body positivity

Thin Privilege From a Fat Girl's Perspective

11:56 AM

My whole life I've been fat. Not fat as in a little extra fluff on my adolescent body. Fat as in one of the biggest females in my grade, let alone my friend group. Fat as in avoiding shopping trips to the mall with my friends to save myself the embarrassment of having to take them to the one designated store that carried my size, but was far from what any teenager would consider "trendy". Fat as in some guys making jokes at my expense while they flirted with my thin friends. Fat as in leaving other guys in disbelief that I didn't welcome the "honor" of their advances when I had the nerve to be as big as I was. Fat as in not capable of hearing that I was beautiful unless it was prefaced with "You're not fat".

Fat. Really fat. I mean I even came out of the womb weighing almost 11 lbs. Not a single day of my life have I known what it's like to be considered "thin" or "average" sized. Which is probably what makes it so hard when I've heard women who do fall into these categories lament that they're fat. They make comments purporting to understand the struggles of women like me. They attempt to be our voice in mainstream media. But no matter how well intentioned they may be, I can't help but find it really frustrating.

This morning, for instance, I was flipping through the headlines on Yahoo like I do everyday. As I was swiping through I saw a story about well known model Iskra Lawrence. Now the last time I read a Yahoo story about her, it misleadingly wrote that she took it upon herself to talk to Shape Magazine about editing elements of her New Year's workout and diet plan. It made no mention of this occurring, no doubt, in part to the countless blogs and comments people had written about them in reference to the problematic, restrictive meal plans it promoted. But still I clicked to see the revolutionary body positivity this article claimed to contain.

The whole basis of the story was Lawrence being appreciative to her photographer for never re-touching her and showing her "imperfections". I looked at the photos and immediately felt confused.


An hourglass figure, flat stomach, acceptably thick thighs. What about this does society consider imperfect? What aspect of these photos make these unusable for an ad campaign? Was I supposed to identify with this?


I go on Instagram everyday and see photos of women with similar body types to Iskra's contorting  their bodies to seem relatable. They push out their bellies and bend slightly backwards so you can see a delicate back roll. They purport to know what the plight of a fat girl is. The thing is, if they post a Don't Hate the Shake video people tag their friends to see the cute girl dancing. If I do it people tag their friends to laugh at me. If they post a picture in their underwear people heap praise on them and comment "#bodygoals". If I do it people comment "#killyourself". If they want to "embrace the squish" they have to sit down to be able to pinch at the slightest bit of skin. I don't have the luxury of choosing whether or not I want to embrace my fat. It's there on display on my thighs, my stomach, my arms, my face, and my back whether I'm standing, sitting, or doing a jumping jack. 

I'm tired of society making me feel like I should be grateful for it's baby steps towards the illusion of inclusiveness. I'm not going to thank you when you're still not acknowledging people with stories like mine. Many of us do have similar stories with struggling with self image. Feeling so much pressure about our appearance coupled with mental illness has even led some of us to nearly killing ourselves. However, Cosmo and Yahoo aren't going to run stories about women who have always been fat finally finding the beauty of self acceptance after almost losing their lives to suicide attempts because their self hatred was so strong. It's more easily digestible for the public to see a woman who was so in fear of being fat for years finally celebrate being a size 10 or 12.

If a plus size person is covered by the media it's about their impressive weight loss or includes quotes or photos related to them working out. The media and the subject always feel a need to justify the fatness in question.

Ashley Graham

I'm tired of playing the good fatty. I 100% believe that all body types deserve to love themselves, but I'm tired of only one conventionally attractive type of body being the voice for the struggles of all of us. If you're smaller framed, girl, own that small frame. If you're a beautiful model with a beautiful model body, that's awesome too! At the end of the day, yes we're both preaching the same message. But please remember there are some of us who are still really outcast and hated by society. Some of us have never and will never benefit from thin privilege and all it comes with. And if you don't understand the daily pain and insults fat girls get, that's okay. But be inclusive and try to educate yourself so you can better spread the message of bopo. If your body positive role models are all average sized, straight white women then seek to understand the stories of size 26, queer women of color. It's perfectly okay to identify with some people because their stories are similar to yours, but you're doing the movement a disservice when you forget about the rest of us who helped create this. We want a platform to talk about body image from our side of things too.



I'm not a conventionally attractive woman. I've got a big gut and no butt. I've got fat arms and a double chin. I have Christmas ham sized thighs and saggy breasts. But my experiences are still valid and worth being heard. I just want to be afforded the privilege of being able to tell them. I want equality within the body positive movement. I wish for the same respect others are treated with. I want "All bodies are good bodies" to feel like a true statement and see genuine, unapologetic radical self love when fat bodies are represented in the media. I want acceptance and inclusion for everyone.

And most of all, I want to be allowed to live my life being fat AND beautiful.

