love YO'SELF this valentine's day

 This is an excerpt from a wicked old post I wrote back last May about self-love. And I think it's incredibly appropriate topic for Valentine's day. In the midst of all the candy and cards and flowers and bondage, remember to focus on how amazing you are. Seriously. 


Self love.

That means being gentle with yourself above all else. Did you screw up an exam or say something awkward while trying to flirt? It's okay, everyone does! It doesn't make you less attractive, smart, funny, good of a person for one mistake. Accept that you did your best, AND you can do better.

Tell yourself you're awesome, hot, beautiful, curvy, skinny, gorgeous, smart, whatever you need to hear. External validation feels incredible, but you are the only consistent source of happiness in your own life. So be there for yourself, and cheesy as it is, look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you're beautiful everyday. IT WORKS.

Do something active most days of the week, not because it will make you lose weight or tone you up or flatten your abs or any of that bullshit. But because it will help you live longer and feel happier and, in moderation, is very positive for self esteem. And yes, dance parties count.

You might have to fake it till you make it (NOT your orgasms please!). As an experiment, I've tried walking around this semester with "swagger," if you will. Head up, good posture, a little natural swing in the hips, and a big smile when I make eye contact with people, even when I felt obese and wanted to hide. And ya know what? Compliments began POURING my way. I got asked out at least twice a week by stangers. Most importantly, I feel hotter now. And nothing, literally nothing, had otherwise changed in my appearance (I actually STOPPED going to the gym during this period). And now, I've got more confidence in my bedroom abilities than before and can focus on enjoying myself. So tell the negative voice inside your head to go fuck itself (probs pretty often) and turn your swag on, even if it's just pretend.

Do you find yourself thinking about how fat you must look in certain sexual positions or worrying that your partner notices your bacne/cellulite/stretch marks/birth mark (mine, btw, is white markings framing my vag. No lie. Sign from God that I was to have amazing sex?)? Here's the secret: they'll be so thrilled they're having sex with you, they won't notice. And if they do notice, it won't matter, because they'll be focusing on your hot tits or soft skin or beautiful eyes. To get out of your head and into the sensual gorgeous feelings, try doing some mindfulness in your daily life or in bed. Shift your focus to the feel of their hands on your body or the sound of their breath (this has the added bonus of making you more in tune with what's happening and thus more aware of your likes/dislikes AND more turned on. Mindfulness rocks!). Focusing on the moment gets you out of your own anxieties and more connected to the experience you're having.

Check out the body image myths you tell yourself. Are you a perfectionist? Do you think your looks outweigh all the other facets of your personality? For me, I constantly compared myself to other women to see how I sized up. It honestly got pretty vicious; I'd visit my ex, Beefcake, at his school, which is mostly full of bratty Philadelphia Main Line/New Jersey daddy's girls who get spray tans and wear Uggs with sweatpants. But rather than being nice or trying to get to know them, out of my own anxiety, I'd say the nastiest things about them to Beefcake as soon as we walked into any party, the cafeteria, whatever. Is it really because I hate Uggs and orange skin that much? Both are pretty atrocious, but no. It's because I was insecure. And until I tackled that insecurity, I let these women reduce me down to nothing but a catty judgmental bitch. But now? They wouldn't bother me one bit. I'm hot in my own way, and they can be their own Jersey version of hot, and it doesn't matter because it's not a competition. As Baz Luhrmann said, "Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind,
the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself."

For more info on loving yourself, check out these awesome links!
How to practice supreme mega self-love daily.
Empty bellies do not beget genius.
Tenets of self-care. 

Much love,
The Sheriff

Friday Links!

Short list this week! 

This is equal parts perfect and adorable: a letter to my teenage self.

teehee.

Facebook use increases risk of eating disorders? 

Interesting. More talk of Facebook, but in relation to the male gaze/posting sexy pictures/porn etc.

Hilarious vintage advice: Are you ready for marriage, ladies? Oddly, some of it is sound (what do you argue over? Have you really discussed your finances?), but some of it is just sexist and hilariously dated (Can you prepare all of his favorite dishes?).

ED Bites: An all-around fantastic pro-recovery blog.

Don't try to be perfect; just be an excellent example of being human.- Tony Robbins


Much love,
The Sheriff

how do you measure a year?

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First of all: Thank you, blog readers, for being silently supportive without knowing it. I've used this blog sometimes as a platform to talk about my ED and recovery efforts and body image struggles, and maybe sometimes it's boring to you, but it's been enormously helpful to publicly out myself and put it all out there.

I couldn't resist the Rent inspired title for today's post, because today is a momentous day. It marks a full year for me without any eating disorder behaviors at all, something I haven't done since I was 12 when my disorder really took off. And I'm pretty fuckin' proud.

