Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Life is About Balance~ And a Good Bra #upbra

Hello, friends! I feel like I fell off the world for a while. But I'm here, I swear! I was feeling a little burnt out and trying to figure out ways to make me feel like myself again.

I've always been a big believer in having some kind of balance. Work hard, play hard. But recently I started taking a yoga class, which has a lot to do with balance figuratively and literally (Oh, hi, tree pose, I see you and you don't scare me...much). I love going to my class on Saturday mornings, I get a little meditative, practice some breathing, and stretch myself into positions I didn't think I'd be able to stretch into.



Mr. McKay and I have also been eating healthier. More salads, more veggies all around, less carbs, and I've been drinking more water. You would think between the healthier diet, yoga, and roller derby that I'd be wasting away to nothing. But, like I said, I'm a big believer in balance. So, maybe I get home from yoga class and then head out to a brewery with my husband where I drink beers and then polish off a cheesesteak. A girl's gotta live.

I honestly have a constant war in my mind between "You only live once" (YOLO, do the kids still say that?) and "You only get one body." I mean, seriously, I don't want to have a heart attack at forty but I also don't want to feel like I'm depriving myself because I've sworn off cookies. I'm not even a big sweets eater, but who can pass up a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie?

The result is, my waistline is not shrinking, but I can do a forward bend and put my hands flat on the floor, which is pretty cool. 

My flexibility aside (which is still amateur at best) I had the honor of celebrating the marriage of two good friends a few weeks ago. I love weddings. They always make me cry. And when you get to witness two people vowing their love for each other, how can you be anything but emotional?

Weddings also mean dressing up. I don't have many occasions to wear dresses and my closet shows it. (Also, please see above about the not so trim waistline.) I went shopping. The day before the wedding. Because who doesn't love a deadline?? The fitting room was hot and stuffy, those lights do not do anyone any favors, and a mother and daughter were fighting in a room adjacent to mine. It was a miniature version of hell inside of a mall department store fitting room. 

I settled. I purchased the first dress that didn't squeeze too tight on my hips and I could zip while still taking a breath. I didn't think it was the best dress I'd ever seen. I didn't even really like it. But every other option either looked like I rolled in sequins and spandex and was about to get on the pole or like I was ready to conduct a meeting about budget cuts. I did remind myself that I wasn't wearing the best bra. It was a glorified sports bra so it was kind of smooshing my boobs down in a weird and unflattering way. 

I made my purchase with the enthusiasm of someone getting a cavity filled and decided to figure the rest out in the morning—the day of the wedding, because why would I give myself time to figure out another option?

The next morning I went to yoga (because I heard there was going to be really good food at the reception and, ahem, balance), then painted my nails, and trudged upstairs to deal with the situation. I pulled open my dresser drawer in search of a miracle. Control top pantyhose? Why do I even own those anymore? I've sworn them off. I had one very unfortunate incident, at a wedding no less, where I ended up trying to peel off my pantyhose in a tiny bathroom stall just so I could breathe after dinner. No one needs that in their life. I actually don't even wear pantyhose at all anymore and my life has only been better for it.

Bypassing the hose, my hand fell upon a bra that was sent to me. It's called the Upbra. I didn't really know what to think when I first received it, it came with an instruction manual. It definitely seemed more high tech and complicated than any bra I would ever explore.




I can happily report that it isn't that complicated. It works just like the regular bras I've been wearing since puberty. The only difference is that it has some hooks at the cleavage so you can enhance and lift even more (or less) if you so choose. I was so eager to try it out when I first received it that I threw it on before heading out to run some errands with Mr. McKay. I didn't bother changing my clothes, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie. Once we got out in public I looked down and realized that my bust looked noticeably enhanced, at least to me. I've been a C-cup since I can remember so I have never bought a push-up bra. But this isn't really a push-up bra. It actually gives a lot of support. And yes, it does enhance what you already have, but on the lowest setting it really just gives a little bit of a helpful lift.

I wore it around for a bit, testing it for comfort. I was pretty convinced the straps would start digging into me and it would be one of those bras that you could only wear for an hour or two tops. My pre-judgment turned out to be wrong. I wore it for the better part of a day and didn't have an issue with the straps or the band digging into me.