My Experience at the Orlando Women's March

3:12 PM

Me proudly showing off my sign

I woke up on the 21st of January and I didn't feel great. I felt a ball of anxiety tighten in my chest like someone's fist had hold of me. It had been there for a couple of days, but it felt like it had reached it's peak that morning. I hadn't turned on my TV in days and had been avoiding most news sites knowing that they would solely be covering the passing of presidential power. As dramatic as it may sound, I really could not bear to look.


I kept reminding myself how quickly time can go by. "Look at how quickly eight years went by." By the end of Trump's presidency it's highly likely I won't even be living in this country. However, regardless of where in the world I or you live, it would be irresponsible to turn a blind eye to how dangerous he could be to this country and beyond.

Still I laid there staring out the window listening to the voice in my head say, "You're just one person. It doesn't matter if you're there or not. Aren't you going to look so ridiculous going by yourself?" Until something inside me had enough of my anxiety trying to hold me back. Without any conscious thought I stood up and went to get clothes out of my closet. I was going to this march.

I sat on the bus still hearing my anxiety try to talk me into turning around, but I remained planted in my seat. I was only one person. but if everyone had that same mindset we would never accomplish anything. If I only sat behind my phone calling out injustice and inequality, but didn't publicly stand for these causes when it counted and I was able to, wouldn't I be a bit of a hypocrite? The further towards downtown Orlando the bus traveled, the more energized and relaxed I became about my participation.

My eyes looked up from my phone as we passed Pulse, the club where 49 innocent people had their lives violently taken from them. It was only the second time I'd been by it since returning to Florida in September, and I didn't get any less emotional than I did when I first saw the horrifying images on CNN on June 12th. Today wasn't just about fighting for cisgender women. Today was about fighting for LGBTQ+ people who are afraid to speak up for fear of being met with violence. Today was about fighting for my fellow Latinx community that deals with racism and stereotyping every single day of their lives. Today was about fighting for comprehensive gun control because we've already lost too many innocent lives to mass shootings. How many more do we have to lose before something changes?

I got off the bus at Lynx Central Station and proceeded towards Lake Eola where the march was taking place. The event wasn't scheduled to start until 1 pm, so I was a few hours early, but this gave me plenty of time to eat and prepare for the unforgiving midday Florida heat.

As I meandered about, I saw an older gentleman holding a sign on the opposite side of an upcoming crosswalk. I couldn't quite make out what it said at first, but I could read "Trump" and "Pence" in bold letters. My pink feminist sign and I almost went down a side street to avoid an early morning confrontation with this potential Trump supporter, but as I grew closer to the intersection I could see he wasn't a Trump supporter at all. For whatever reason I found myself uncharacteristically suppressing my instinct to walk by and silently acknowledge, and instead waiting to cross the road and talk to him.


I extended my hand as I approached him and introduced myself, and he did the same. I believe his name was Bob (I forgot to write it in my notes), and he graciously agreed to let me take a photo of his sign. As I took a few steps back and brought my camera up on my phone. he said "I think it's terrible that old men feel they have a right to say what women do with their bodies." I replied with a laugh, "Tell me about it!" He said, "I don't have to. You already know." It honestly surprised me to see someone from a generation just above my father's be so progressive. It's not something I've encountered often in my life, and I always feel a need to keep my liberal feminist views to myself around folks like this. But Bob talked to me for a few minutes and explained he was originally from south Florida where he witnessed the devastation that business decisions donors and members of Trump's cabinet made had on the people in his community. People lost their houses and fell into poverty due in part to corporate greed, and he worried what effect giving such an increase in power to these rich megalomaniacs could have on the country.

After saying goodbye to Bob, I found my way into a Subway where I ate and relaxed for a few hours until half past noon. At that point I decided to go see what the turnout was looking like at the lake. The sidewalks were already packed with people holding signs and talking, and I panicked thinking I should have shown up sooner to secure a good spot to listen to the pre-march speeches. Luckily, being myself meant I could sit anywhere I wanted, so I settled into a seat directly facing the center of the Walt Disney Amphitheater. Not long after I sat down I saw a rush of people moving towards my left to take a photo of a humorous anti-Trump sign. Once the crowd died down a bit I walked down the row of seats and asked the artist if I could also take a photo.


She told me her name was Lindsay and when I asked her what being at the march meant to her she told me, "It means I'm more than a number from 1-10," referencing the way Trump likes to rate women based on attractiveness. That really stuck with me throughout the day. The fact that there are people out there who genuinely believe he genuinely cares about every American, when he has repeatedly made it known he determines a woman's worth and importance based on her looks is mind boggling and disgusting to me.

