A Letter to My Abuser

11:20 AM

With all the changes occurring in my life lately, I've been wracked with an extreme amount of emotional anguish. I've been doing my best to deal with it silently, but I should know by now that never works. So even though I know you're never going to read this, I still need to get some things off my chest, Lissette.

(This photo was dated 11 years ago. I wonder if you told your new husband about me...)

I can't even bring myself to refer to you as 'mom' anymore. Even if you were standing in front of me, you'd feel like nothing more than a stranger. I remember you being about my height with jet black hair that you constantly put way too much hairspray in. A bad habit you held onto from being an 80s teenager and never let go of, I think. Your skin was a light shade of mahogany, a trait you were always upset I didn't inherit. You wanted a full blooded Puerto Rican child who embraced her culture like your siblings had, but that's not what you got. To put it frankly, I was an accident. A mistake. The product of an interracial relationship your family always resented you for. Your mother even refused to be there for you at the hospital when I was born. 

 You were a 21 year old basically left to figure motherhood out on her own, but if we're both being honest with ourselves, it was a journey you never should have taken. You had the help of my father, but you didn't really like him that much. You married each other because you felt that you had to under the circumstances. I remember you guys sitting me down when I was about 5 years old and explaining you wanted to separate. You took me back to Connecticut and dad stayed in South Carolina. I lasted about a week with you at your sister's house before climbing on the counter one night and calling dad, begging him to come get me. He came back and you two bitterly decided to stay together, which you did for the next eight years. Eight long, painful, traumatic years.

 Every once in a while, I'll be in a group of friends and we'll talk about our childhoods. Someone will recount a story about a time they got in trouble and their mom whipped their backside, and everyone will laugh and then go around sharing similar anecdotes of times they were disciplined. I usually sit these occurrences out. I can never seem to find a way of making that time you put a butcher knife to my throat funny. Or that time you choked me until I almost passed out before dad ripped you off of me. It's especially trying when I have to say, "I guess I'm a novelty!" when confronted about my unusual distaste for spicy food despite my Latin blood. I can't possibly say, "Well, my mom used to force feed me bottles of hot sauce when she felt I was talking out of turn, so now I'm too emotionally scarred to handle it! Hahahahaha!" It just wouldn't translate into humor, I feel.

 It never ceased to amaze me how cruel you could be, though I've always felt the emotional pain far outweighed the physical. I mean how is it possible to have zero memories of hugs, kisses, and praise from your parent? How could you look at my face and spew vile statements like, "I wish you had been the baby I miscarried?" How is it possible for me to only recall instances of abuse in bathroom stalls and hotel rooms rather than joyful memories when thinking back on childhood trips to Disney World? 

 Do you remember that time you took my grandmother to Magic Kingdom while I was being held in the Children's Crisis Center under psychiatric evaluation after trying to kill myself? I certainly do! It was easier for you to tell her I was on a school trip than admit your fuck ups had driven me to want to die. When you did eventually show your face at the hospital, you had the nerve to cry in front of the doctors. You weren't sure if I had given you up or not, so you tried to show insincere remorse hoping that would spare you blame and the possibility of being arrested. They still reported you and police left the decision to press charges or not with me. For the first time, the roles reversed and I had power over you. But because I'm a far better person than you'll ever be, I let you off with the understanding you would seek psychological help. No sooner was that cop back in his patrol car, than were you back to being aggressive and loud. 

 That was when I made the decision to remove you from my life.

 People have tried to shame me at various points for making such a drastic move. Victim blaming; something I've experienced too many times as a 25 year old woman. But I'll tell you honestly, I don't regret doing what I did. You were a toxic presence in my life who threatened my physical and mental health daily. I did what was best for me. For the first year after you moved out, you kept dropping cards with money in the mail for my birthday or Christmas. That really got under my skin. I didn't need your guilt money. I needed a mother. I needed healing. I needed an apology. I needed explanations.

 I had to grow up without any of that.