Upbra sent me their strapless version as well as the regular convertible bra (has straps but they can be moved or switched around). Up until the point of the wedding I had only worn the regular bra with straps. Now, I stood before my open dresser drawer and it was like a light from above was shining down on the strapless bra. I was going for broke. I was going to wear this strapless bra that I hadn't even tested out yet and I was hoping for the best. Maybe it would be the bra my last resort dress needed.

I don't know if anyone else has had the same checkered past with strapless bras as I have, but I've always ended up with something that was too uncomfortably tight. That stayed where it was supposed to for about fifteen minutes and then as the night progressed would inch lower and lower until I was wearing a cumberbund with cups underneath my dress. 

I wish I could have sent strapless bras to the same land that I banished control top pantyhose to, but I'm not stupid enough to think I can go braless. And a lot of dresses don't let you wear a bra with straps.

So here I was, all my eggs in one basket. It was do or die (okay, it wasn't that dramatic, but I really was out of options and we were leaving in like thirty minutes). I took the strapless Upbra out, unwrapped the fancy tissue paper it was still wrapped in and maybe I crossed my fingers while I snapped on the right hooks and got myself situated.

Do you know what? It was just as comfortable as the one with straps. It didn't dig in and it somehow defied gravity and stayed up. All night. Through the whole wedding, reception, and after party. I feel like I could conquer the world in a good bra and this is it. Do you know what the best part is? When your boobs look amazing no one is looking at your stomach.

Life is about balance. Wear a good bra, eat the cookie. (And ditch the control top.)




Monday, January 2, 2017

New Year, New You? Probably Not.

I will take this moment to wish all of you a Happy and Healthy New Year, because that is what you do at the beginning of the new year, right? But does that mean that I don't care if you're happy and healthy in July? I mean I guess the January wish is supposed to carry through all year long. I'm just saying, just because it's the dawn of the new year doesn't mean anything has changed. 

I want my friends and family to always be healthy and happy.

I'm not a resolution person, mostly for this reason. The same reason why I don't believe in diets or any other kind of "Change your life overnight!" thing. It's crap. 

It is a new year, yes, technically, it is a new beginning. But we're all the same people we were two days ago. Nothing is going to change just because we wish it will. 

I am an optimistic person by nature, I don't want anyone to think I'm being negative here. I guess I'm just being realistic. Yes, I also thought, "Goodbye 2016! You sucked. I'm not sad to see you go. 2017 will be so much better!"

Then today, on January 2nd, I woke up with a crippling headache. I'm not surprised by this, I have been headache prone my entire life. Waking up with a headache is the worst. And mostly my first thought is always, "Shit, what did I drink last night??"

Truthfully, I did have a few beers yesterday and I had a headache all afternoon because once in a while a very hoppy beer will hit me the wrong way (yet, I still drink them, because who doesn't like a little Russian roulette to liven up their life?). 

I was headache free when I went to bed last night and then woke up with a beastly one. It's a sinus headache, it's pretty much under control now. There are still hoof beats in the background, but I'm not letting it ruin my day.

My point is—is 2017 off to a kick ass start? No. I spent all day yesterday exhausted because I only slept 5 hours the night before. Today, I have an awful headache. Does that mean my entire year is shot?

Well, let's hope not. But I fear a lot of my friends would think exactly that. At least judging by their ever hopeful facebook posts. 

It's a new year and it's a clean slate, but I'm still the same person. I'm still going to get headaches and not make it to the gym as much as I should. I'm still going to procrastinate. I'm still going to drink hoppy beers and then curse myself for it. 

But I'm also going to remember to enjoy the little things. I'm going to make time to see friends. I'm going to work out, not because I should but because I feel better when I do. I'm going to cook more with my husband because I love him and I love eating (best of both worlds). I'm going to continue setting goals for myself. 

But when I don't meet them I'm not going to beat myself up. I'm going to try harder.

It's not a new me, it's the same me. 

So, my friends, I wish you more good days than bad days. I hope you laugh more than you cry. I hope you discover what makes you happy and you hold onto it. I hope you remember that one day does not define you.

I hope in this new year that you are still the same you.

A Happy and Healthy everything to everyone! 




Saturday, June 4, 2016

Squat Challenge Progress~ The Quest for the Perfect Ass

Since I am not participating in any kind of spanky author challenge for the month of June, I'm doing a squat challenge all on my own. Well, not on my own, Thianna D jumped on board!

