2 to come.