All bodies are good bodies: The Phenomenal Me Charity Photobook Project

I have launched a fundraiser for my 'Phenomenal Me' Charity Photobook Project (www.gofundme.com/phenomenalme). 

The idea is to produce a photo book that celebrates body diversity and the myriad definitions of beauty that mainstream media tends to ignore. The book would feature everyday people celebrating their bodies and embracing the unique parts of themselves that society often tells them they should embarrassed about. It will showcase people celebrating the skin they're in and participating in activities (like pole dancing, hoop, aerial, etc) that so many people just like them are reluctant to try because they are too ashamed of their bodies. The book is about reclaiming our bodies and the right to love and be proud of them, JUST AS THEY ARE.

The money raised from the sale of the book will be donated to a charity that helps people with eating disorders.

The following break down explains how the funds raised will be used:

1) Studio rental - 2 days x $149 = $298 (there is a third day of shooting booked but I covered those costs)

2) Lunch and refreshments on set - $120

3) Hairstylist services for models - $30 x 29 = $870 (models have kindly offered to pay for their own makeup ($36-40 per person) so that more money goes to the project itself)

4) Printing - $2400 (for 100 copies) 

5) Book Launch - $1200 (not final):  
- $400-$500: location rental
- $400: band/DJ booking
- $300: alcohol and snacks

6) Cover artwork- $395

7) Incidentals- $1150

TOTAL: $6433

 This project is LGBTQ-friendly and will be inclusive of people of different races, abilities, beliefs, cultures, etc. Feel free to contact me for more information through GoFundMe.

The important thing to note about this project is that it is not only trying to raise funds for people living with eating disorders, many of the individuals modelling for the photobook have dealt with/still delaing with body image issues as well. Their bravery in revealing parts of themselves they don't always love to a society that has taught them not to love those parts is amazing to see. Hopefully, this will encourage other people to embrace their bodies, head to toe, as well.

(NB- This books may contain some tasteful nudity. It you find nudity in a non-sexual context offensive, then this campaign's not for you. And more's the pity, if that is the case.)

If you'd like to donate or help spread the word, here's the link to the GoFundMe page:

www.GoFundMe.com/phenomenalme

"Don't forget to fall in love with yourself first." - Kathleen's Final Inspirational Post

When I started writing these posts, I expected it to be a challenge. I was right on that front, but it ended up being for a different reason than I’d anticipated; while I’d expected it to be hard by virtue of it being a personal topic—it’s hard to expose your insecurities, pointing them out for others to see and potentially to judge—I struggled the most to articulate what I dislike about my body, in part because I’ve come to realize that I really don’t hate my body the way I once did. My body image certainly isn’t perfect, but even the parts that I do sometimes fixate on or that I am insecure about—like my thighs and my belly—do not cause me nearly the same level of distress that they used to. 

Overall, it’s been an interesting experience trying to put my relationship with my body into words. Despite the challenges of it, it’s a topic that I could continue to explore and discuss probably nearly indefinitely because it continues to shift and evolve and because it’s so strongly entwined with so many other aspects of my life, impacting how I associate with the world and the people around me.

But I think we’d all become exhausted if I did talk about it indefinitely.  So, for now, this will be my last post on the subject, and it’s going to be just a little different than the previous ones. I mentioned above that I don’t hate my body the way I once did, and while I could still tell you about my dislike for the fat that hangs out over my ribs and always creates a roll there, or how I feel self-conscious when people find out how big my feet are (size 11, and yes I do sometimes wear men’s shoes), I’d much rather tell you about all of the little things I love about myself, so I’m going to do just that.

Success # 4 (and beyond) – Loving the little things (… a partial list)

I love my eyes, with their navy ringed irises and how they shift from bright blue to nearly grey depending on the light.

I like my dorkiness and the fact that by and large I’ve learned to embrace it rather than shy away from it. I love that it has resulted in a strange depth of random knowledge.

I’ve come to realize that many of my favourite pictures of myself are ones where the dorkiness shines through.