I went into treatment at age 14 for the first time, and it was mostly just going through the motions. I was sorta sick of my ED, but really? I secretly loved it, the comfort it gave me, the way it calmed me down to obsess over calories and to run my hands over my jutting hip bones while I laid in bed at night. That's why it never really went away: I never really wanted it to.

It came back with a raging vengeance at age 20, and I was tired of it. Tired of being exhausted, of being isolated, of having no room in my life for fun or joy or confidence or friends. Just room for gripping, terrifying intense obsession. I chose to put myself into treatment, like an accountable adult, and that made all the difference. I made and kept every appointment, and although there were days when I hated it, when I wanted to punch my nutritionist for making me choke down so many snacks, I came to relish the feeling of being good to myself. Of being honest for once. Of forgiving myself. Of finally mourning my eating disorder, and letting it go as an active part of my identity. I used to be anorexic and bulimic, just like I used to have spiked hair and wear UFO pants and participate in mosh pits. But, finally, not anymore.

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There are times when I miss the feeling that my eating disorder filled a void or the false comfort that it gave, and there are still times that I stand in dressing rooms and cry when the size 2 pants won't fit because I have hips now and when I envy friends for their seemingly flawless bodies, and then I hate myself for being caught up in the superficial so intensely still. Not every day is perfect. But most of them rock: I see the amazing things my body can do when I nourish it and love it properly (yoga! bellydance! riding on top for long periods during awesome sex!), and the vibrant flush in my cheeks, and the healthy happy loving relationship I have with my boyfriend, and the support of my glorious friends, and all the space in my life for joy when there's not a draining mental illness crowding out the good stuff. Recovery might be a lifelong battle, but it doesn't feel like a fight anymore: it just feels like life. And that's the best gift I could ever give myself.

Much love,
The Sheriff

Guest Post--Feminism and Science: A strained relationship?

Sheriff here! Below is a guest post by the lovely Dr. Kinky, who was a participant I bonded particularly well with in the summer program I worked for last year. She's been accepted into Smith for next year (CONGRATULATIONS!), and wanted to share some thoughts about sexism, the sciences, and so much more. Without further adieu, here she is! 

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I am 17 years old, a senior in high school and a future Smithie/Pioneer. I plan to major in biology and math and do pre-med. The passion I have for biology sciences is something that is close to my heart. I have a special relationship with it as it what drives me to keep going. I want to achieve a lot in my life, not only for myself, but to show the world that women are capable of being in a field that is so blatantly discouraged for them to participate in. Since my summer before junior year of high school I have been participating in science/biology research programs. I did the Smith Science program for high school students where I met the wonderful Sheriff and was exposed to a whole other world. All the women there had a passion for whatever they were doing and pursued their interests without ever holding back.



After the program and getting to work with a Smith professor after that, I registered out of the Advanced Chemistry I was placed in and opted to do an independent study in biology. The Chemistry was going to prepare me better for the harsh rigor of the pre-med curriculum but biology is what makes me happy. I enjoyed sitting in my junior year advanced biology class every day. I asked my advanced biology teacher to be my independent study teacher/mentor as it was his passion for the subject that inspired me so much. We are working with a Smith professor who has been an immense help to me. On top of my independent study which requires me to be in lab every two Saturdays (which I actually love), I have embarked on the adventure of being a global scholar, which requires me to write a thesis type paper with a mentor (40 pages wahoo!). My mentor is a professor from IUPUI and again has been an amazing resource and wonderful person to me. All the people involved in my project are males in their 50s-60s. They are so caring, full of knowledge and they treat me like a peer. No more, no less. The respect my thoughts and allow me to problem solve for myself. I have never felt like I have been treated in an odd or unsatisfying way by these men. This is such a relief in the sciences compared to what women had to go through even just 20 years ago.

As I am doing my lab research, meeting lots of people and networking  about the things I am doing, I can't help but notice how under-represented women are in the science field. It is crazy. Whenever I have to go to lab, I find myself taking the bright pink nail polish off of my fingers, cutting my nails, putting my hair back in a ponytail and clipping my bangs away, scared to put on eyeliner because I don't want to look like a fool. I also only wear simple t-shirts and jeans. I take off all of my jewelry except for the ring that has been on my finger since I was 13. Is this my lack of confidence to express myself in the field I love so dearly or is it trying to be professional? Is there a message that is ingrained in the female mind that even having a slightly feminine touch to the sciences will affect my reputation? Although I have been told that I am "bold, colorful, and intelligent" by the men in this profession, why can't I express this in the way I look or the way that I dress? Why does professionalism equate to looking less feminine? I was reading in Cosmo magazine that women should try to go for neutral color nail polishes for a job interview because brighter colors give off the impression of being unprofessional. But how does the color of my nails affect my mind and the type of work I am able to produce?

