Girls and guys!! Don’t let anyone try to shame you into presenting yourself in a way that doesn’t make you feel 100% confident and good about yourself. Rock your body and your aesthetic and let others rock theirs.
Weight loss tip from me to you, feel free to write it down
Stop carrying around all that self-loathing cause that shit is heavy
Practice the radical concept of self-love
overconfident fat girl ~*~*
<3 can i adopt you as my lil sister! <3
fat.. what a derogatory term shes well fed and proud!
I’m fat and if you’d stop using ‘fat’ like a fucking swear word maybe it would help with people not thinking fat is something to not be proud of.
I’m fat. If I call myself fat, you better fucking respect that ‘cause you obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with.
sometimes I don’t know what I would do without babes like this in my internet life
o m g the beauty uhGUkjfg fkgsnd
I want to draw fat babes! I need to do a drawing project. I loved when I was doing Daily Animal Drawings and portraits and this would be fun and giving back! Assuming, of course, that you like the finished portrait. Email me at rachele@nearsightedowl.com with your photo and blog URL using subject line DRAW ME IMMA FAT BABE.
Thanks!
reblogging for all my fat babes ♥
Patience Hodgson, lead singer of the Australian band The Grates, grew up with a large, rare port wine stain birthmark, otherwise known as Klippel Trenaway Sydrome, covering half of her upper body.
“I love my birthmark’s spectrum of colour. When I’m warm it’s a kind of red-purple, like the colour of some plums and when I’m cold it’s a vivid, almost neon blue. I also like how it’s a kind of protective barrier protecting me against non-accepting and unthoughtful people.”
via Nat Mccomas
“Stand naked in front of a mirror for a long time, under unflattering light if possible. Trace the rises and falls of the little ripples on your skin — the scars, the dimples, the cellulite — and think about how much you try to hide these things in your day-to-day. Wonder why you hate them so much, and if this hate stems from somewhere within yourself, or as a result of being told all your life that it’s wrong to have physical flaws. Wonder what you would think of your body if you never looked at a magazine, if you never thought about celebrities and models, if you never had to wonder where someone would rate you on a scale of 10. Look at yourself until the initial recoil softens, and you can consider your features in a more forgiving frame of mind.
Listen to the music which makes you want to both sob and dance with uninhibited joy, and allow yourself to repeat any song you want as many times as your heart desires. Think of the person you are when you have your favorite song in your headphones and are walking down a street you feel you own completely, swaying your hips and smiling for no good reason — remember how many things you love about yourself during those moments, how much you are willing to forgive in yourself, how confident you are for no good reason. Try to think of confidence as a gift you give yourself when you need it, instead of something you have to siphon from every unreliable source in your life. Dance because the music makes you remember how much you love yourself, not because it allows you to forget the fact that you don’t.
Write a list of all the things you like about yourself, even if you think it’s a self-indulgent and narcissistic activity. Start as early as you like in your life — put down that time you won a trophy playing little league soccer when you were eight and then got an extra-large shake at the DQ on the way home, and don’t feel silly for remembering it. Try to understand how many sources in your life happiness can come from, how many things you could be proud of if you chose to. Ask yourself why you so tightly limit the things you take pride in, why you set your own hurdles for happiness and fulfillment so much higher than you do with anyone else in your life. Let your list go on for pages and pages if you want it to.
Touch and care for yourself with the attention and the patience that you would someone you loved more than life itself. Rub lotion in small circles on your elbows and hands when it is cold and your skin is dry and cracked. Make soup for yourself when your nose is running and curl up, with your favorite movie, in a pile of expertly-stacked pillows. Light a few candles and let their glow flicker against your body. Admire how gentle they are, how delicately their warmth touches you — wonder why you don’t let yourself do the same. Soak your feet in warm water at the end of a long day, until they have forgiven you for walking on them for so long without so much as a “thank you.” Listen to your body when it aches to be touched, and don’t be afraid to give it every orgasm that you may have been too ashamed to ask for in someone else’s bed.
Be patient with yourself, and don’t worry if a switch doesn’t flip in you which abruptly takes you from “crippling self-doubt” to “uncompromising self-love.” Allow yourself all the trepidation and clumsy, uneven infatuation that you would with a promising stranger. Try only to be kinder, to be softer, and to remember all of the things within you which are worth loving. Listen to the voice in the back of your head which tells you, as much out of sadness as anger, “You are ugly. You are stupid. You are boring.” Give it the fleeting moment of attention it so craves, and then remind it, “Even if that were true, I’d still be worth loving.”
”
Chelsea Fagan, How To Fall In Love With Yourself (via ceedling)
(Source: larmoyante)
At 4-years old, I’m told to call it a “monkey”as the word “vagina” is a bit too vulgar for my otherwise liberal mother.
At 8-years old, my older sister’s favourite insult is “close your legs, you’re attracting flies.”At 11, I realize that my vulva had changed, and I convince myself that I somehow damaged myself through masturbation.
At 12, I learn that virginity = purity, and the best way to be “good” is to not act at all. I start realizing that society thinks the state of my vagina has some bearing on who I am as a human being.
At 13, I hear the boys in my class talking about “beef curtains”, cementing my belief that my vulva will turn off boys forever.
At 14, I become interested in seeing what other women look like “down there” and find my way into the world of internet porn. I realize I do not look the same as porn-stars, and I become ashamed.
At 15, I learn about labiaplasty and seriously consider the logistics of saving up for it.
At 16, I have my first internal exam. I sit with my feet in stirrups convinced the doctor will tell me there’s something wrong with my genitals. When she doesn’t mention anything, I think she’s just being polite.
At 17, my boyfriend “jokingly” tells me my vulva is hideous.
At 19, I tell my new boyfriend about I how I know his disinterest in performing oral sex on me comes from him being disgusted at my genitals (rather than my own lack of interest), I cry, a lot; he tells me I’m being ridiculous and that there’s nothing wrong with me.
Later that year, I listen to my roommate insult a woman he doesn’t like by saying she has a “fat hairy pussy.”
At 20, I confess to a soon-to-be sexual partner that I’ve been putting off sex because I’m terrified he’ll hate my vulva.
At 21, I sit completely naked in a room full of other young women and confess that that years of hurtful comments from loved ones, friends, strangers, and the media have made me have serious amounts of shame about my vulva. I spread my legs and show them what I’ve got. Afterwards, one of the other women approaches me, looks me straight in the eye, and says “you have a beautiful vagina.” I try not to cry. I start to believe her.At 21, I’m just now learning not to hate my genitals. I realize that this culture of shame surrounding the vulva and vagina stem from deep-seeded misogyny, and — really — has nothing to do with me. I have wasted far too much time being ashamed of my perfectly normal, perfectly functioning genitals because of people like these politicians in Michigan who tell me that my body — by virtue of being born female — is offensive. So offensive that its name shan’t even be uttered, lest their ears fall off and their delicate sensibilities are offended.
To them, and to the people like them who are so terrified of my vagina that they feel the need to legislate what I can and can’t do with it: fuck you. My vagina belongs to me. My vulva is perfect the way it is. My body parts are not offensive.
(Source: doulaness)
“ One of the ways I started to love and accept my body was by actively living in my body. That is to say, sometimes, I grab my squishy bits for no reason. I trace my stretchmarks. I play connect-the-dots with my freckles. I own these things, because they are mine, and to me, that’s something worth celebrating. ”
-Shakethecobwebs, my fatspiration. I love this woman. She teaches me so much. (via even-thebirds)
<33333
(via shakethecobwebs)
I’ve finally accepted that these people get what true happiness and love are.
(Source: judgesontoddlersandtiaras)
