Sometimes I get really tired of the current American attitude toward bodies.
I just got thrown off FaceBook.  Again.  For this image.

Go ahead.  Tell me there are perverts out there.  I know.  Trust me, I know.  But this isn't where they are getting their jollies.  On my personal FB site that is so locked down on privacy that only my friends can see my pics.

And let's talk about the fact this image was reported by friend.  Because... why?

Tell me this isn't an image of just joy and innocence.  

In which I rant again and also post a naked pic of myself.

So I recently posted on FB this :


Ok my friends. It is time to just stop this business and freaking LOVE our beautiful bodies already. It is breaking my heart the way we (I include myself) beat up and insult ourselves. Repeat after me... my body is strong and beautiful and sexy. Now everytime you say in your head, "I'm fat" replace it with that.
Start-- NOW


So people respond like crazy... I know some of my friends think it was aimed directly at them, and certainly I was thinking of some recent conversations I had with woman... But this is an old refrain.  We hate our bodies.  Too skinny, too fat, too flat , too big.... now I like working out, I like feeling strong and healthy.  and I'm all about goals for strength and good health and good endorphins.
But this self hate.  It is terrible.  It is tragic.  I know woman of every shape and size... and they use terrible, cruel heartless words on themselves.  Words they would never use on anyone else.


Now I'm going to tell you a secret.  I love my body.  I love my rounded tummy.  My I'vehad5kids breasts.  My unruly hair.  My yogabutt. My pretty feet.  My small wrists. My ugly, capable hands.  My strong dimpled thighs.  I love how I smell, both clean and dirty.  I love the c section scar that means my fifth baby didn't die.
I photograph myself nude all the time.  I am unafraid to show those images because as an artist, I can see that they are beautiful and interesting.
I love this body... but I am also afraid to.  Afraid that if I become comfortable and happy in my skin I will become complacent.  That I will get fat and lazy and ugly and not know because I'm happy.
Ok.  How sad and sick is that?
I have DAUGHTERS.  I have a responsibility to treat my self image with joy.  Not disgust.
It's time to change.  It's time to walk confidently in my skin.  I'm ready, even if every day I have to remind myself to push out the cruel thoughts and replace with kind.
It is time.

The idea of learning to forgive yourself, well, its pretty trendy right now.  Not saying it is isn't valid, its just all over the place and sometimes for me that translates into new age-y woowoowoo.
But I had this conversation with Chris the other night and in the middle of it I was struck, just struck by the amount of loathing and disgust I had with myself for my failures.
And  have plenty.
Oh yes, I have lots and lots of good.  Sure.  I'm kind and sometimes patient, etc, etc... buuuut.  I'm afraid can be just heartless.  Or more importantly-- I have been heartless.  Chris would argue, my friends would argue, my doctors would argue.  They would remind that somewhere after Emmet was born(81/2) years ago, my PPD exploded into full fledged depression and anxiety disorder.  They would remind me that I was coping the best I could.
Yeah.  I know.
But what I remember is yelling at the kids.  Not being able to leave the house. Utterly overwhelmed.  Crying.  And crying.  And crying.  Especially at the end of the day when my failures were painfully clear.
I know that drugs have helped and and, well, Im REALLY ok with that.  I know I needed help.  I know that 5 kids and no money would drive anyone over the edge. Let alone the madness that was chemical makeup.
But.
I still hate the way I was.   I can't quite forgive myself for  not being stronger.  Kinder.  Better.
 I am now.  I know.  And now is really what matters.
But it would be nice to jump on the trendy bandwagon.  And forgive myself.

so I should be posting the Sunday Grats...

So I should be posting grats.  But man, I gotta bitch for a sec.
My internet is off.  My phone is turned off.  My tax check came in, buuuut-- because it was so big they held it for 5 days.  Well, for fuck's sake.

I'm working like mad, to get us caught up.  Chris is working like mad, to get us caught up.  Sigh.  Money in, money out. We have a motto for the year.  NMP.  No more poor.  We text it to each other when things are rough.  That is when we can text.  

Man, I am so tired of this.  Yes, things are getting better.  Slowly.  But I had to get it off my chest.

So enough bitching.  Heres what I'm grateful for.

Plus.  Lots, lots more.

I swore I would speak honestly in this blog.  So today.  The taboo subject.  Illustrated of course.

In case you are wondering.  This is what food stamps buy.  Flour, salt, yeast and homemade bread everday.  Because it’s cheaper.  Better.

Homemade cookies.  Because I can.

Heres what children who eat food purchased with food stamps look like.

Yes, I know.  It’s called SNAP now.  And it’s a fancy little credit card.  But come on.  It’s still food stamps.  We all know it. 

This what kid who gets WIC looks like.  Don’t know what that is?  You should.

It helps us with our gallon a milk a day habit.  Our addiction to cheerios. Our dependency on eggs. 

That is welfare.  Go ahead play with words.  Say welfare is only cash ( which we don’t get, although I would take it if they offered)  But come on .  It’s welfare.  Yes, we have jobs.  Yes we work.  We work and work and work.

These are kids on Hoosier Healthwise.  That’s a fancy word for medicad

This is what the uninsured look like.

Here’s what we are.  A family who has fun.  We cook . and cook and cook.  We garden.  We Laugh.  We started camping as the only way we could afford a family vacation.  Discovered it rocked.

We have one car.  No creditcards.  A small house.  A good life.

This is a man who will build anything.  Fix anything.  Work his fingers to the bone to help his family.

This is a woman who lets the babies cuddle in bed with her.  Who invents meals out of nothing.  Who would work her fingers to the bone to help her family.

These are reasons she smiles.  And the reasons she cries when she thinks she's failing them.

Yeah.  That’s me.  I’m the one who cried in the car after I couldn't pick up my son’s medicine because of glitch in insurance.

The one who will sit in FSSA all afternoon today with three small children because that glitch.

So maybe you’ll think less of us.  And well, that’s too bad for you.  Maybe you are just like us.  Know others like us. .  I know what we are—a family who doesn’t plan on being like this forever.  But is grateful for the help.  A family who loves.  Works.  Plays.  Laughs.  Doesn’t give up. 

Before you assume to comment on "welfare"--  think about who is getting the benefits.