I love my hair and its curly waviness—it’s temperamental, but it’s beautiful.  Not unlike the rest of me.

I love how far I can point my toes.

I like my bum. It might be big, but it’s round and high and it looks fantastic in a pair of jeans. In fact, I rather like it because it’s big.

I love that I’m learning to live by my mom’s motto of “say yes more often” when it comes to trying new things. And I love that I keep people on their toes because this has left me with a strange variety of hobbies and interest.

There was a time when I would never have even considered trying something like the CN Tower EdgeWalk.

I love the muscle definition that is beginning to appear in my back, shoulders, and arms.

I like the fact that I have the Zorzella nose: the same nose that my dad had and that my brother and many of my cousins also have. (I may not always love how wide it is, but I adore the fact that it’s a family trait).

Not a perfect picture comparison, but it’s still clear that I take after my dad.

I love my dimples. They make me feel adorable.

I love the shape of my lips, and that I’ve recently discovered how awesome wearing lipstick makes me feel.

I love how strong I’m getting, and how many more things I am capable of now than it was even six months ago, and I cannot wait to find out what I will become capable of in the next six.

This picture looks celebratory to me, and that’s pretty much how I feel about being able to do things like this!

"Show me your friends, and I'll tell you who you are." - Kathleen's Story (Part 3)

Struggle #3 – Blemishes

My skin has many blemishes of all kinds. Some of them don’t bother me, like the handful of chicken pox scars left over from when I was little or the silvery stretch marks zigzag over my hips and the tops of my thighs—they used to bother me, back when they were angry red and people, upon seeing them, would ask if I’d been scratched, but they really don’t any more.

 My stretch marks stopped bothering me a long time ago.

But some of the blemishes do bother me. Like the cellulite on my thighs that’s been there as long as I can remember, or the acne that still constantly mars my skin at 25.

In my last post I discussed my struggles with my legs, but the one thing I didn’t mention is cellulite. To be honest, I think I’d still hate it if it were on any other part of my body—in fact, while I quite like my bum, I can guarantee that I hate the cellulite there—but the fact that it sits heavy on thighs that I already don’t love, well, that just makes me less inclined to ignore it. I hate the lumpy unevenness of it, the way it puckers and dimples my skin. Most of the time I find it easy enough to ignore, but I know I sometimes make concessions to it, avoiding certain cuts of shorts, or the one pole in class that I know is lit at an angle that highlights every lump and bump.

I’m uncomfortable with the visible unevenness of my thighs, even without the help of really unflattering light.

The worst part about cellulite is not really what it looks like at all, though. It’s the fact that it feels like it brands me somehow. I know that neither fitness nor youth are guarantees against cellulite, but it is hard not to feel that its residence on my thighs brands me as being out of shape and as not having the body expected of a twenty-something: that it somehow marks my body as being less perfect than it is meant to be given my age.

Acne, on the other hand—which shows up on my face, but is worst on my chest, shoulders, and back—makes me feel like a teenager. It feels like something I am meant to have outgrown by now, and I dislike that in many ways it marks the state of my life on my skin. In particular, it is obvious from the state of my skin when I am going through a period of stress or unhappiness.

I know lots of people would hardly consider this acne at all, but I’m incredibly self-conscious about it!

Inevitably, the more red welts that appear, the more stressed I become and the less self-confident I feel, to the point where, on occasion, I've avoided wearing the outfits that usually make me feel the best because I know I’m not going to feel as good as I’d like to in them. I try not to let my occasional discomfort over any part of my body—be it my belly, my thighs, or my acne—keep me from doing or wearing the things I want, and while I certainly don’t always succeed, I like to think I’m making progress and letting these things hold me back less than they once did.

Success #3 – Friends

Did you know that obesity is considered to be “socially contagious”? This is because we typically adopt the habits—good and bad—of those around us, so whether your friends love eating fast food or whether they’re gym rats (or both), you’re likely to pick up at least some of their habits.

