Basically my body type.

And I love it.

Reblogged from Free Bird

 

Photo

Reblogged from Lavendar Labia

I think one of the most radical things we can do, as oppressed peoples, is reclaim our bodies as our own and reject those normative standards of beauty. We need to see our bodies, our lives, as beautiful. We need to not only be ok with our bodies but also celebrate them for their difference, their gorgeousness. We need to look in the mirror and be able to masturbate to our own image. We need to see our wild, natural hair and our thick thighs and see them as the epitome of splendor. We need to be able to dance in the street and shout that we are fucking hot!
Is this easy? Hell no! We need to deprogram decades and decades of messages that tells us that we are ugly, worthless and unworthy of love. This is hard work! And it is only done with the gentleness of a community of people that love and affirm us. Because otherwise, the constant batter of hatred that we face in everyday life will convince us that we are ugly, worthless and unworthy of love. We need to have the place to come home to to heal and recover and remember who we are.

--witchymorgan (via freedom fighter)

“Fat people who love themselves scare the shit out of people who don’t love themselves. Even fat people who are TRYING to love themselves scare the shit out of people who can’t do the same. We force people to have to look at why they hate their bodies because we are “supposed” to hate ours and we don’t. And sometimes they have no idea what to do with that, so they act like assholes.”

- Tigress Osborn

Reblogged from freedom fighter as well

It's weird how our feelings manifest themselves physically

I'm pretty sure I'm actually incapable of releasing the tension in my upper back right now. I don't remember feeling pressure like this since college application/waiting for decision time. I have goals to meet every day and everything still seems like it'll be finished by my personal deadline of it being in the binder's hands by 6 pm on Thursday, but I feel like it's gon get worse before it gets better. I keep reminding myself to take deep breaths. I want to go meditate, but I don't know that I can spare the time. Every time I can convince myself that everything is going to be okay--which I know it is, actually. I've got this.--my body just responds that it's preparing itself for the worst. I don't remember pulling stress over my head this morning along with my shirt, and yet, there it sits. And I feel like feeling the stress like that is just stressing me out more, because without it I'm not sure I'd be so aware that everything I've been working for over the past four years basically comes down to the next 85 and a half hours. *gulp*

Also, occasionally when I'm not even thinking about him, a certain area begins to throb and I am reminded of what I hope to reward myself with when all of this is over. ^_^

 

Two things I've read recently on come correct have me thinking about female sexual discovery.

I will quote them for you in full.

1. "Nobody told me I had a clitoris. Nobody told me I was capable of having orgasms. For five years I was given 'sex education.' It mostly consisted of periods and condoms. It didn't talk about consent. It didn't talk about the actual mechanics of sex, about arousal and lubrication and oscillation. It didn't tell me a single thing about relationships and it didn't tell me I had a clitoris. I only know now because of the internet. Nobody entrusted with my care and education has ever told me that the female orgasm exists, or about the parts of my anatomy necessary for it. I didn't find my clitoris until I was eighteen, after six years of active sexuality. That made me angry."

-- (Source) (via)

2. "Although most boys figure out how to bring themselves to orgasm by age thirteen, half of girls don’t have their first orgasms until their late teens, twenties, or beyond. Teenage girls widely agree that they get the message loud and clear that masturbation is something boys do, but girls don’t, can’t, or shouldn’t. The cultural focus on intercourse tells young women to expect they’ll begin to experience sexual pleasure once they have sex with a man (whether or not they’re even interested in sex with men). Nearly all teen boys, on the other hand, experience sexual pleasure long before they get their hands—or other body parts—into a partner’s pants. Despite the massive advances in women’s equality, young women’s sexuality is stuck in a surprising paradox. Young women are sold provocative clothes but aren’t taught where to find their own clitoris. Many girls give their boyfriends oral sex, but are too uncomfortable with their own bodies to allow the guys to return the favor. It’s still a radical act to say that women need and deserve access to information about their own sexual pleasure—not just about the risks and negative consequences of sex."

-- Dorian Solot, I Love Female Orgasm: An Extraordinary Orgasm Guide. (via)

Let me begin by stating that I do not, in any way, want to belittle or invalidate the experiences of the first woman, and/or women who can identify with that story, or those of the young women describe in the second passage. Secondly, I am all kinds of entirely in support of revamping the sex education system in this country to like, actually be somewhat useful in people's lives. While it was not really my experience at all, I recognize that we live in a culture that denigrates or, at best, avoids the topic of female masturbation, and if you know anything about me, you know that this pisses me off. 

