My tummy doesn’t have to be cute. It holds my internal organs. My thighs don’t have to “crush men’s skulls”. I use them to carry myself. My stretch marks don’t have to be tiger stripes I earned. They came when I grew.
Stop.
feeling this
This!
I feel like even body positivity is too focused on, like, the appearance of the body. I know I became a whole lot happier with my body when I started thinking of it less in terms of how it looked (to me or anyone else) and realized, that, like…
When I feel cool breeze on my skin on a really hot day, my body did that for me.
When I step into a bath after a hike, and my muscles ache, but in a good way, and the steam all around me makes me feel like a flower blooming, my body did that for me.
And the hike before it, and standing on a large rock breathing the raw winter air seeing the power of the half-frozen river. That too.
When I’ve had a plate of pasta puttanesca, and I chopped and sauteed the ingredients and now I’m full-but-not-uncomfortable, and warm all over, and perfectly content, my body did that for me.
My body doesn’t have to look awesome to be awesome. It’s awesome because it’s where I live.
Part of my brain that makes me not do socially inappropriate things: don’t walk across the break room like David Byrne in the music video for once in a lifetime
My body and soul:
If you ever feel like treating yourself right you should make Cajun pasta from scratch 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻blacken the chicken too, you’ll thank me later.
a guy about my age, frat boy type, just stepped off the bus, looked me right in the eyes, and said “i wish things were different.” then walked away. genuinely think it might have been a hallucination
Tonight at the gym a man who looked like fuckin Thor asked me out and when I told him I was a lesbian he goes “oh. Chill. You know, my sister and I work out a lot together. She’ll be here tomorrow, same time.”
Penhales 