I sat back down and took in my surroundings. The crowd was far bigger and more lively than I anticipated. There's a palpable fear surrounding the new president and what he's capable of doing, but you wouldn't have known it being in that crowd of people. People were angry, but energized. There were signs expressing fear of homophobia and sexism, but their spirits were clearly not broken. They were here showing their solidarity after all.

A woman a few seats away from me had a colorful sign and I struck up a conversation with her.


Her name was Teresa and she explained she was also here at the march by herself. Teresa was there to represent the diverse people in her life. She explained members of her family were mixed race, LGBT, and disabled, and watching Trump mock, ridicule, or blatantly insult every one of those demographics felt like a personal insult and brought her to tears. She was married to a republican, but even he couldn't bring himself to vote for Trump in light of his words and actions. "I just can't sit at home in my living room anymore," she said, "This man could, and it seems like he wants to take our rights so we have to act."

After speaking to Teresa, I decided to go find out the stories of some of the other marchers in the brief time I had before the speeches started. I met Sandy Rose Rotondo of Volusia and Flagler LGBTQ Equality a nd Volusia and Flagler LGBTQ Progressive Politics, who's sign echoed the first words of the Suffragettes' speech:


Andrea, Colleen, and Brittany (from right to left, below) who felt it was important to be at the march because "it['s] time" and were in disbelief the country is still having to do this, but "at the same I'm proud to be a part of it", Colleen said.

Then I met mother and son feminist duo, Christine and Julian Suarez:

And Claribel and Madeline who are apart of the LGBTQ+ community. "We've come so far and I don't want to see my my and my girlfriend's rights taken away," Claribel told me.


And just before the speeches began I also had the chance to speak to Shelby Maniccia and Julie Leonard who said, "Silence is not change and silence leads to violence."


I took my seat again and listened to a chorus rendition of "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten echo through the plaza to signify the beginning of the afternoon's events. The crowd began clapping and chanting along to the chorus and I couldn't help but think about all the marches that were simultaneously going on not only around the country, but worldwide. Millions of diverse people from completely different backgrounds banding together to show that we will not be divided and our rights will not so easily be stripped away. It was such a beautiful, indescribable feeling and counteracted all the anxiety I'd been experiencing for days. As the speeches began and 14 diverse women shared their stories and messages of strength and determination, I didn't feel nervous anymore. I felt hopeful. I felt bold. I felt pugnacious. 


I listened to the words of Muslim speakers who expressed having felt fear in the past of being unapologetic about their religion. I felt the pain of commissioner Patty Sheehan as she relayed her regret at having the unfortunate distinction of being leader of the location of the worst mass shooting in our nation's history. I heard the story of a single mother of five who fought back when she was told her children wouldn't be granted health care. I became emotional when a woman maybe slightly younger than my own grandmother shared how heartbreaking it was for her Jewish friends to relive the horrors of World War II when they saw news stories of swastikas being spray painted on synagogues. And we all stood to give a standing ovation to the slam poet who so eloquently delivered a piece depicting a young girl growing up through the years and asking her mother what she should when repeatedly faced with sexism.


Being there amongst all these inspiring voices evoked a feeling of pure invincibility and drive to fight back. I felt angry listening to the concerned speeches of disabled speakers, one of whom was blind and the other had epilepsy. How could we in good conscience appoint Betsy DeVos as Secretary of Education when she refuses to promise to protect students with disabilities? Listening to Sussanah Randolph speak about the sexism she experienced during her run for Congress, reminded me of the countless instances of sexism I've experienced in the workplace. Potentially most painful of all when I was 17 and reported a much older male co-worker making sexually explicit comments, and was met with only "So, do you want to quit?" as a response from the owner.


I was reminded of the plight of my fellow Latinos when a highly educated, Hispanic college professor expressed how insulting it was for her to be followed by store associates while she's shopping. No matter how accomplished we are, based on our skin color or the sound of our voices we continue to be stereotyped as stupid, poor, and lazy. But no matter what amount of racism she's been faced with she managed to find humor in the karma of the situation. "My mixed race kids are going to marry your kids and I'm going to cook them rice and beans every Sunday." 


After the speeches concluded, I marched very briefly with the crowd before giving in to the weakness my body was feeling due to an impending cold. I went home and lounged in the feeling of my rejuvenated soul. I'm not so naive as to believe this march has effected huge amounts of change...yet. But it was such a huge motion to let Trump know he's on watch, and let people who are in fear of their safety know we are ready to band together and take care of each other. We ARE capable of creating change. We ARE capable of being stronger than the hatred being spewed in the mainstream. We WILL fight back.
E Pluribus Unum: Out of Many, One.


body positivity

Why Are We Afraid To Let Go Of Toxic People?

3:32 PM


Earlier this week I posted a blog titled "Body Positivity: How We Grew to Resent the Movement We Created", and it was received in a way I never anticipated. The day I finished writing it my fiancé had to pump me up three times before I finally found the nerve to click "publish". Quite honestly, I thought people were going to hate it or my intent might be misconstrued.

