When I visited Green Mountain at Fox Run back in May of 2012, I learned so much. About body image, mindful eating, social pressures, psychology, stress, rebellion, tenderness … it was a very intense education compressed into a single amazing week. During my stay I was also reminded of many things I already knew. I was reminded that women are AMAZING at supporting and caring for other women, especially in times of need and crisis. I was reminded that our urges to care for others often eclipse our urges to care for ourselves. I was reminded that depriving a physical body will only work for so long before biology and nature win out.
Originally posted 2012-09-20 06:00:53.
Growing up, T.H. White’s The Once and Future King was my absolute FAVORITE book. I must’ve read that giant tome a dozen times during my preteen and teen years, and even now its gorgeous prose still haunts me. White’s take on the Arthurian legends included numerous unexpected twists and bizarre plot devices, but this one was by far my favorite:
At some point in the course of the Camelotian hoo-ha, everybody decides it’s time to hunt down the Holy Grail. And the knights get all jazzed and pack up their knightly belongings in preparation for the big quest. But there’s a catch, and it’s a doozy. Not only is the Grail fairly hard to track down, but the person who actually finds it will immediately achieve total perfection … and, therefore, cease to exist.*
Originally posted 2009-07-07 05:46:00.
Before I became interested in dressing and style, I avoided thinking about my body. At all costs. I didn’t look in the mirror if I didn’t have to, didn’t focus much energy or attention on how my outfits interacted with my figure, and did my utmost to think about anything besides my own physicality. Because of this choice, the information I was given about my body came almost exclusively from external sources. And none of it was good news: I was chubby, disproportionate, my breasts were too small and my hips were too big, my arms were flabby and so was my stomach. Virtually all of this information was comparative: I was flabby compared to Gwyneth Paltrow, my breasts were too small compared to Victoria’s Secret models … you know the drill. I studiously ignored my body, hoping its perceived inadequacies would diminish if I pretended I was a brain in a jar. And yet this comparative information still crept in and made me feel inadequate.
Originally posted 2013-09-16 06:02:50.