The Invisible Monster

Just when I thought I couldn't stand the sight of another article about the fashion industry's resolve to destroy self-esteem of every living female by way of photoshop and the like, the newest scandal, the-thigh-gap-missing-crotch situation via Target, popped up in my Facebook newsfeed. You can read about it here, if you're interested.

I don't want to sound like I'm outraged that the media is starting to address these issues at a higher volume and with more perseverance than I've seen in years. No, initially I was so grateful that people were actually voicing concerns about these standards, and loudly, because it seemed it had gone unquestioned for far too long. However, I'm going to admit that I'm really tired of seeing the same stories of outrage at the latest photo-altering gaff that pops up. The articles, like the one noted above, rarely offer any type of action against the predicament, instead just announcing that it did, in fact, occur. And, yes, I understand that this discourse is important in changing attitudes on a topic, especially one as large as body image, but if it's only being seen by the same people how's it actually making a difference?

Ok, so enough of the politics on this topic, because what I really want to say is that while I'm SO sick of seeing these stories AGAIN AND AGAIN, I'm more sick and tired of my own issues with my own body image and the constant nagging I feel my head is filled with these days.

A little bit of history: When I was teen, I was noticeably larger than most of my friends, perhaps not grossly larger, but just enough for there to be some teasing. And while I say this, here, on my blog, my safe place, I honestly never really thought it about it as something I should be ashamed of. I was more voluptuous, with hips and breasts larger than most of the girls I knew, but never so overwhelmed by the thought that it prevented me from having a good time. What's stranger yet, is that the year everyone I knew went off to college and gained the dreaded "freshmen 15," I managed to lose weight by not really changing my habits at all. I felt confidant, lived it up, and made some of the best memories of my life. Weight didn't seem like a constant struggle; in fact, I didn't even notice it.

As I approached my late twenties, however, I noticed a very dramatic change in my mood with each fluctuation in weight. I wasn't as small as I had been (I walked everywhere because I didn't have a car, I began dating my soon-to-be husband, and was definitely less active). The weight seemed to be like a see-saw and I couldn't control it. I was never one to eat large portions, I didn't mind walking, and I was active with my friends. Still. I was getting larger and couldn't deal with it.

It all came to an overwhelming head once I moved up to Chicago and finally got settled in this year. The weeks leading up to the move had been packed with small parties with friends and family sad to see me go. Yes, we indulged with fatty foods, and drank gluttonous amounts of spirits and wine. It was the best week of the summer in Georgia, but also the one that would leave me feeling the worst. I had definitely gained five pounds by the time we arrived, and then suddenly found I couldn't get it off. I gained another five pounds within a couple of months; "winter weight" was what I was told. I could no longer fit into my favorite clothes, I couldn't even look at the scale when the numbers popped up. I was the largest I had ever been. I am the largest I've ever been. I would need to lose at least 25 pounds to be healthy according to BMI charts, and that seems like the hardest thing possible.

And while I feel like this is some never-ending, internal toxic rage, I find that I'm not the only one that battles these issues at this age. I hear women discussing these same feelings rather frequently. Too often, in fact. What's more, I feel shallow and self-involved. Call me a narcissist, even! But I'm not my body. I'm just me with all these thoughts and feelings, as cliche as it sounds.

I'm a frequent at the gym, have signed up for special classes (spin and yoga), started eating smaller portions, kicked up the greens, and started limiting dairy and alcohol consumption. I'm working hard to maintain a healthy weight and a healthy me. I try to convince myself that all I really desire is to be fit -- the key to feeling great, but sometimes that's just not reality. The numbers on the scale will sometimes win even if I know I'm really working muscles I haven't used in years. And that's just something I'll have to continue to work on.

This isn't an entry asking for pity or advice; rather, it's a chance for me to spill these dark feelings and to address the hate I have for the body that is pretty healthy, carries me through this life, and is mine. In the years to come, I sincerely hope that this worry will decrease and I'll be able to see myself in a new light. Lord knows I'm not about to forbid myself from eating certain foods; hell, I'm even participating in a challenge to create an eclair for the first time in April! So, really, let's see less of those shocking stories of someones arm being removed from a photograph, and more like these, showing everyday women being awesome.

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A Post: Literary Tattoos

There seems to be a lot of talk about literary tattoos as of late. I find that I see articles and posts on the subject on my twitter feed quite regularly now. I can't say I'm surprised by this development as tattoo culture seems to be less and less taboo. However, I have a feeling that most of the people posting images of their ink and their love for the art probably don't really care if society's accepting and were doing it long before it was cool. So. I'll admit that I have more than a few tattoos. Yes, I got them when I was younger. No, I don't necessarily regret the decision. Not all anyway. But when it's done, it's done and there's really no going back.

When I read over this awesome post by Book Riot over the weekend I was finally convinced that despite my no-more-tattoos rule, I had to get something from one of my favorite books. I sat there thinking... how could I not have a single literary tattoo? Well... I guess I have a pretty lame explanation. While I've always loved reading. Always. I was, like most young adults, really into my music. So into my favorite music, in fact, that virtually all of my tattoos are lyrics or interpretations of songs. For instance, take a peek at 23-year-old Beth. Yes, this photo is seeing the light of day despite that fact that this expression is a little too close to the dreaded duck face for comfort. But. It gives you a good glimpse of this Beatles-inspired piece I had drawn based on the song "Dear Prudence."