I was wrong.

The morning after I posted it, I was flooded with comments and messages of complete support. I opened direct message after direct message on Instagram expecting expletive filled rants, but they never appeared. My post was shared on so many accounts I lost track and, at the time I'm writing this, has been viewed almost 1600 times which is pretty exciting for a blog that's only one month old.

But I couldn't help but feel a bit dejected at the same time. I knew people were feeling really disenfranchised, which was my whole point of writing what I did. I, however, did not realize quite how deep this went.

Emotions ranged from angry:


To disappointed:



To feeling a sense of pressure to support problematic "role models":

     (This person opted to remain anonymous)

While I understood the first two emotions, I couldn't quite wrap my head around the last sentiment. It popped up in quite a few messages I read. When I asked people why they felt like they had to support accounts they didn't identify with anymore the responses ranged from "I'm too afraid to speak up" to "I think [they] track [their] followers and I don't want to deal with confrontation if [they] notice I unfollowed". 

For example, many people have noticed other accounts rephrasing or, in some cases, blatantly plagiarizing their posts or those of people they know. They don't necessarily have a problem with these folks summarizing or quoting their words as long as due credit is given. But the fact that certain accounts pass off the work of others as their own in the hopes no one will notice is a rightful bone of contention with some. "One time is a mistake, but I've had to say something to [them] on many occasions. It's frustrating and it doesn't feel like a mistake anymore." someone wrote in a message to me.

Even going back to 2013/2014, people in the bopo community felt compelled to support troublesome figures. Many women at this time had latched on to a male body positive activist who regularly publicly championed feminism and good body image. Everyone thought his poetic posts about women were the epitome of sweetness and he quickly amassed thousands of followers who saw him as the quintessential "good guy". But then stories of how he would push the lines of friendship to areas of romantic attachment started to surface from at least six or seven ladies. It wasn't just upsetting that he had been having the same types of conversations with multiple women, but that he had seemingly preyed on women who were still in the midst of dealing with self esteem issues. To them it felt like he had conned them into believing a legitimate relationship was imminent only to pull the rug out from under them when they finally let their guards down. A slow rumble of discontent towards him began to emanate, but other than the scorned women he allegedly toyed with, no one spoke up to denounce the popular wolf in sheep's clothing they thought they knew. He did, however, disappear from Instagram for some time only to resurface on a newly created account which has gone through semi-regular name changes.

But why do we have such a hard time standing up for ourselves or against actions and behaviors we know are wrong?

I was trying to rationalize it solely from an internet perspective and came to the simple conclusion that we're afraid. For some of us, we've been outcasts because of our weight or looks our whole lives. We've been aching for years to find some place in a world that has always told us we're inadequate. We search in the wrong places suffering abuse and heartaches in the process, and then all of a sudden we find it! We find tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of people who prop us up and make us feel important for the first time! But then one day we read/see something from someone we considered a friend, or idolized even, that rubs us the wrong way. We know in our hearts it goes against our moral compass and we should speak up, but we don't. Or we do, but not so much as to really rock the boat. And why is that? Because we're afraid of losing the one thing or place in the world that has given us a sense of purpose and validity. If we call out the behavior of someone, and it blows up in our face, we're afraid of being excommunicated from the community. If we don't have that safe space, then some of us might be stuck with our real life close minded friends and families who don't understand our struggles with self acceptance.

But I think it goes even further than that. In some cases we're just bad with confrontation, so we accept being bullied or stepped on.

From my earliest memory around the age of 4 until I was 13, I was physically abused by my mother. I was regularly punched, whipped, kicked, choked, and had inanimate objects thrown at me, but to this day I feel like the emotional abuse I went through was far worse. It ranged from fairly minor things like name calling to really heavy comments like expressing her desire for me to have been the child she miscarried about a year after my birth. Bruises, cuts, and scrapes heal in a timely manner. Emotional bruises can take years assuming they ever fully heal. It took me almost a decade to tell ANYONE what was going on. I was far too afraid of what the consequences would be if no one supported me. I let it go on and on, suffering abuse after abuse, until one day I decided I'd had enough. I wasn't going to be a victim any longer. I wasn't going to allow this toxic person to retain space they didn't deserve in my life. I'm 25 years old now and I haven't had contact with my mother in just under 12 years.

Now some people have said I'm too cold and maybe it's time to mend fences. To these people I usually say, "I'm not a glutton for punishment". I can say with absolute certainty that I am so much more physically and emotionally healthy at this point in my life, than I would have been if I let her linger about. I didn't enjoy what I went through going up, nor would I recommend it for others, but it instilled in me a cutthroat sense of self respect. If someone doesn't have a positive presence in my life or help me grow as a person, I find it easy to disassociate myself from them. It doesn't matter if it's in real life or online, or if the general consensus of my decision would be viewed as unpopular. I am not a punching bag, emotionally or otherwise, and neither are you.