All of that being said, I just...fundamentally don't understand how one can get to adulthood (or near-adulthood) without knowing one's own anatomy. Yeah, okay, maybe you don't know the WORDS for what each body part is called, because sex education sucks in this country, but I guess I'm just struggling with the concept of needing to be "taught" that one has a clitoris. I don't remember when I learned the word clitoris. It was probably in high school. But I've known that touching/rubbing a particular spot down there feels ah-ma-zing since I was about 8 years old. I think I discovered it accidentally when I was taking a bath or going to the bathroom or something, but I had already been exploring my body. I very distinctly remember my stepbrother, who is a few months younger than me, once making the argument when we were small children that girls pee out of their butts, and while I knew that wasn't true and explained that there was another hole. Very soon after this conversation, I decided that I wanted to know more of what it looked like, so that I could better debunk my silly brother's arguments, so at the next opportunity of a full length mirror (in my aunt's room at my grandmother's house), I dropped my pants, bent all the way over, and looked at myself upside down with my head between my legs. 

I don't remember my first orgasm, but I know that it was most likely in about the third grade. I hadn't needed anyone to tell me these body parts existed in order for me to explore them, and exploring them led directly to pleasure, so I explored rather often. The first time I was ever even exposed to the concept that some people thought this was a bad thing to do was in a book on puberty that was probably called Your Changing Body or something equivalent that my mother bought for me after I first got my period (at the age of 9). I feel like there was like, one page about masturbation, and somewhere in it it contained the line "Some girls don't like to do it," or something similar. I felt sorry for those girls then, and I still do.

I guess what I take issue with in these passages is the implied idea that one needs to be formally introduced to something to have any conception of it. It gives me the eerie sense that a woman's sexuality is something she needs to be taught or GIVEN by someone else, rather than something inherently part of herself, and that doesn't sit well with me. I never really got the "masturbation is something boys do, but girls don’t, can’t, or shouldn’t" thing--in fact, I can't really remember it ever being mentioned at all, besides by my female cousin once when we were eleven and twelve, so where does that message come from? I'm not denying its existence--I believe them--I just want to know from whence it stems so I can know what to take issue with and how to fight it. I feel like I discovered my own sexual nature and the ability to pleasure myself organically at a young age like these passages suggest boys do, and I don't understand why so many women didn't have the same experience.  

Well then rawr

Reblogged from Choosing Pancakes

Le cosign

Reblogged from come correct

Ideal womanhood?

Reblogged from Indie. Radiant.

What do I think it means to be beautiful?

Miss Jenkins of Rewriting Herstory has posed this question, and I think it sounds like a good thing to talk about, but before I share my thoughts, I want to share hers with you, because they're inspiring:

"Eventually, I realized that my outward appearance was a reflection of how I felt about myself.
Beauty is a combination of attitude and appearance.
Sure, physical beauty is a noticeable attribute based on appearance alone. But when I think about the people I consider “beautiful,” he or she usually carries him or herself in a way that makes you feel good when you are around them. Even if their outward appearance isn’t billboard worthy, so to speak, people usually enjoy their presence because of something that you can’t usually put into words. They look good partly because they exude a positive attitude and confidence.
It’s about how you feel about yourself.
I used to be kinda miserable. Complaining wasn’t hard for me to do. I could find a reason to criticize even positive experiences. I still have my moments, but I’m working on it. When I look at back it, I was mostly reflecting how I felt about myself. I would constantly criticize myself. I didn’t enjoy simple things, like going shopping with my friends because I hated to try on clothes (and because I was usually broke). I didn’t like shopping because I didn’t think anything could make me look good. I didn’t think anything could make me look good because I wasn’t as pretty as they were. I wasn’t as pretty as they were because something was wrong with me.
I’m learning to do away with those self-damaging thoughts about myself. I’m not weighed down by as many of them anymore. And people have noticed. I have gotten compliments about how much better I look. But it’s not because my wardrobe has significantly changed. I haven’t gained or lost a significant amount of weight. I haven’t had any physical work done. I’ve only done work on and for myself. I’m starting to appreciate what makes me beautiful on the inside and I’m learning to let it show." --Miss Jenkins

*a round of applause for her accepting her own fly-ness* 

I know that this struggle to see your own reflection as beautiful or to accept other people's suggestion that you are beautiful runs rampant amongst women who don't fit the media's image of beauty MOST WOMEN. Maybe you're a woman of color. Maybe your size isn't a single digit (double zeros, you are not included in this sympathy group). Maybe you don't have long silky wavy hair. Maybe your skin tone isn't even or you're prone to breakouts or you're just "plain". Maybe you are a human walking around in the real world rather than an airbrushed/Photoshopped image in a magazine. And whatever one or combination of these you are, you subsequently grew up thinking there was something "wrong" with you. You started brushing it off or being embarrassed when someone called you "beautiful," because they had to be just taking pity on you or trying to make you feel better. I think the thing most women (most people, I'm sure, but "beauty" is generally female territory) are raised to have in common is insecurities that could eat us alive. 