 No mother/daughter dates. No one to help me understand the changes a teenage girl goes through. No one to go prom dress shopping with. No one to help me through broken hearts. No one to bare my soul to. Just no one.

 I was filled with anger for a long time, and to a certain extent I still am today. But if nothing else, what you did helped me realize I can get through anything. Nothing anyone has done or said to me in my life since has been worse than what I went through living with you. In a twisted way, you made me strong. I have my bouts of depression and anxiety that no doubt were exacerbated by what you forced me to endure, but in the back of my mind, I know I'll get through it. I've already weathered the worst.

 Unfortunately, I still struggle with things today. I'm getting married next week, and people keep throwing around the phrase "new family", and it's weird for me. I feel like I've never had a family. It took me a bit of time to relax around them and accept the hugs and 'I love yous', and people being nice to me. I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to upset people, and I find myself trying my hardest to make others proud of me. I developed an unhealthy need for the approval of others because of you, and I haven't been able to shake it. My fiancé keeps trying to get me to believe that people aren't always going to be aggressive with me if they're unhappy, but I have a hard time letting go of the belief that it's a real possibility they will.

 I don't know if you still look the same today, and after 13 years I can barely even remember what your voice sounded like. But what I do remember, in spite of how hard I've tried to forget, are your actions. What you did to me. What you put me through. What you said. But I know that no matter how hard I've hurt for the past 25 years, the pain you must be going through is a thousand times worse. Only someone who was hurting within themselves would be capable of the things you were. And even if motherhood was something you were never destined for, it was still a thing you experienced. How hard must it be for you to lay your head down at night with the weight of your sins on your mind. 

 I used to feel bitter about all things I never got to experience, but look at all the things you've missed out on. Me starting high school, my sweet sixteen, homecomings, proms, graduation, me starting college, my first job, learning to drive, my first date, my first boyfriend, my engagement, wedding dress shopping, my wedding, and so much more to come! But more so than milestones in my life, you've missed out on me. Christine. A deeply flawed, but kindhearted and loving young woman. Someone who tries so hard to put positivity and beauty into the lives of others, even though they were things never extended to her. A talented, moderately funny, wealth of useless knowledge. A fighter. A badass. A force to be reckoned with. 

 Your daughter.

 I just hope wherever you are you realize that you didn't destroy me.

"Shimmery, Sassy Marshmallow Realness": Reflections of a Fat Bride

5:43 AM

On September 4th, 2016, on Hogwarts' Wooden Bridge, my fiancé, a Slytherin, asked me, a Ravenclaw, to marry him. Everything about it was perfect to me; the setting, our house uniforms, and the person down on one knee asking me one of the most important questions I'll ever encounter. It really did feel magical to me. Since then, I've pondered loads of wedding related issues:

What should our cake look like?

What should our color scheme be?

What kind of ring do I want?

The only thing I haven't fretted over was the fact that I'm going to be a fat bride. I didn't really need to though, because my family, friends, and strangers seemingly stressed out enough for the both of us about it. I've been sent articles about which brand of shape wear will best hold in my gut. I've been advised that strapless dresses aren't "flattering" because it will alert people to the fact that I have back rolls. And I've been flat out told by my father that I, quote: "Need to lose weight. [I'm] getting married in five weeks. [I] need to watch what [I] eat."

(Second attempt at trying on wedding dresses.)


I realized something a few months ago that really impacted the way I think about and view my body:

I wasn't born hating my appearance. I was conditioned by the words of those around me and the images I saw in the media to feel like I wasn't good enough.

When I was 5 years old, I can recall getting out of a pool and my dad patting the back of my thigh as my mother dried me off. "She's getting chubby," he said to her as my skin delicately jiggled and I was henceforth burdened with a complex about my fat legs for the next two decades. At age 7, I had a playdate with my friend Brittany, who had just been gifted a "My Size Barbie" for her birthday. The doll was about the same height as us and the dress it wore was advertised as "one size fits all". I quickly found out I didn't fit under the umbrella that "all" was supposed to cover. Brittany quite angrily demanded that I stopped trying to wiggle my way into the dress by saying, "You're too big! You're going to ruin it!"