If someone shows themselves to be a negative presence in your life after repeated chances, maybe it's time to consider they don't need to be a part of it. Whether it's a friend of some kind, a significant other, a family member, an authority figure, etc. it is perfectly acceptable to make the decision you would be better off without them. I understand the element of fear surrounding speaking up, confrontation, and potential loneliness but all of these are temporary experiences. What lasts is the feeling of self respect you maintain for standing up for yourself and what's right. 

You don't deserve to have your work stolen. You don't deserve to have your emotions played with. You don't deserve to be put down and intimidated. You don't deserve to have your voice silenced. And if someone is actively displaying hurtful behavior, maybe they don't deserve you.

Know your worth, take a stand when needed, and never forget that you are magical.

body positivity

Body Positivity: How We Grew To Resent the Movement We Created

12:27 PM


Image Credit: Abbey Gallagher

 While scrolling through my Facebook feed the other night, I saw a status from a very well known Instagrammer cryptically stating there are fake people in the plus size community. The accompanying comment section had received more than 75 responses generally agreeing and sharing their discontent with the state of the body positive movement. I found myself scrolling and agreeing with many of their points as well.

But I began to think:

"How did we get here?"

I've considered myself a part of the bopo community for nearly 4 years now. I wasn't there during the LiveJournal days many people reference, or even for the inception of it on Instagram. But when I did discover it, I wouldn't say it was that extensive just yet. Or at least it didn't feel like it. Someone on the aforementioned thread said she wasn't sure if there was ever really a "community" or any sense of "unity", but I disagree.

I discovered the bopo community during one of my lunch breaks I had while working at Lane Bryant. A random girl had left a series of unsavory comments about my fatness on my pictures, and I couldn't help but respond with a sarcastic caption of mock confusion under a photo of me eating chicken nuggets. Another woman, named Lily, saw that picture and replied with encouragement and the hashtag "pizzasisters4lyfe". And this whole new world was opened up to me!

Now I wouldn't exactly say we had very many mainstream influencers quite yet. There were definitely standouts and people working their way towards that, but the line between Instagram movement and commercial success hadn't really been breached yet. At that point, I really feel we were just groups of people who understood one another's struggle with body acceptance. We posted and were there for each other out of the goodness of our hearts with no agenda. We championed each other's achievements like going outside in shorts for the first time or showing our cellulite and back rolls. We made lovely posts for each other every Wednesday sharing who was inspiring us and complimenting all the amazing characteristics we saw in one another. All of the self celebrating and encouragement was indescribably wonderful. I don't think any of us had ever experienced that level of support in our lives before, and it was coming from strangers of all people.

But in the midst of all the love being spread, there were those who claimed a hierarchy was taking shape. An Instagram page had been created for "Pizzasisters4lyfe" and people felt as though accounts with the highest number of followers were the only ones being featured. More so, there were some who felt the accounts with higher followings were elitist and wouldn't associate with smaller accounts. This caused a lot of tension and passive aggressive posts began popping up accompanied by unfollowing sprees. All of a sudden there was an "us vs. them" feel to the atmosphere.

The movement didn't stop expanding though. On the contrary, people continued to preach their flavor of body positivity and our boldness flourished further. The "Effyourbeautystandards" t-shirts and account were taking off, and Tess Holliday's (or Munster at the time) pin-up makeover and photo shoots were all over our feeds. A conversation about body positivity had started to take shape in mainstream media due in part to people like Tess, Whitney Way Thore, and Lena Dunham. Websites started to feature "listicles" of accounts people should follow and even gave spotlight features to stories they found particularly inspiring. These stories most commonly depicted plus size women losing weight, but still falling under the category of "plus sized", or eating disorder survivors who had finally found body peace. There were limits to this though and no matter if your story involved you losing weight or gaining weight, the common denominator was an "acceptably fat" body type that readers would feel comfortable supporting.

Online features turned to television spots, magazine spreads, sponsorship arrangements, modeling contracts, and book deals. Because of this body positivity and certain people within it seemed to blow up overnight and, whether it was wanted or not, these people became idolized and famous in a sense. We went from celebrating our individuality to comparing ourselves to our acquaintances or friends who all of a sudden had turned taking pictures in their bedrooms like us into a career path of sorts.

Companies realized the momentum the idea of simply loving yourself was gaining and a new hashtag and campaign seemed to be coming out every month. #ImNoAngel, #PlusIsEqual, #AerieReal, #RealBeauty, and more. The number of campaigns quickly started to feel overwhelming, but some tried to stand out by presenting themselves as relatable. They began featuring real bloggers and Instagrammers in the hopes people would identify with them (or that the number of followers these people had would garner them huge amounts of free publicity), but in my opinion, this strategy was never fully executed properly. For the most part, the most acceptably fat among us got asked to be featured. In some ways it felt like they were saying "We want to capitalize on your movement, but only by slightly pushing the boundary." Even today you'd still be hard pressed to find a truly intersectional, well rounded and representative body positive centered campaign. Many members of the community felt and continue to feel understandably excluded and even annoyed by this.