And the cold hard truth is that insecurity is not beautiful. When your insecurities are ruling you, you don't walk in beauty. You hide your smile behind your hands. You try to dress how you think you're supposed to dress, rather than adhering to your own personal style. You use make-up to hide rather than to accentuate. Generally, you are afraid to own the things that make you unique. A guy once told me that confidence makes a woman sexy, and I think something similar can be said about what makes women beautiful. I think it's hard, if not impossible, for a woman who does not love herself to feel beautiful. Maybe she can feel hot, or sexy, or desirable, or cute, but so much of beauty dwells in self-acceptance.

That's not to say there's no room for self-improvement in the quest to find your own beauty. Quite the opposite, in fact--I think people who love themselves must always want to better themselves; when you love someone, don't you want to encourage them to be the person they can be?  If you're overweight, wanting to lose weight doesn't mean you hate yourself, or that you think your current body is anything but beautiful. It just means you recognize that healthy is beautiful too. Even more of a sidenote: I can't stand people who criticize women who "go natural" but still wear makeup or perfume or eat things that aren't organic--I didn't say I was purifying my entire existence.

Society tries to say beauty is a physical thing, but I say beauty manifests itself in physical ways. Anyone can look put together. People are randomly born with perfectly symmetrical faces. Lots of people work really hard to have tiny waists, and some don't have to work hard at all. But I think the people who focus on biological/physical/external beauty like that are focused on something that is ephemeral and will inevitably fade as you get older (even if by the time we're 80, anti-aging everythings have made 80 the new 30). Beauty like that is...vapid. It's 2-D. It's...pretty. I think beauty is the antithesis of pretty. "Pretty" is a qualifier. If your teacher says the class average on an exam was "pretty good," you are less relieved than if he said the average was "good." "You did __insert thing here__ pretty well, but..." is a common phrase. "Pretty" might as well be regarded as a euphemism for "not quite good enough," "close, but no cigar", or "can be settled for but isn't the best it could be." "Pretty" is an insult.

 Coming back to what I'm supposed to be talking about here, I think beauty is walking with your head held high. It's letting your hips sway however they sway, not trying to put more into it or tone it down. Beauty is smiling wide enough to show the gap in your teeth, or not being embarrassed about having a loud laugh. Beauty is having style, with regards to your clothing, your mannerisms, your words, the whole package. Beauty is individuality rather than conformity. Beauty is being true to yourself, because truth is beautiful. Beauty is showing the world that you love and care about your whole self, rather than just your appearance. That once-over you give yourself in the mirror before leaving the house in the morning to make sure everything is in place is such a minor aspect of beauty, especially because you won't ever think everything is alright on the outside unless you have all those inner issues worked out.  I think beauty is a state of mind that your physical appearance adapts to represent, not the other way around.

I'm sure I'm supposed to find something wrong with this

or at least I would be supposed to if I was a hardcore enough feminist, but mannnn...I think this shit is hilarious. Mad props to B for sharing it with me.

Sigh.

*goes to Forever 21's website because she thinks they sell really cute stuff*


*clicks on Tops* 


*filters by size X-Large* 


*sees ONE MEASLY FUCKING TANK TOP* 


*remembers why Forever 21 mass-marketed standards of beauty piss her the fuck off*

Reblogged from Treasured Tresses

Made my day:

From a post on Thought Catalog about the things women in their 20s need to cease and desist immediately:

"6. Stop getting stupid tattoos in cursive writing on your rib cages, wrists, and necks that say things like “live” or “breathe” or “love” or “pestilence” in another language
Your body is not the inside cover of your 8th grade notebook—treat it accordingly."

on. the. floor.

Stephen Colbert is winning so hard

in the game of my affections right now. 

I wanted to blog about these ads last week, but didn't know how to type STEREOTYPICAL, RACIST, and CULTURALLY INSENSITIVE in large enough letters. Or how to convey that I'm fucking sick and tired of women being told that their bodies aren't good enough at every damn turn. SUMMER'S EVE, YOU ARE CREATING A PROBLEM HERE TO INCREASE YOUR REVENUE (and exacerbating lots of other problems in the process). So much shaking my goddamn head here. 

