Originally published at oh my seven.

I’ve
been thinking a lot about this subject lately… so many women have
issues with their bodies, myself included. And you girls all know all
the usual suspects… billboards, magazines, movies, television, romance
novels (would you really want a heaving bosom anyway? I don’t get
that.) and the like. I love this Dove commercial
that’s been floating around on YouTube, because it displays an
important truth: Advertisements lie to women. They say that you have to
be This Thin and have beautiful flowing hair and sultry, smoky eyes and
full, pouty lips and be a 32D… but most people don’t look like that!
It’s telling that models even have to be Photoshopped, because they’re
not good enough! Girls, why are we buying this lie? It sucks.

I read in a book recently that you can’t give what you don’t have.
We’re taught that loving ourselves is just vanity and pride, but can
you really love other people if you don’t know how to love yourself?
Even the Bible says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:18)
So if that’s the case, obviously we are to love ourselves. Otherwise
we’ll go around saying, “You’re fat, and you’re ugly, and whoa! Look at
that bird’s nest of hair. Looks like you could use a shower. You’re a
lazy bum, and you’ll never amount to anything. You can never do
anything right… you always just screw everything up.”

I want to kick that habit, so that someday when I have children,
they won’t grow up thinking poisonous thoughts about themselves that
will only cause them hurt and not growth.

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Originally published at Flutter - Dark and Divine

We are all set upon this earth with our own set challenges. Some of
us have it more difficult than others, some are blessed, some are
damned. Some are equal tinctures of both.

Some persevere and blossom, others flicker and fade. To which end,
is not predetermined, rather guided by the decisions we make. Every one
thing effects every one other. From the minute to the grand, our daily
pro and con list steers us in one direction or another. As fragrant
petals in a windstorm, yet guided by a hand of our making.

Our experiences are not always ours to control, but how we react to
them is. I have been mired in a sickly sweet cloud of terror for the
better part of 15 years. Until recently, there was a sense of continual
fleeing. A sense of having to watch over my shoulder, as I ran forward.
Fear, panic, fear, panic.

The truth? Until recently I thought it was all my fault.

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Originally published in Cafe Philos: an internet cafe.

When Danielle was 22, she wanted to go to an erotic dance club. She
did not want to go alone, however, and instead, she thought it was a
good idea for me to take her.

The first time she brought it up with me, I was skeptical.

Erotic dance in this town is very much hit or miss. You are lucky to
find a dancer who can express her sexuality through dance. I feared
Danielle would encounter some poor dancers and consequently be hard
pressed to understand what good erotic dance is all about.

The second time she brought it up with me, I was reluctant.

I was only a little younger than Danielle the first time I saw an
erotic dance, and the dancer was so numbingly awful, I didn’t go back
for 27 years.

In hindsight, I understand what that dancer’s problem was: She
wasn’t dancing her own sexuality. Instead she was going through a
series of motions someone perhaps had mistakenly told her were sexy.
Most likely, she was pandering to the crowd for tips. Witnessing that
ugly farce was enough to put me off erotic dance for almost 30 years. I
certainly didn’t want Danielle’s first experience to be anything like
mine.

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