"Am I only allowed to be proud of my body if I have a thick booty and thighs but a flat stomach? Is that the only plus sized body type that's acceptable to celebrate? Where's my representation?"

Even on pages that were created for us to show flaws and all people began to feel less and less represented. The Effyourbeautystandards Instagram page came under fire multiple times for showcasing the same popular accounts repeatedly and showing more plus size fashion posts than bare faced, imperfect body embracing messages. Our role models have battled accusations of fraud, plagiarism, racism, and selling out by promoting diet teas and work out plans.

It's no wonder that at this point a good number of people feel disenfranchised by a movement that was always supposed to be there for them. Many still support the idea at it's core, but feel their bopo support circles have shrunk because the sense of community that once was so prevalent has been replaced by an aristocracy, commercialism, and competition. Or in other cases, some Instagrammers feel as though their accounts, which started as their own personal safe spaces to interact with like minded internet friends, have become a place more for the benefit of others. They're not necessarily posting for self discovery but to help thousands of others who look up to them. All of that pressure on a person who didn't set out to be a role model or Instagram celebrity can be quite a heavy weight to carry on top of the "behind the scenes" problems people experience in life.

So where do we go from here?

I think there are a few important things to note:

  1. The community may not feel as intimate as it once did, and it probably won't ever get back to that. That's okay. It may feel harder to connect with people between the comments/messages/emails, but whether you have a support system of 100 people or three people, as long as you have someone there who you can talk to and feel empowered by that's all you need.

  2. Some people are just going to get along better with each other, and that's also absolutely fine. If two people with high follower counts shout each other out a lot, that's not necessarily "elitism". I doubt in most cases anyone thinks they're better or above others because of the number of followers they have on Instagram. And if they do, is not being friends with someone like that really a reason to be upset?

  3. YOU MATTER! We still have a LONG way to go when it comes to true diverse representation across the board. Even if you don't see yourself when you look at campaigns, body positive shout out accounts, TV, etc. you are still so incredibly valid and important. It may take a million baby steps to get there, but every move we make is a step forward.

  4. Which brings me to my next point: I know it's easy to become bitter and resentful because you don't feel recognized or included. You might not be able to afford fancy clothes and don't have sponsorship deals like some plus size Instagrammers. You might be an individual who belongs to a marginalized group, and you're unsure if there's a space for you in bopo because you don't see people you identify with. You might have a physical disability and feel like no one represents you in that sense. You might not feel like anyone talks enough about the connection between body positivity and mental health. Just because the norm may celebrate a singular type of body, style, or message doesn't mean you don't have the power to add yourself to it and change the conversation. You can create change with persistence and perseverance.

  5. If you are lucky enough to be in a position where you have a strong presence in the community or through various forms of media, use that power to give a voice to the less represented. Be a champion of the marginalized and the unseen, and give back to the people in the movement who supported you throughout your bopo journey.

  6. Always be kind to people. Whether you have 10 followers or 100k followers, we're all just people on an app doing our best to love ourselves and erase years of hurtful comments and thoughts that have tried to break our spirits. But in spite of our common goal we all have different interpretations of what body positivity means to us. For some it's not being afraid to wear a crop top, for others it's working out at the gym. Different strokes for different folks. Just because we may not all agree doesn't mean we can't at the very least respect each other. And if someone differs that greatly from you, it's okay to have a conversation about your differences or just unfollow them. We don't need to be catty and underhanded and passive aggressive. It doesn't solve anything.

  7. It's the internet and you're not perfect! You might mess up! If someone calls you out on a questionable comment, action, or behavior, try to view it from their perspective. You're never going to make everyone happy all of the time, but it's necessary to recognize if your words, actions, or behaviors might be genuinely hurting other people. It's human nature to try to deflect blame when you feel ashamed, but it takes a big person to own up to something. It's okay to say, "I [or we] messed up and I'm really sorry for any hurt I may have caused." It's so much more respectable than giving a half hearted apology and blatantly telling people whether they should or shouldn't be offended by what you did.