For me this has certainly been true. I’m not saying to ditch the friend with the love of fries (I am that friend) if you’re trying to lose weight, but for me, at least, having a group of people who have habits I admire, who can do the things I want to learn to do, or who share my love of something has been huge. Those are the people who encourage me constantly, who help me push myself, and who inspire me to try new things in all aspects of my life, and so those people have been indispensable in helping me to become comfortable and confident in myself.

I've been lucky enough to have multiple groups of amazing people who fill this role in my life, and I am especially lucky that those who I initially knew only at the gym have now become people I call friends. Now, I am constantly motivated to go to pole class, not only because I love it, but also because there is accountability, and, even more than that, because there is a social aspect that I miss when I am not there.

Chatting out after Saturday pole class—this happens almost every week, and I love it. (Pic credit: @Brassvixens Instagram!)

When I am in class, this group supports me, believes in me, helps me, and cheers me on when I accomplish something new—and still manages to make me feel good about myself when I am frustrated at not landing that new move. 

In addition to that, these are people who, simply by being their adventurous and fun-loving selves, have given me so many opportunities to do and try things that I might not have otherwise—from going to high tea to like joining an axe-throwing league and playing archery tag. Things like axe throwing and archery tag may or may not be things I ultimately excel at, but for someone who has always been fairly reserved and nervous about trying new things, it is a huge accomplishment to be trying at all.

Sadly I have thus far failed to get a picture with the lovely ladies who are in the league with me, so here’s an action shot instead!

So maybe obesity is contagious, but there are so many other things that are too, and I've found that surrounding myself with amazing people, well, it might not necessarily make me amazing by association, but it certainly helps.

No thigh gap? Some problems. - Part 2 of Kathleen's Self-Love Journey

Struggle #2 – Legs


My legs and I have always had a bit of a rocky relationship. I must have been in middle school, probably no older than 11 or 12, when I began actively hating them. I refused to wear shorts or skirts that hit higher than mid-calf, thinking my legs too chunky and unsightly to be acceptable. My mom told me my calves were shapely, but I just called them fat. It took me a number of years—and a few hot summers of suffering through overheating—before I gave in, eventually moving to knee-length styles, and eventually to shorts that hit mid-thigh. In university the skirts got shorter and tighter, but were worn only on nights out and accompanied by sky-high heels and a strong dose of discomfort.

Even now, I still don’t love my legs. I still think my calves are too chunky and my thighs too jiggly. I hate that I’m knock-kneed in an obvious way. I don’t care about thigh gaps one way or the other, but I hate how much my thighs chafe, and I still feel uncomfortable with the way they squish out when I sit while wearing shorts.

Thigh squish—ack! I can’t believe I’m willingly putting this picture online!

But worse than that, I still sometimes resent my legs. I don’t resent them for their stockiness, not directly anyway, but I do resent how inconvenient they can be. It’s difficult to find jeans—especially my favoured skinny jeans—that fit properly around my calves without constricting, and it’s nearly impossible to find boots that come even to mid-calf, and even then they usually need to have laces in order to fit. Not to mention the fact that my jeans are more likely to have to be replaced because the inner thigh has worn out than for any other reason.


But on the other hand, I like wearing shorts, and I love short, swishy summer dresses—I even wear them with flats without really thinking anything of it, even though I know they’re not as flattering. When I do find skinny jeans that fit, I wear them constantly, and often find myself looking in the mirror thinking my legs look good. And, as I’ve said before, I love what my legs let me do; I may not love the way my soft inner thigh smooshes out during certain pole moves, but if that’s the trade-off for having the grip to stick leg hangs, pikes, and Supermans, I guess I can live with that.

Thigh grip is necessary for the Superman. Plus, being able to do this makes me feel like a superhero!

All in all, though my legs are still a sticking point when it comes to loving every detail of myself, I don’t actually hate them the way I once did. I still cite my thighs as my least favourite body part, but I’m not sure it’s really true, and maybe it is, at the very least, time that I start giving my legs a little bit more credit.