But that's just me whining. Colbert did something so much better than whine. He launched a counter-attack [though I must say that the fact that simply making a very similar ad tailored to men reveals the ridiculous nature of the situation just goes to show how accustomed we've become to women's bodies being problematized in the media...]: 

The Colbert Report
Get More: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

 

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 28--Letter to Someone You Did Something Crazy With

Dear M**,

I'm pretty sure most people, or at least most of the kinds of people I know and am close to, would describe what we did one evening after dinner in my dorm room last semester with only my makeup mirror on as mood lighting as pretty damn crazy. Most of the friends I've told judged me. If my parents ever saw the evidence, they'd kill me. I never actually got the reaction of the person I ostensibly did it for, but I'll bet he was rather surprised. Hell, I was rather surprised when I emailed you to say I'd do it. 
It was just a favor for a friend, in theory, and I had no obligation to volunteer, but no matter how many times I saved the email as a draft instead of sending it, I just couldn't resist. It seemed so naughty, so taboo, so downright wicked. It seemed like something past versions of me would never have done and that just made me want to do it more. This was a private act of rebellion: I waged war against timidity, a war in miniature, behind locked doors (you checked). It was an awkward cross-campus walk, as you asked whether I had any props and we discussed who'd get to see the results. You are officially the only person I've ever let browse through my underwear drawer. It felt silly, considering what we were about to do, but I turned my back to you to strip. With my back arched and my hands undoing clasps came the first click.
It was easy to take your directions and to offer suggestions. Like this? No, like that. It was easy to stop caring about trying to suck my stomach in or whether I looked good from that angle. It stopped feeling scandalous almost immediately. It stopped feeling wrong. All I needed to be was me. All I was doing was being me, being me in front of you. Talk about losing inhibitions... Subject rather than object of affection or desire, more than skin and scars and flab, I was art. Little old me! Now that's crazy...and it's a feeling I haven't let go of since.  I have the evidence in a box in my closet, and though I haven't seen all of it in all its glory, I can already tell these are some of the best of me.

So thank you for letting me get a little crazy,

Maya

Summer is here! (I'm backkkk)

I did something totally and completely unheard of yesterday. Something I haven't done since the early days of high school sometime, when going to the beach/pool was a once-or-twice-a-summer occurrence and didn't really warrant any worrying or forethought. Something that even then, was only really done in front of my family, who wouldn't judge me too hard. 

I, Maya Reid, of sound mind and body, wore a two-piece bathing suit. And I'm not talking about a tankini or a little skirted thing--full on bright blue bikini. PUBLICLY. To the beach. In front of people I haven't seen in years and people I'm very close to. And total strangers I'll never see again. And besides being worried that every single wave was going to result in my boobs popping out of that halter top--(d-cup bikinis from dELIA*s are totally not designed for anyone with actual d-cups. Fyi. Anyone know where a busty woman can get a bikini that won't try to flash everyone as soon as it gets wet?), I wasn't nervous or embarrassed. I had brought along my old skirted one-piece in case I felt uncomfortable, but I never even thought about changing into it! And yeah, maybe the other girls who were with me in bikinis were skinny little athletic bitches, but it didn't matter. Because I felt comfortable in my own skin. And it has been a long time since I've been able to say that and really mean it.


I think the single most valuable thing that I've gained this semester/year/a little bit every day is confidence. It's the thing I remember lacking most severely in high school and one of the biggest changes I can see in myself over the last year or two. Emotionally, intellectually, physically...I'm not scared anymore. So what if I cry at everything and get emotionally attached ridiculously quickly? So what if my ideas don't match yours--the world would be boring if no one ever argued or played devil's advocate. So what if I'm not a size two and my hip bones don't protrude from my body like all the bikini models? All that stuff isn't me. I'm me. And I'm happy being me. I love me. And somebody else loves me. There's something about being loved like that that makes me feel beautiful in a way that can't be messed up by a lack of makeup or bed-head or an overabundance of curves--he's helped me bridge the gap between feeling like beauty is something I do and realizing that beauty is something I am. So if I had any haters yesterday, fuck y'all. I'm beautiful. 

New commtiment!!

I'm going to start going to the gym on Wednesdays and Fridays, because these are the days I don't have to get up for class and can thus go to the gym and THEN shower. My mom lost 9 pounds going on this nasty cabbage soup diet and walking on the treadmill in our basement, and I'm maaaaaaad jealous.

 

So later I was talking to my dad, and he wants to get out into the world more and meet more people and just...have a life outside of work. I want to go to the gym. We are going to keep each other in check about these things. Yay killing two things-I-don't-want-to-do-birds with one stone! (Making sure I go to the gym and talking to my father.)

Dear Bra Companies,

I don't mind you calling bras in my size "Curvy Fit" or "Full-Figure", because I have lots of curves and I am full-figured, and I embrace both of these things. EMBRACE being the keyword there. EMBRACE. Synonyms: love, cherish, accept, welcome, approve. This may be hard for you to understand, I guess, but I like my body. So I want to ask you to change the marketing strategy for the bras you sell in my size. Just because I'm a D cup does not mean I want my bra to MINIMIZE my boobs by up to 1.5 inches. It doesn't mean they're sagging and I need my bra to DEFY GRAVITY. If you must know, the girls are quite perky all on their own; all they're looking for is support that's comfortable enough to get me through the day. I must applaud you for accomplishing that, but still, you disappoint me >.<

Think about it,

Maya and the girls