  8. Try to get to know people. We all do that thing where we see accounts that we admire, and we want to initiate conversation, but we're too nervous to try. For all you know that person could admire you as well and be having the same internal struggle. Sprinkle some random compliments on people's pictures and see where it goes. Best case scenario: You make a new friend! Worst case scenario: You don't get a reply. That's not the end of the world and it doesn't mean they're ignoring you necessarily. Don't get discouraged. There's plenty more love to be found and spread elsewhere!
None of this is written to attack anyone or with ill intent. I just see a lot of hostility lately in a movement that used to inspire me daily. I hope things can change in terms of the atmosphere, because we have so many other things that try to tear us down as body positive people. I'd hate for us to start doing that to ourselves. I believe there are productive ways in which to discuss injustices, inconsistencies, and questionable words or actions, but we won't be able to effect change in society if we're angrily divided within. Continue to boldly love yourself, inspire others, and support one another!

body positivity

How I Found Body Positivity in the Aftermath of Bullying and a Breakdown

11:43 AM

In early summer of 2012, I was a shy 20 year old with a desire to break free. I still lived at home with my overbearing father who didn't allow me to experience average things people my age were doing. Going to parties, dating, and even eating Taco Bell were out of the question. He viewed his actions as being protective. I viewed them as smothering.



So, it was a surprising move for both of us when I boldly and hastily decided to move out one night. With the assistance of a friend and a police officer's presence for the safety of everyone (mainly myself though), I gathered the majority of my things and left behind a life of monotony for one of great uncertainty. Two friends I had made at work, who were also roommates, agreed to let me live in their guest room until their lease was up in August. This gave me just under three months to figure out a permanent living solution. Feeling a sense of pressure I never had before, I began asking around my job if people knew of potential roommate opportunities. I worked at an immense movie theater full of college of students about to start their fall semesters. Someone in this buttery smelling, soul sucker had to need one. And as it turned out they did. Well sort of.





A girl we'll call "Brooke" was indeed starting the fall semester at a nearby university. She, along with two other co-workers/university freshman, whom we'll refer to as "Camille" and "Diana", were planning on moving into an apartment near the campus. I didn't know the three of them that well beyond casual work place conversation, but I needed a place to live and they wanted cheaper rent, so we collectively agreed to live together. And when August came around, we moved into our three bedroom apartment in metropolitan Orlando.




The fact that there were more of us than there were bedrooms meant two of us would need to share the largest room. Brooke's argument was that she needed her own space because of all the sex she intended to have with a variety of female prospects. Diana's was blatantly that she refused to share a room with another person even if meant she would have to pay more rent. So Camille and I, being the more passive members of the group, agreed to split the master bedroom.


(The calm before the shit storm, or more specifically the day after we moved in...)


Things the first couple of weeks were relatively normal, until the ex-girlfriend of a woman Brooke had been sleeping with went insane one night. I was returning from a dinner date with friends, when I saw my roommates and the other two women in the parking lot in a tentative situation. Diana explained Brooke's new love interest had been hanging out at our apartment when her ex showed up wanting to speak. When Brooke and the woman both went downstairs to address the situation, the ex-girlfriend tried to run them both over, and things spiraled to the point we were at currently where the ex alternated between screaming and taking physical shots at Brooke. After repeated threats to call the police the ex-girlfriend eventually left. Brooke asked us if it would be okay for her new lady love to stay with us for a few days for the woman's safety while she figured out a permanent living arrangement. After the display we had just seen by the ex-girlfriend, we agreed. But a few days turned into the entire lease of the apartment, and within two months the new couple had also added a four legged family of two dogs and a cat to our small apartment.



I was less than thrilled with this, as were Camille and Diana, though no one said anything. I didn't get along with Brooke's girlfriend who I found rude and this caused friction in my attempt at a friendship with Brooke. In my mind I was fine with just hanging out with Camille and Diana anyway. That was until my closeness with Camille started to irk Diana. Camille and I both loved Harry Potter and she introduced me to Doctor Who which I quickly became infatuated with. I liked entertaining her geekier interests like going to a Star Trek exhibition and cosplay making. Camille and Diana had gone to high school together and they fancied themselves best friends, but they had very little to nothing in common. This is probably why Diana first started to feel resentful of me.




Diana handled her hostility of me very passively at first. I had been talking to a guy named "Eric" on a dating site who she happened to know somehow. She promised to put in a good word for me, but after some time I started to get confused about why he was replying to me less and not asking me on a date. She acted like a genuine friend and told me he wasn't worth worrying about and pushed me further in the direction of another guy I had started talking to. About two weeks later, I was sitting on a chair in the living room in my pajamas with my freshly washed hair twisted up in a towel when Diana walked in the front door with Eric. I was mortified this was how I was meeting him for the first time in person, and I couldn't wrap my head around why Diana wouldn't give me a heads up about this. It became crystal clear to me three hours later when I heard Eric and Diana, who had a long distance boyfriend in another country, having obnoxiously loud sex in her bedroom. I got another slap in the face when I arrived home from my new job the next day and saw a package of the morning after pill, Plan B, on the kitchen counter.