However, the most appalling thing I have heard is when I was in an operating room shadowing a cardiac surgeon and I was standing where the anesthesiologist stands, at the head of the table. The surgeon told me I could ask him whatever questions I wanted to. My first question was why are women under represented in the cardiothoracic surgery field. He proceeded to tell me that there are about 10,000 cardiothoracic surgeons out of which about 100 are women. That is 1%. He said this was because it was a demanding field with long hours and women had to choose between having a family and having a successful career. Excuse my language, but WHAT THE FUCK. Yes, women have the wonderful capacity to have children something that males simply do not possess but it is so sad that a choice needs to be made. That honestly made my heart ache (no pun intended). I couldn’t wrap my head around having to choose between a career and a family, and I still can’t.

I am young and still trying to figure out who I am and although I have a general sense of who I am and the type of person I want to be, there is a lot of self learning still has to occur. These are the prominent issues I see in my society and these are the things I am trying to figure out. Any feedback would be awesome.
--Dr. Kinky

why the specifics of body image ideals are almost irrelevant: forcefeeding in Mauritania

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Lots of body positive sources love to cite the fact that the ideal body type changes all the time: not so long ago, it was considered beautiful for women to have a fuller body type, especially since this functioned as a social marker, indicating she had a husband who was wealthy enough to keep her plump. While obviously many Western countries dropped that ideal long ago in favor of emaciated runway models and airbrushed celebrities, Mauritania never did away with the "plumper is better" ideal of feminine beauty. And the results of it are just as scary and frightening similar to the effects in the United States' (and other countries of affluence) of our skinny ideals.


Reading this article from Marie Claire, which states that in Mauritania, "rolling layers of fat are the height of sexiness," I was struck by the eerie similarities that this country, obsessed with girthiness in its women, has with the West, constantly seeking the next diet or exercise plan to get closer to being the biggest loser. Many of them send their daughters to fat camps, to force feed them and fatten them up as they approach puberty with up to 16,000 calories a day  (what) and threatening them with bodily harm if they don't eat it all; we send our teenage girls to summer fat camp in hopes that they'll shed their extra pounds and gain self-confidence (side note: the prep school in my hometown ran one of these programs during the summers,and I always felt sorry for the girls, watching them walk in the sticky heat of a Pennsylvania July to the grocery store where they weren't allowed to buy anything. The whole thing reeked of sadness). And in both cases, it's justified under the mantle of attractiveness, particularly towards the opposite sex: how will you ever find a man if your body is so revolting as it naturally is (which could mean fat or bony, depending on who is doing the interpreting)?

One woman profiled in the article says she enjoys the perks of being fat (that men adore her body and compliment her all the time), but that she wishes she could diet so she could be more dynamic and healthier and not wheeze as she walks. However, she's scared if she's slimmer that men will no longer find her attractive. Reverse the scenario: Western woman enjoys being thin for the perks, but wishes she could relax about her diet so she could be less stressed and more confident and healthier (constant dieting is B-A-D BAD for you!). But, alas, a softer body might yield less compliments and head turns.

Startlingly, another woman in Mauritania (who noted her struggles with gaining weight, and how she was teased in school by the plumper girls) revealed that recently, her husband told her that he "didn't like sleeping with a bag of bones." She has now started taking pharmaceutical drugs to help her increase her appetite and gain weight. Again, sound familiar?

Point being: the actual specifics of a cultural beauty ideal aren't really the problem. The problem is having an ideal that allows for no personality, no individual expressions of beauty, no room to breathe.

Much love,
The Sheriff

sorry sorry

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The Sheriff has had an absurdly intense string of bad luck lately which has attacked my car (needs a new transmission), my computer (got the Palladium malware), and my camera.

So there is no post today. Sorry! I couldn't pull anything coherent together, and I just respect you too much to throw crap up here for the sake of posting something.

Hope to be back with something Tuesday or Wednesday.

Much love,
The Sheriff

friday links

How one mother worked on re-naming her transgender child with the child's input.

Fantastic questions to ask yourself about your body image to work on improving it.

Puppy love.

Being a plus-sized woman in a skinny-girl world. 

Study finds increased stress and depression among college first-years (study also uses phrase first-years! Impressed).

Be kind to yourself. 

What Victorian women thought of sex.

From SmartPrettyAndAwkward: "When a pen stops writing, you have two options: throw it out, or scribble it around on the paper until the ink appears again. When something stops working, whether it’s a job, your academic major, or a relationship, you have a choice whether to move on or to try hard to make the broken item fixed. But like a pen that has been scribbled back to life, a job/college major/relationship that has stopped meeting your needs before will probably stop meeting them again, no matter how hard you frantically scribble to bring it back to life."


GOP drops its ridiculous attempts to re-define rape. YAY!

I LOVE THIS AD: Scotland tackles the "she was asking for it" myth. Good commentary on it too in the article!

A photo essay of penguins. Yes.

Much love,
The Sheriff