Success # 2 – Goals and Motivation


I’ve never been very good at making goals. I like results and I like success, but actually setting long-term goals and taking specific steps to meet them—especially when results don't happen immediately—well, I don’t really excel at that. At least, not when getting to that end point is the only motivation. For me, figuring that out has made a world of difference, because making goals and failing to accomplish them kind of sucks, and it's certainly never made me feel good about myself.


If I look at myself back in high school, or even in university, my goal with working out was always just to lose weight. No matter how much I wanted to be skinny (note: being skinny, as such, is no longer a goal of mine—being happy and healthy in my body is!), I could never find the motivation to actually hit that goal because results wouldn't happen immediately, and so it would seem like I wasn't getting anywhere, and eventually I'd simply give up. And then, inevitably, I'd feel worse than before, hating myself and my body for the inability to follow through or to change.


These days, though vanity certainly plays a role, health is a bigger factor, and the reality is that other things have mostly taken over. As I mentioned in my last post, when I started pole dancing, the primary goal was to try something new and to get myself out of the house, since I’d begun to feel like my life was stagnating. When I took up pole again after moving to Toronto, the goal was largely the same: it was something I already knew that I liked, and it gave me a reason to wake up and to leave the apartment. Now, pole is a motivator all its own.

For a while I’d begun to plateau—I was unable to learn new moves without gaining strength—and so when there was an opportunity to start hitting GoodLife with coworkers over lunch, it was easy to say yes, knowing that it would help me gain the necessary strength to improve. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't magically made me keen to spend an hour lifting weights; I still struggle to motivate myself some days (or weeks, or months), but when the goal is to improve my ability to do something that I love, it's a lot easier to give up that hour of reading BuzzFeed in favour of spending time at the gym.
So, sure, weight loss is still a motivating factor, but it’s secondary to a lot of things that are more fun and that are, quite honestly, better for my mental health and sense of self.

Part of my fitness goals list—in no particular order.

If you look at my list of goals, it’s largely pole moves. Some are far off goals, ones I may be working towards for years to come, and some are ones that I could get next week or next month if I just keep working at them. Every time I accomplish one of those moves—or even feel myself get that next step closer—I feel successful and I feel strong, and that's what keeps me moving forward. And really, that is what reminds me of how amazing my body is and of what it can do, and, much more than losing weight, that's what makes me feel confident in my own body.

The Jade Split is still on my goal list, because my version is far from perfect—but it still feels pretty amazing!

"Worry about loving yourself instead of loving the idea of other people loving you." - Kathleen's Story Part 1

I met Kathleen last year during one of my first pole transitions classes. I kinda sucked, she definitely didn't. I admired her fearlessness and confidence on the pole, and I looked forward to the day that I could exude the same. I asked for volunteers for a body positive charity project I am currently putting together and Kathleen eagerly stepped up. I was thrilled to have her and even more excited when she agreed to do a series of blog posts about her self-love journey. I relate to her first post and I hope some of you will too. Many thanks to Kathleen for sharing this side of herself with us.

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"Worry about loving yourself instead of loving the idea of other people loving you." - Kathleen's Story Part 1

Body image and self-esteem are funny things. It’s odd that it’s possible to love the big picture—to love yourself—but to still have parts of yourself that you’re uncomfortable with, or in some case even things that you hate. For me, it’s been a long process even to get to the point of loving myself in a broader sense.  I’ve always been seen as a little odd.  I’ve struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember, and whether I like it or not, my sense of self has been strongly impacted by these things. In school, I was made fun of for my weight. In middle and high school, I often was the biggest girl in my group of friends, relegated to shopping at stores targeted at grown women rather than teenage girls. I was demoralized by my lack of athleticism and inability to keep up with friends, classmates, and the expectations of gym class. For a long time, these things resulted in an intensely negative body image.

Me in high school (after my senior prom—hence the fancy hair and necklace with sweats!)