Instead of blogging about it everyday, I'll be giving you some updates on my progress. A kind of squatting journal to be precise.

I'll also share with you what I learned about myself only four days in:

Day 1: Goal- 50 Squats

I've literally decided to do a squat challenge five minutes ago. I have to get to my day job in about 45 minutes. No time like the present! 50 squats? I got this. I'll do two sets of 25. I do this in the kitchen in my pajamas while my coffee is brewing.

One set of 25, pour a cup of coffee, take that delicious first sip... second set of 25.

End up being late to work. Because I always think I have more time than I do, like time to do 50 squats in my kitchen instead of getting into proper work clothes and running a brush through my hair.

I notice around my lunch break that my thighs are a little wobbly and my left hip hurts. Make mental note to make sure I am squatting correctly.


Day 2: Goal- 55 Squats

Again in the morning before work, in my kitchen. One set of 30 while my coffee was brewing and one set of 25 while I was straightening my hair.

Turns out I am squatting correctly I just have tight hips. 

Once again, late to work (3 minutes though, who's counting?).


Day 3: Goal- 60 Squats

It's Friday and the day job has completely kicked my ass this week. It's been total madness since the holiday on Monday and I have not left work on time any day this week (see why I don't stress so much about arriving late?).

No time to squat in the morning. I decide I may knock them out on my lunch break.

Turns out the breakroom has a weird smell (something like farts- I pray to all that is holy that I am wrong) and creepy coworker number 1 is sitting in there alone. I buy a bag of pretzels and spend 30 minutes in my car. No time for squats!

After work, I indulge in a short nap and then head down to the kitchen to make pasta salad for a roller derby potluck dinner. My feet and legs are aching from work, plus I have practice tonight. I decide four sets of 15 squats may be manageable. 

Success! I complete them while chopping vegetables and cheddar cheese, with mini rewards in between. 15 squats down, I eat a piece of cheese. Another set, some red pepper.

It wasn't pretty, mostly from end of the week and work day exhaustion. But they got done!


Day 4: Rest Day

I woke up feeling good and ready to knock out my squats for the day, but it's nice to have a rest. Instead, I am using some yoga stretches to open up my hips. This damn left hip does not like squatting.

Summary:

I realized in writing this that most people probably don't exercise in their kitchen and I might be using food and coffee as motivation to get through an exercise routine. I am not sure if this is a good or a bad thing, but if it works for me, so does it matter?

Also, motivation from one's significant other is always nice. When Mr. McKay spies me in the kitchen doing my squats he'll yell things out like, "Yeah, tone that ass!"

He's a dork, but I love him. And really, any excuse for him to stare at my ass is a good one ;)



Sunday, May 18, 2014

Boobs- We Love Them, Right?



I mean, who doesn't love boobs? Show me one person who does not at least appreciate boobs, I dare you.

We were at a Burlesque Show this weekend, and really burlesque is basically a vaudeville act that worships the female form. I think it's fair to say that if you don't appreciate boobs then you are not going to a burlesque show.

I went with my husband and a few friends. We ended up running into a bunch of my roller derby teammates.

We had a good time, but as self assured as I am, I could still find myself having momentary doubts about myself. 
Wow, she has long legs, mine are way shorter. 
How is her stomach so flat? I make a mental note to do some stomach crunches tomorrow to work off this beer. 

And of course, they all have fantastic boobs. Or maybe it is just that all boobs are fantastic?

Seems I was not the only woman sitting in the audience comparing herself to the beautiful dancers up on stage.

The lights come up and I turn around to ask my derby girls sitting behind me what they thought and notice that one of them has a panicked look on her face.

Panicked: Hey, do all boobs hang like that?

Me: Like what?

Panicked: You know, like (she makes some crazy gesture in front of her chest, holding two orb-like objects then dropping them slightly lower)

Sober Derby Girl: Um, it's called gravity. All boobs hang.

Panicked: (a bit more panicky) But mine don't!

Tipsy Derby Girl: Like, at all?

Thinking about this the next day I am struck by how absurd this is. You see, Panicked is a helluva derby player. She exudes self confidence out on the track. So now, seeing her confidence shaken, is eye opening. Apparently you can be kick-ass in almost all aspects of life and still be a little insecure.

We start discussing breast size and bra size and trying to describe what our boobs look like while still sitting in the seats we were in during the show.