One of my favorite things to do when I got to stay home sick from school was watch daytime TV; The Today Show, Price Is Right, and Maury. I'm not sure if Maury exclusively does paternity tests these days, but when I was in middle school I remember loving the "Look At Me Now" episodes. Essentially they would bring out a very attractive guest, show a picture of them in school when they were debatably less attractive, discuss a love interest or bully who treated them badly back then, and then bring that person out to be surprised at how attractive they had become. Being an awkward preteen I was definitely experiencing my crushes not giving me the time of day, so when I watched these shows they became my goal. "I'm going to be like that one day. I'm going to lose a bunch of weight and get really hot and then they'll finally want to date me." While I get now that the show is staged, at the time, all I was really taking away from it was "Because I look more like the 'before' photo, no one will like me unless I make myself become the 'after' photo." And this was the message other TV shows and movies sent to me as well. I mean, how many silly montages have we all sat through of the quirky unpopular girl being transformed into a beautiful swan in order to attain the approval of others? 

("It doesn't matter if you're only 16. We have to make you look 25 if you're going to lead Genovia!")


With the constant message I wasn't good enough as I was being conveyed to me in magazines, TV shows and in the words of those around me, it's really not a surprise I spent the majority of my teenage years at war with who I saw in the mirror. When I was about 13, I started obsessing over my cellulite, stretch marks, and dark circles that had began appearing more prominently on my face and body. I lamented to my parents about how self conscious I was about these things, but rather than reinforce to me that I was beautiful no matter what and these were normal occurrences everyone experiences, they took me to the store and bought me dark circle cream and stretch mark oil. I used them religiously, but after two months of use and not seeing any improvement I complained again. 

"Well, that's what happens when you're too fat. [The products] can't work miracles, Christine," my mother said to me.

I began taking to heart the comments of those closest to me. Whether it was my friends trying to console me by saying, "You're not fat. You're beautiful," or my grandmother whispering to my aunt on the phone, "Well, you know she's got a very pretty face. She's getting a bit heavy though,"; all I was taking away from these comments was that I couldn't be fat AND beautiful at the same time. Fat was a bad word and if only I lost weight I'd finally be perfect or enough in my family or society's eyes. I tried dieting, exercising, replacing entire meals with protein bars, and at one point starved myself all together. I'd lose 5 lbs. one week, only 2 lbs. the next, get frustrated and give up. I stayed on that mouse wheel for my last two years of high school.

(My caption for this on Facebook was: "Not one of my more flattering prom pictures." I hated how fat my arm looked.)


It was also during this time I started working for Torrid. You would think it was at this point that I discovered body positivity, but it wasn't. I've actually found working in Torrid and Lane Bryant to be the least body positive places I've ever been employed. Sure now they come out with campaign after campaign expressing messages of body love, but during the years I worked for them it was all about adding Spanx to every sale and disguising every roll and visible belly outline we encountered. If a fat woman did walk in the door and want to wear a bodycon dress or her blouse tucked in, you can be sure her confidence was mocked by the other sales associates and even managers. As an already insecure teenager, what their comments reinforced to me was, "If I try to show off my body, I'll be laughed at too." 

(Who wears a cardigan to a waterpark? An insecure, fat girl.)


Today I find it much easier to stand up for a stranger I see being body shamed, but strangely it's still incredibly difficult for me to defend myself in real life. Being a plus size bride, wedding dress shopping has been one of my least favorite parts of wedding planning. During appointments I've been steered towards dresses that will "slim me down" be "more flattering for [my] body", and even been asked if I'd be willing to lose weight to fit into a dress that I liked. Afterwards, I think of all the things I should have said at the time, but in the moment I just accept it in effort to be non-confrontational.

I'm sick of being non-confrontational. I often think about how my life might have been different if just one person had told me I was beautiful without conditions attached to it. How much pain would I have avoided if my family had never body shamed me? If magazines had taught me about self love before teaching me about weight loss? If TV and movies had given me positive role models to identify with?