Things have changed a lot since then, and though I’ve learned to love myself fiercely—to own my oddness, and to appreciate my body for what it does for me and what it allows me to do—like most people, I still have a laundry list of things that I’m self-conscious about. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be writing a series of posts, each looking at one thing about my body that I still struggle to love and one thing that has contributed to my positive self-image—whether it’s a part of my body I’m particularly proud of or an activity that has helped me learn to love myself. I hope that by sharing some part of this constant journey, reconciling these disparate halves will become just a little bit easier. 

Struggle #1 – The Paunch

I’m going to start with one of the areas that most commonly causes insecurity: the belly. For me, it’s the lower tummy paunch in particular that I am self-conscious of, and that I do my best to keep contained under jeans (no super low rise here!) and spandex-laden workout clothes.

The dreaded paunch is visible from all angles

Even in pole class, where I’m generally comfortable in the booty shorts and sports bras that are standard fare, I often find myself looking in the mirror and tugging at the waistband of my shorts, trying to position it just so in order to flatten out and hide as much evidence of the paunch as possible, even though much of the rest of my body is on display.

I’ve done sit-ups and crunches of all sorts, and have made my abs sore more times than I can count in an effort to flatten my stomach (and yes, I know you can’t target fat loss that way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried­) and obviously it has never succeeded the way I’d wanted it to. Though I have lost some of the belly I once had, I still dream of having that perfectly flat stomach that has been idealized in movies and magazines. I still stare in the mirror, sucking in my stomach and poking at pudge that I find there, uncomfortable with the idea of what other people think of my stomach, even though I now realize that most people probably do not notice or care.

Even then, I find my stomach hard to come to terms with. It’s easier to find benefits for the size of other parts of my body: my sizeable butt looks fantastic in jeans, and the extra weight on my thighs helps with the grip necessary to land many pole moves. But my stomach still mostly feels like unnecessary weight, just hanging out there and disrupting the line of my shirt or spilling over the waistband of my pants, and I haven’t quite figured out how to love it yet, though I hold out hope that one day I will.

Success #1 – Exercise

I know, I know, exercise is an obvious choice, but it has made a huge difference in my life and in how I look at myself. Exercise has not come easily to me. In high school, I hated gym class, and I’ve always struggled to find physical activities that I enjoy, though I’ve tried everything from yoga to softball, and martial arts to dance. In part, my lack of engagement has always been fear of judgement or failure, but it was also a matter of finding what inspires me. In my case, that’s pole dancing.

I feel most at home in my body when upside down.

I first tried pole on a whim—I’d moved home again after university and was unemployed and bored, looking for something new to try. I signed up for a 6 week session of beginner pole dancing, and even though I struggled with many of the moves even in those basic classes, I fell in love with it almost instantly.

These days I pole dance about three days a week, and on days when I don’t go to pole, I often do yoga with my roommate or go to GoodLife with coworkers. For someone who so long struggled to find the motivation to work out at all, it is a strange twist that somewhere along the way, going to the gym has become a routine and a refuge in many ways. I become restless when I go too many days without working out, I find that dancing it out in pole class or working up a sweat on an elliptical helps burn off frustration, and after working out I feel stronger and more in tune with my body.

I once thought that losing weight would be what made me love my body, and I’m not going to lie and say that the weight loss and overall toning that has happened as a result of exercise hasn’t helped my body image, because it undoubtedly has. It has helped me feel more comfortable in my body, and allowed me to feel less like I stand out only due to my size, which I often felt in high school. But the reality is that it is the other effects of exercise that I have found to make the most difference in my body image: exercise has helped me to realize my strengths—quite literally—and given me opportunities to work on my weaknesses and to overcome long-held fears about failure and not being able to keep up. It is these things, much more than weight loss, that have helped me to appreciate what my body can do and to keep pushing myself to improve.

"A mother holds her child's hand for a moment and their heart for a lifetime.": Meet the greatest woman I know- My Mumsie.

Mumsie and I, somewhere in Scotland or the Soviet Union. 

Some of you may be wondering why I chose to celebrate mothers in the month of November; after all, Mothers' Day is in May.Well, the reason lies in the picture above. Her name is Dr. Maxine Patricia Parris-Aaron, born November 20th, 1958.