I wanted mother earth and sunshine and all things beautiful. I wanted a tattoo that would make me smile on the darkest days. My love for the Beatles actually precedes my love of reading because I totally jammed to "Twist and Shout" before I could even speak properly.

I have others... some in places that aren't visible when I'm walking down the street (I bet you would love to see those). And then some like this bit of a Bright Eyes song on the inside of my arm that people can't seem to refrain from asking me to read. BEWARE: 21-year-old Beth is even scarier and maybe COOLER than 23-year-old Beth. Don't even get me started on what this line actually means to me. No, people can't kill people and be in the right in my mind. Jeez. I'm looking at you, Mom and Dad.

Hopefully if you've been having a bad morning these photos are totally turning all that around.

The whole point of this post was to work through whether or not I should get a tattoo to reflect my love of reading. But is this even a question!? No, it's not, and yes, I should totally get another one. I knew the title I'd pick up immediately. Most of my regular readers probably know too. I thumbed through my battered, highlighted, dog-eared, and post-it-noted (totally made up) copy of The History of Love and located some of my favorite quotations. I think I've got it narrowed down to two quotations. Hell, I might even get both.

What's your opinion on the subject? Don't be afraid to speak up! What would you get if you could get any literary piece? Would you stick with a line, or go for a full out interpretation? Feel free to link up if you already have some so we can all see!

Note: 28-year-old Beth definitely frowns upon the provided photo decisions of younger Beth. Ugh. You live, you learn.

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A Rant: Reading Is A Waste Of Time.. Or So I Hear

Recently, I managed to overhear a conversation where several individuals voiced that reading was a waste of time. More specifically, it was decided that if it wasn't a work of non-fiction, it didn't warrant the time it would take away from other activities. GASP! To give you a little setup, let me first start by saying that I work in a corporate environment. The little start-up I agreed to work for was consumed acquired by a corporate giant. Things have changed a bit, mostly for the better, but we've all been overworked for quite sometime. We're Americans; it's in our bones. Let me be clear: I'm extremely grateful that I have a job. Yes, I'm grateful even when I feel like I haven't slept enough in weeks, or don't want to deal with another complaint for the rest of my life. Needless to say, many of us don't have a lot of free time (if any). However, to hear people say that if they did have more time they wouldn't waste it with book reading is something I can't ignore.


There are definitely moments that make me dream of the open road when certain conversations come up in the small, open space we inhabit (it's the hip thing to do), and conversations like this force me to step outside for a breather. To say that reading is a waste of time is to disregard the fact that you had to learn how to do so to even get an interview for the position you have (if you could even make it that far). Let's not forget that reading assists you in keeping your job, because I can say for certain that my inbox is always far (farfarfar) from empty. My blood begins to boil when I hear the same people go on and on about a certain Honey Boo Boo child that I have yet to lay eyes on, but know so much about because they discuss it so frequently. I may not watch television on a regular basis, and may not condone excessive bouts in front of the screen (that goes for any activity), I certainly wouldn't announce that watching reality television was a waste of time. I don't judge the fact that my co-workers spend the majority of their time watching professional sports, or the Honey phenomenon, or online gaming after their time in the office. Yes, even if they've admitted that they can't remember the last time they actually attempted a book. To each his/her own. I do, however, firmly believe that these activities are just as much a time waster as reading, if that's what we're calling it. But what do I know? And these time wasters, to some extent, don't provide nearly as many benefits as reading if we're going to really discuss it.

I'm surrounded by so many intelligent book bloggers, individuals I see rejoicing in book award announcements, classic novel clubs, and get excited about finding a new independent book store, that I fail to realize that much of the world doesn't share our fervor. I've heard so many comments during my 25 years of reading life, suggesting that it's an incredibly pathetic use of my free time, and noticed the looks of surprise when I mention I blog about books, that I probably should have been much more prepared for the announcement. Perhaps these people don't realize that reading and discussing is a way to keep your brain active. To challenge yourself. To meet people that share something you love. To meet people that are intelligent and make you feel great. There are so many reasons I read books. I learn new words. I realize new emotions. I recognize genius and feel inspired.

Reading could never be a waste of time. Society wouldn't stress learning to do so at such a young age if it were. Fiction creates children with active imaginations, individuals who become innovative leaders and benefit the world. I'd hate to live in a world where reading was deemed a waste of time, but apparently I do. To some small extent, anyway.

I can't stress how much I appreciate this little area of the world, a place where I can blab on and on about character development and plot lines. You guys are truly wonderful. Reading is such a wonderful use of my time and I can only hope that my children and the generations that follow will feel the same. I can only read more and blog more and get more involved to combat this ideology. And I know you will too. Thanks to all those bloggers out there that make me feel so great, and for keeping a "dying" activity alive.

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