Diana apologized for her behavior and we called it water under the bridge. About eight months later, I ran into Eric and we realized Diana had told lies to both of us about the other so we wouldn't pursue a relationship. By this point, I had been seeing someone for a few months though, and Diana didn't make that easy either. I'll concede he turned out to be the absolute worst, but she would make rude comments about his appearance long before he showed his true colors. This didn't come from a place of empathy because she disliked how he treated me sometimes, but from a place of spite because she simply didn't like me having a taste of happiness.




She started treating our apartment like it was the Bad Girls' Club which she watched religiously. She began inviting the roommates out for dinner without me and tagging them in passive aggressive statuses on Facebook. I'd even come home from work and find my possessions destroyed on the ground which she blamed on Brooke's dogs. All of these jabs started to weigh on me and naturally affected the way I felt about going home. My unhappiness was displayed all over my face and in two separate instances they confronted me about my "resting bitch face", even going as far as to tell me I wasn't allowed to use "That's just my face" as an excuse for it.




My anxiety was so out of control, I began sleeping over friends' houses or waiting outside until all the lights in the living room turned off. On the occasions I felt too tired to wait outside after a long day of working two jobs, I'd walk in and quickly go straight to my room. I had stopped trying to make polite small talk with people who were awful to me. In response to this, they decided to have midweek mini parties where they listened to music, laughed, and got drunk as loudly as they possibly could so I couldn't sleep.




I put up with it for as long as I could, but eventually I broke down and couldn't take their bullying anymore. With few options available to me, I accepted a room in the house of a manager at the sporting goods store I worked at. I paid what remaining months' rent I was responsible for to the office without any intention of telling my roommates I was leaving.




I brought boxes home the night before I intended to leave under the assumption Diana would be at work and everyone else would be away for the weekend. My plan hit a snag when I opened the door and saw Camille doing dishes in the kitchen. In spite of living in the same room, we hadn't spoken much in months. She had been too meek to stand up for me to Diana, Brooke, and her girlfriend and that caused a rift in our friendship. I tried to quickly make my way to our room, leaving my boxes outside the apartment for the moment. As I took my coat and bag off, Camille walked in the room and asked if we could talk. I agreed and in a weird turn of events she apologized for everything even though most of it wasn't her doing. She said, "I was talking to a friend about this situation the other day and they asked me what you had done to initiate all of this. That's when it occurred to me you haven't really done anything." Hearing her say it out loud filled me with a little sense of peace. No matter what they did or said, I never once retaliated. They were as cruel as they wanted to be, but no matter how awful they made me feel inside I never let my actions match my feelings.




I told her how weird her timing and words were because I was moving out the next day. She apologized further for their actions pushing me to this choice, and offered to help me pack if this was really what I wanted. Even if Camille and I were on decent terms again, I didn't want to live another day under the same roof as the other three and the rambunctious pets. Diana, who hadn't as it turned out left for work yet, walked by our open door and saw the boxes. Camille explained that their actions had pushed me to this choice, but she refused to apologized. Instead her last words to me were "Well don't forget your bottle of Jägermeister on top of the fridge." And with a raise of her eyebrows she turned and walked out of the apartment.




With my things all packed and a mind full optimism about a new start, I moved out with the help of a friend the next day. Unfortunately, my bad luck continued and I decided to leave my new arrangement less than two months in when I realized my manager/roommate had gone through my things and taken my prescribed anti-depressants. A friend let me store my possessions in her garage, while another let me crash on her couch. I had a full blown panic attack in the bathroom of my clothing store job when the weight of not knowing where to live and how awful the past year had been finally hit me. I realized at that point I had no choice but to call my dad and ask if I could go home. I couldn't catch my breath as I cried and tried to choke out words on the phone, but I sputtered out enough information that within 45 minutes my dad showed up at my job. The assistant manager I had been working with that day was luckily very understanding and let me go home. The store manager was also very accommodating when I asked for a transfer to a location closer to my father's house.




It was at this new location that I discovered the body positive community on Instagram during my lunch breaks. After being relentlessly bullied and harassed by other females for almost year, it surprised me to see women who were strangers lifting one another up. They supported each other's inner peace making achievements and great body image days out of the goodness of their hearts. It was stunning to me to witness that love, and inspired me. It inspired me to accept my body for the first time in my life. It inspired me to be apart of something greater than myself. It inspired me to spread the love and positivity that had been taken from my life. The body positive movement was there for me when I was in a depressive, suicidal state and had no faith left in people. I owe my life to all the women who didn't know a thing about me, but helped me feel important and valid again. Three years later, I continue to try to pay forward the kindness that was extended to me. I aim to help eliminate bullying, assist people with mental health struggles, and eradicate the belief instilled in women that they need to compete with one another. We accomplish nothing when we tear each other down, but we can create and inspire change when we stand together and show love.

Feel Peace

Show Love

Be Kind