Mumsie chilling at Canada's Wonderland a couple of years ago.

Those of you who are shocked that I would make her exact date of birth public have probably never met me mother. If you had, you'd know she is one of those women who knows that her value as a person, as a woman, isn't dependent on her age. She owns her age. She is proud of it. The same way she is proud of all her struggles and all her achievements. The fact that she doesn't look like she's fifty-six probably helps a bit too :).


Me and Mumsie when I was a wee thing.

There are people that say working mother destroy the home or that a woman can't be an adequate mother or a successful career woman if she pursues both endeavours simultaneously. They argue that the two are mutually exclusive. These people have also clearly never met my mother. Growing up I was always proud of my mother's success outside the home. She is a well-respected veterinarian and expert on agricultural health and development. Much of what she does is absolute gibberish to me, but what she represented for me was the idea that women could be smart and authoritative role models. I never doubted that women could achieve the same sort of success in their careers that men enjoyed because I lived with a shining example of female excellence. I was also privy at an early age to the fact that as woman I would have to work harder and fight more to get the kind of success and respect I desired and, hopefully, deserved. It is a lesson that is reinforced everyday in places like the comic bookstore in which I work, where my opinion and expertise are constantly questioned because I have a vagina instead of a penis. And though I often grow frustrated with the need to prove myself over and over again, I am always reminded that my mother has to do the same in a much more demanding job and for a lot longer than I've been restraining myself from punching chauvinistic pigs, insisting that they need to speak to a man, in the face.


Monique and Mumsie, and some random chick who just popped into the picture, in Chinatown, Toronto.

I also learnt when to speak up and when to be silent from my mother. There are times where standing up for yourself is vital and times when the right thing to do is to let something go, move on and find better. It was also my mother's refusal to give up on people, especially young people, that resulted in me growing up with a s**t-ton of foster sisters and brothers. My childhood taught me that everyone is my equal no matter who they are and where they come from.
I learnt to be responsible and accountable for my actions because my mother not only lead by example, but because she encouraged me to be. Mumsie traveled a lot for work when I hit my teen years and while she always left us in the care of an adult, she always impressed upon us that she expected us to be responsible for ourselves. She hardly bugged me about my homework because she trusted that I'd do what I needed to do to excel at school. She was there when I needed to be reminded that the occasional bad grade didn't define me or decide the parameters for my success in life. She was also there to celebrate every triumph.



Some of the young people from C-HLP, a youth development programme of which my mom is a big part.

My mom is involved in more extra-curricular and youth programme you can think of. She's known as 'Aunty Maxine' to half of the kids in Georgetown. Most of them turn to her for advice and help. If my mother had kept half the money she has donated to charitable causes over the year, she would actually be a multi-millionaire. But she has gotten richer dividends from investing in people, rather than stocks. My faith in people is a direct result of my mother's stubborn refusal to give up on humanity, even when some of her experiences could have understandably caused her to become a heartless and bitter person. It is such an inspiration to see how big her heart is and the difference it has made in so many lives.


Monique, Mumsie and I the night we won our respective categories in the Mother and Daughter Pageant.

My family has a very good reputation back home. Amongst the older generation, my mother's family name carries a certain respect. The minute people over fifty find out I'm a 'Parris', I am treated differently. I am regularly referred to as 'Malcolm Parris' granddaughter'. And while that is an honour, I feel more pride when I am called "Dr. Parris' daughter" (or "Dr. Aaron's daugther", my dad is a well-respected orthopaedic surgeon. I am the black (Arts) sheep of the family lol). Why? Because despite her insistence that my room is always too messy and her dislike of my tattoos and piercings, she is one of the best mothers I know. She has a crazy temper, that both Monique and I inherited. She is entirely too hard on herself and sometimes, on her children. But she is the first person to pull you back up when you've fallen down. To remind you that you have value when you can't see it. To offer you a hand when no one else will. She tells me every day how proud of me she is, how much she loves me, and how lucky she is to have me as a daughter. The truth is, I am lucky to have her for a mother. She has weathered a lot of disappointment and heartbreak in her lifetime and she is still one of warmest, funniest and most generous persons I know. If I grow up to be half the woman she is, the world will be a much better place.