It's taken me a long time to get to where I am with my body. I have my good body image days as well as my bad ones. But I acknowledge that MY opinion of my body is the only one that matters. Not my dad's, or my grandmother's, or some coward on the internet. Mine. I'm not at war with myself anymore. Gone are the days of shying away from the mirror. Gone are the days of only wearing form fitting dresses with Spanx. And gone are the days where I let people's comments about my weight and appearance cut me so deep.



I am fat. I am beautiful. I am going to strut down that aisle serving shimmery, sassy marshmallow realness. I am going to marry a man who doesn't care if I'm a size 20 or a size 2. And I am going to enjoy one of the happiest days of my life, fat, flaws and all.

Orlando to London: Finding Love Through Body Positivity on Instagram

2:26 PM

At the time I'm writing this, there's just over 72 hours standing between me and a cramped economy class seat on a plane headed to London. I've conquered the flight twice before, however, this time I don't know how long it will be before I return. It's quite likely it will be years before I step foot in the Sunshine State again; the place I adopted as my home almost 16 years ago. And while it will be hard to leave it behind, I do so because of the best possible reason:

I'm getting married to the love of my life.

Yes, in a month and a half's time I will be someone's wife. Those are words I genuinely never thought I'd utter. You see, I was never the dating type. When high school rolled around and everyone was getting significant others and losing their virginity, I...well, I wasn't. As an insecure fat girl I didn't exactly exude flirtatious and alluring vibes; so I went all four years of high school completely solo.

Needless to say, I was relieved when my teenage years came to a close. But as my twenties rolled into view and I'd yet to do so much as go on a date yet, I started to panic that something might be wrong with me. In retrospect, the only thing that was indeed wrong with me was my complete lack of confidence. At the time, though, I thought it was entirely my appearance. If I tried harder to be beautiful then someone would surely want me. And to a certain extent this did work. It wasn't long after pictures of my extreme style makeover hit Facebook that messages from guys who never gave me the time of day in school started popping up. 

"Hey, how you been?"

"Long time no talk!"

"We should hang out some time."

It was moderately flattering, but also incredibly infuriating. I was the same exact person then that I was currently. A bit of hair straightening and powder on my face didn't change who I was inside...unfortunately. Maybe if it had I would have saved myself a lot of heartache and an irreversibly bad decision in the not so distant future. But alas, 21 was creeping around the corner for me and I'd had enough of being a lonely virgin. I wasn't going to give the high school guys who had come out of the woodwork the satisfaction of agreeing to a date though. No, I decided I'd find love with a completely new person. The only trouble was I lacked social and flirting skills and didn't know how to meet new people. So, I did what everyone else seemed to be doing...

I tried online dating.

It wasn't long before I got a message from a guy named Brian. He was 6'5 with a husky build and drove a Mustang. That coupled with the fact that I was so excited someone was reciprocating a mutual interest in me for once proved to be a deadly mixture for my sense of rationality. For eight months I excused being repeatedly stood up, never taken out, and rude comments about my appearance. I ignored every single sign that screamed Brian was a fuckboy and defended him when my friends tried to talk sense into me. I lived for those half hearted gestures of good night texts every now and then and comments that I was "very close" to him calling me his girlfriend. And after 21 years of waiting for the "right person", and eight months of having a "situation" with Brian, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to lose my virginity to him.

And I did.

And then he broke things off with me the following day in a text, which contained a line forever burned into my mind:

"It's like, I like you but I don't love you."

I never saw or heard from him again.

As you can probably imagine, that screwed me up quite a bit. I couldn't rationalize in my head how someone could be so callous every step of the way, and leave me high and dry without any shred of closure. Among a laundry list of other things that were falling apart at the time, this pushed me into an inexplicable state of depression. I was desperate for any kind of lifeline that would make me feel whole again. Just two months later, thanks to a comment from a complete stranger, I felt that I had found that lifeline in the form of the body positive community on Instagram. 