Finally someone suggests just taking it into the ladies room. And this is how I ended up looking at other women's boobs in a bar bathroom on a Saturday night.

Okay, it was a quick flash, not a big strip tease production. But we are all standing around the crowded little two stall bathroom discussing breasts. What we like about ours, what we don't like. Women we do not even know chime in on the conversation.

I took one thing away from this: Women are nuts!

We think entirely too much about our bodies. Specifically about our boobs. I want to say 8 out of the 10 women involved in this conversation confessed to doing some kind of weird thing to make their boobs look less, or more, or perkier.

WTF?

Why are we driving ourselves crazy? We had all just purchased tickets to look at other women's breasts (okay, under the guise of a theatrical production, but still)-- why are we being so hard on ourselves?

This is what I declared in a small, crowded, surprisingly clean bathroom in a bar and this is what I am saying now:

No two breasts are alike. Not even your own. But they are all fucking gorgeous. Cut yourself some slack ladies. The only one obsessing about what your breasts are lacking is you. Everyone else is just appreciating, and loving the boobs.



Monday, March 17, 2014

Being Comfortable in Your Own Skin

I will just preface this post as saying this has nothing to do with spanking; it has nothing to do with promotion, trying to get you to buy something, or even writing for that matter.

But this is my blog, and I have more than one side, people! (Although, I am sure I can work a spanking innuendo in here somewhere if you stick around, because I am not dead.)

You might know, or you might not know, that I joined a roller derby league 9 months ago. It's excellent exercise, it's a nice way to channel my competitive nature, and who knew I could be sporty? (I certainly didn't)

I have a whole new image to get used to, and I felt very alone about it until reading this post this morning.



The thing is- working out and sweating my ass off a few nights a week on roller skates has changed my body. I know this shouldn't be shocking, but I guess I just didn't anticipate the results because that wasn't my goal. 

I'm 31 and I was feeling more and more like an old lady. My lower back would tighten up, my knees were hurting, I would get winded walking up the stairs with the laundry. My goal of joining a sport was to trick myself into exercising, as I abhor sweating, or working out for no reason. And I figured if I was being active, I wasn't resigning to a sedentary life- where 10 years down the road I couldn't do much of anything at all.

Body image-wise I was fine. I have always been a curvy girl. I got boobs when I was 11 so I had a long time to come to terms with my curvaceousness. So yes, by 30, I was comfortable with the fact that I had boobs, an ass, hips, and would never fit into a size smaller than a 14 again. And I didn't care!

Then I started to lose some weight. Yay! My clothes were fitting better.

Then they weren't fitting better. Because they weren't fitting. They got big and swimmy, and I hardly noticed until my husband mentioned that maybe I should go buy some new duds.

And then people started making comments.

"I hardly recognized you, you look so different."

"You got so skinny!"

and my favorite:

"You lost sooooo much weight!"

(Way to make me feel like I was once a ginormous cow, and now I am finally worth noticing)

This is where I say I am afraid at this point I am sounding like I am complaining about losing weight. I am not. I don't even think I'm complaining. I really am just addressing this issue I am having about my body image changing in my 30's. Suddenly I feel like I am 13 again and everyone is staring. Everyone is judging. And (of course) everyone has an opinion.

I spent the last 20 years making jokes about my curvy figure. Shaking it to distract from my minor insecurities. My mental image of myself has not caught up with the image everyone is seeing. Now in large group settings my comments and jokes about "being curvy" die on my lips because I am not sure I am equipped to make them anymore.

I shrug off compliments, dodge questions about my weight (I don't own a scale, I have no clue how much I lost), and cry when my husband comments that my boobs shrunk. Yes, I cried, I think I scared him. It was not a good day.

I'm getting faster. I'm becoming more agile. I'm feeling like a real roller derby player and that is all I am judging myself on.

Recently, I was talking to one of my brother's friends and I think he brought it all into a better light for me. He went through the obvious- you look great, I didn't recognize you, blah blah blah. I awkwardly shuffled my feet and laughed and tried to be gracious. Then I was waiting for the follow up question- usually it's the 'How much did you lose?' But he caught me off guard and asked something that really does matter.

"How do you feel?"


I hesitated, no one had asked me that before. And I realized something:

"I feel pretty, fucking awesome."