"Love yourself for who you are, and forget about who you are not. - Cassie Parks": Michymi's Story

Michelle is one of those rare gorgeous and talented women whose presence doesn't intimidate. She is humble, a pleasure to be around and will always lift you up when you're down. I am in constant awe of her. Please take a minute to read and share her beautiful story. 

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"I recently read "The A-List" in your Summer 2010 issue. I've had past boyfriends who have never really commented on or made a big deal about how small my breasts are - they are probably a bit less than an A-cup. And I'm OK with my little boobs too. But I started seeing this guy who's into a more buxom figure, and he suggested I should look into implants in the future. I was pretty offended at the time, but I thought about it more and more and was almost convinced that I should someday enhance them. But after reading the article, I felt empowered to keep my original stance because I like my body the way it is. So thank you, Joanne [Farrell], for writing such a truthful piece. I hope it had the same effect on other women in my position. Oh, and he apologized for being insensitive, in case you were wondering."

I wrote this little letter (above) to Fashion magazine in 2010 and it was featured in the October issue. I was about to turn 21 at the time. How exciting to have something I wrote shared with thousands, if not millions, of women across Canada! I held onto this story for a very long time, and I still carry it with me as what some might call "emotional baggage". I'm not particularly fond of this memory, but it's a very important one. It was one of the first times I really felt confident in myself and trusted my own instincts. Not only that, but I realized that I should trust myself more often.

Whenever someone says, "Don't let it bother you" or "Just forget about it", it's always easier said than done. Things that others say, especially those you trust and care about, can really strike deep down in parts that you may not be aware of. The actual words he spoke were, "You'd be perfect if your boobs were a little bigger". When I heard them, we were sitting in a restaurant having lunch. I sat across the table trying to stay calm and feeling slightly offended, saddened, and embarrassed. He didn't immediately realize the impact of his words and only after a very quiet second half of lunch did he realize he'd done something wrong. I accepted his apology then and there. But those words had already burrowed down deep.

Fun times with pink polka dot fabric!

I spent the next few months with a changed perspective of myself. I looked in the mirror naked and that's all I saw -- if only my boobs were a little bigger, I'd be "perfect". I looked into it further and did research on the different methods, materials, procedures, and risks associated with breast implants. Of course, it's a very expensive procedure and I knew I'd be years away from being able to afford it. But maybe one day...

Luckily, I found Joanne Farrell's article instead. She told the story of her decision to enlarge her chest from a modest A-cup to a C-cup. She spoke of the long trial period of jelly bra inserts, the pain of surgery and recovery, and finally, and most truthfully, her regret. She decided on the implants in her 30s but now she was approaching her 50s and there was no denying the natural aging process. However, she still had these fake boobs in her chest and they were no longer congruent with the rest of her body. They looked completely unnatural and almost grotesque and she was unhappy. She had the option of keeping them, or having them surgically removed. Not only would the latter option cost money, follow up procedures to repair the stretched skin would cost even more money, more time, and mean enduring more pain during recovery. After reading all this, I was scared right back into believing that breast implants are not for me.

She ain't about that body hating life!

I started to look at my body differently again. I saw all the things I liked. There were still parts that I didn't like as much as other parts, but I was no longer clouded by someone else's ideals. I saw my body as it is and I felt powerful. More than ever before, it felt powerful to know that this body, with all of its bone, flesh, skin, and hair, belonged to me and I was in control of it. Not to say that I don't ever feel insecure at times; I'm only human. But the experience left me more confident in myself, and my choices and beliefs. So, I hold onto this unpleasant memory for the things that it taught me. I've learned not to take anyone's crap, and if someone has a problem with how you look, they can move along because ain't nobody got time fo' that. If there's anything to be said about it all, it's that you should trust yourself more often. You know yourself best and, more often than not, your instincts are right.