I diligently followed these completely awe inspiring, rebellious women figuratively giving the finger to a lifetime of feeling unattractive in their skin. They cursed out those pesky thoughts of self doubt and effortlessly shrugged off rude comments from others. I craved to achieve that level of inner peace more than anything. I was so tired of avoiding the sight of my own reflection in the mirror and requiring others' validation to feel a twinge of confidence. As the months passed and I absorbed every ounce of body positivity I came across on Instagram, I started taking baby steps towards becoming kinder to the person I saw in the mirror. Back rolls, cellulite, belly fat, arm jiggle. All of it started to feel less and less important the more I realized I had been conditioned to hate these parts of me because of bad parenting, societal pressures, and insensitive comments.

More than that though, these badass feminist forces of nature helped me to see that I had been taken advantage of throughout my life because I allowed it. At any point, I could have stood up to Brian and the countless other toxic figures that have appeared throughout my life. I could have said, "I deserve better than this," and put an end to things. I didn't though. My self confidence wasn't just low in terms of how I felt about my physical appearance, it was low in terms of how I viewed my own worth. I didn't think highly of myself, therefore I allowed people to treat me without respect because subliminally that's all I felt I deserved.

Feeling a sense of belonging and safety, I also started documenting my journey to self love. Support began to pour in from others all over the world. People who lived in England, South Africa, France, Australia and beyond had become my biggest cheerleaders every time I posted about overcoming a long held insecurity. I began feeling invincible and let hate comments ricochet off me like my confidence was made entirely of Kevlar. These words were just that...words, and they could only offend me if I gave them the power to. The days of granting people the power of disrespecting me were over as far as I was concerned.

I was so fed up with people who felt entitled to say or do any inappropriate thing without consequence, that one night I publicly shamed someone who slid into my DMs with sexually explicit messages. I wrote a scathing rant wondering where men get the confidence to say such disgusting things to a complete stranger.

"I'm thoroughly convinced at this point that all men are pigs."

People soon started leaving comments, some agreeing and some trying to convince me that nice guys weren't mythical beasts. If I looked hard enough eventually I would find one. And oddly enough it was in that exact comment section that I did. A bopo friend I had made named Jess left a comment listing the usernames of two guys she talked with in a completely platonic manner regularly. 

"They're genuinely lovely conversation and good guys," she wrote.

I briefly looked at their accounts and passingly replied back to Jess saying, "I've never seen them before, but they're cute."

A few hours later, I got a Kik message from one of those guys. Little did I know at the time I was texting with my future husband. 

Talking to Jack was like talking to an old friend. Everything was just easy and natural. We talked every possible waking moment we could, much to the chagrin of both of our bosses. I found myself sharing my deepest secrets and insecurities with a total stranger because of some strange instantaneous level of trust that sparked inside me. I think I knew I loved him within months though I refused to say it for almost a year.

With him being 4,000 miles away in London and me in Orlando, we debated at length about giving our obvious mutual interest in each other a genuine go. Long distance isn't easy when you're a couple states away from one another, let alone have a massive ocean to separate you. And if it weren't for the progress I had made with my self confidence, thanks to the lessons I learned through body positivity I'm not sure I'd be sitting here writing this right now. I probably would have been an insecure mess and sabotaged a wonderful relationship with my micro-aggressions and constant self deprecation. Instead, I was able to enjoy a difficult, but healthy and loving partnership, without letting too much of the pain of my past get in the way. Thanks to body positivity, I was unafraid to be assertive and vocal about what I needed from Jack. I even felt bold enough to be makeup free with my hair a mess when we FaceTimed, because this was my authentic, natural state of being, and he'd have to accept that. (He gladly still does three years later.)

If I had never been bullied and never had my heart broken, then I never would have sought out body positivity. If I had never sought out body positivity, I surely would have never met Jack. I know now that all the pain and heartache of my past were necessary experiences I had to endure in order to become who I am today: a happy, confident woman who's unafraid to make the most drastic changes to her comfort zone.

I am so excited to see what adventures my body positive journey will lead me on next...


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!

Feel Peace

Show Love

Be Kind