The other day I posted a blog post, and before it went live to everyone, I had my Bestie check it out. She said "I love the post, but I hate the picture you put with it. You need to change it." This was the picture: I asked her why she hated the picture? I thought...
One of my mom’s favorite things to scream at me was, “You don’t have #$%$$ing to like me, but you will @#$@#ing respect me.” (To which I always wanted to reply, “Respect is earned, bitch.” But of course I never did, because my mamma didn’t raise no fool.)
I don’t love my body today. How can I? I’ve spent most of the last 24 hours in excruciating pain. I woke up yesterday feeling like someone was driving sharp spikes into my forehead while someone else was squeezing the back of it in a vise. This wasn’t unusual. It...
I’m going to share with you a story about something that happened to me the other day. I’m not sharing screenshots or people’s names, because it just isn’t necessary. I have a point to make, but that can be done without publicly calling people out or trying to shame...
When asked to actually talk about bullying, I get physically ill. It’s strange. I’m a fat chick that talks out about size acceptance all the time. I’ve worked with victims of domestic violence in the past and advocate whenever I can. But when it comes down to talking about childhood bullying my stomach cramps and I just want to curl up in a little ball. I’m forty years old, but it seems that certain childhood traumas never go away.
There are many seemingly random events that shape our lives and bring us to each point in journey at the exact moment we are supposed to be there. However, it is rare that you can look back at a moment in time and realize that one unrelated incident was in part responsible for bringing you to where you are.
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