Tag Archives: shape

How to be Obnoxiously In Love with Your Body

The following was a guest post that I did last July for Outlier Collective, which is now gone (Booo! I miss my friends over there very much), so I decided to re-post it because it’s a perfect representation of the BBB philosophy and is hopefully, helpful. 🙂

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Picture this: A woman, say, in her late 40s, standing in front of a full-length mirror. This woman is grey-haired, heavy-built. She’s looking at her body, up and down and smiling, widely. She giggles, reaches down with both hands and grabs her full, chunky belly, squeezing it as she says to herself: “You are so friggen’ adorable!” This woman clearly loves her body and relishes its size, shape, and bearing. She’s clearly happy with how she looks and loves her girth, despite the fact that her body is “socially stigmatized” as undesirable, unattractive, and unhealthy by large segments of the population. She doesn’t care; at bottom, it doesn’t matter. She is fat. And, she’s completely fine with it. In fact, she’s madly, obnoxiously in love with her body.

Does this scenario seem improbable, maybe even impossible? It’s not. This demonstration of body-love is real and anyone can attain this state of being, regardless of circumstance, body state, fitness, appearance, or health. How do I know this? I’ve done it. The woman that I described above is me. And, if I can do it, anyone can do it.

How did I get to a place where I’m obnoxiously in love with my body? It wasn’t easy, I tell you. It took me years and years to get here. I write about it often on my blog. Ultimately, I think that I got sick of fighting. I got tired of dominating my body and criticizing her and measuring every mouthful of food and obsessing over how I looked. I got sick of caring what other people thought of me. I just got worn down by the struggle and the negative emotions, but beyond all of that, I wanted peace. I deeply wanted happiness. I didn’t want to feel so bad all of the time. I wanted to like my body and relax. I finally, finally let go, dropped my arms, and decided that if I had to be big (like my body so clearly wanted to be), I had to stay healthy. That was my only goal, my only concern, my only rule. And, I’m perfectly healthy, vibrant, active, and thrillingly alive at 5′ 5″ and 245 pounds. My blood pressure is always 110 over 60. I feel and look great.

So, why would any of us want to fall obnoxiously in love with our bodies? Lots of reasons. Primarily, acceptance. Acceptance of the self and others. Acceptance that the body is an integral part of our experience here as human beings and a vital tool, an important element in how we expand as spiritual beings. Without the body, we cannot do the work that we, as souls, crave doing and have come here to do.

At the periphery of our minds, we know that our lives mean something far bigger than our day-to-day concerns and struggles. We know there is a reason we are here. We know that we really should love our bodies, and yet so, so many of us hate our bodies or dislike key aspects of our physiques. So many of us, particularly women, struggle with the body and suffer, truly suffer over how our bodies look, measure up, or perform. Men have this affliction, too, but women. Oh, women. We are largely miserable creatures when it comes to the body. Women are so hard on themselves and by proxy, other women. It does not help that we have these plastic, air-brushed, and computer-manipulated images of “perfect bodies” barraging us from every flat surface.

We, as a species, so dislike the body that we have thousands, maybe millions, of industries devoted to altering, reducing, beautifying, and fixing it. Everything from drastic, brutal methods, such as compulsive exercise, plastic surgery, liposuction, and chemical peels to the less-severe skin and hair treatments, adornment, and concealing clothing. We so dislike our bodies that we mostly will not show what “real bodies” actually look like in advertising, films, art, and other media. This is, thankfully shifting in recent years, but we, for the most part, honor bodies that are not real or representative of the vast majority. We honor the seamless, the young, the endlessly underfed and photo-shopped aliens who peer placidly from the pages of fashion magazines and reality TV shows. So, when your body does not follow the socially agreed-upon convention of beauty, what then? You begin to despise it and this happens at a very early age in this culture.

I really believe that most people want to feel better, happier, more centered, balanced, and loving. Falling in love with your body is an excellent way to increase positive thoughts and emotions. Falling in love with your body is a perfect way to live a richer, happier, and more loving existence. It’s not easy to get there, but loving your body and honoring its needs, rhythms, messages, and life apart from you, the consciousness inhabiting it, is a delicious way to get deeper into why you are here as a human being. I argue that mankind cannot advance to his greatest potential without a healthy love or respect for the body.

So, how does one do this? Start small. Following are three ways to start falling obnoxiously in love with your body.

  • Start with your thoughts and beliefs. Think about the beliefs, thoughts, and ideas that you have about your body. Where did these opinions come from and who influenced your ideas about the body? Think about your shape, fitness, and health. Are you happy when you think of your body or less than joyous? What are you wanting from your body that you do not have now? Think about it. Then, you can try sitting down and writing it all out. Write down how you feel about your body and how you want to feel. Do this so you can create a dialog with yourself and get comfortable thinking about your beliefs. Our beliefs hugely influence the way that we look. Yes, genetics plays a role and also environmental factors, but nothing affects the body greater than thought. If you can get to a place where you can more quickly pin-point an idea that does not serve you, you can change it.
  • Understand that our cultural ideas about beauty have nothing to do with reality. I’m sorry, but women have cellulite. Women make babies. It’s a fact of life. We need some pudge. We need curves. Whoever came along and decided that cellulite was ugly and had to be air-brushed out probably had body issues, but that doesn’t mean that we have to accept this opinion. Nor do we have to shame our bodies because they don’t measure up to some false ideal of beauty. That is a choice that many of us make, but we can change it. Bodies are varied and multi-faceted and miraculous. Bodies serve us in the exact dimensions that we need in order to expand as spiritual beings. Sometimes those bodies need to be big and dense and sometimes small and light. It takes all kinds of bodies to make all of this living work. So, realize that the opinions we are being fed by way of the media are simply opinions of others, are to be heavily questioned, and do not have to be accepted.
  • Realize that you are an electromagnetic being and a powerful creator here in this body. Your body is vital to the process of your expansion. The body is doing exactly what you have commanded of it by way of your thoughts and behaviors. If you continually crab about the shape of your body guess what you are concentrating on through your attention—the current shape of your body. This focus on the negative disallows any number of other realities of which your body is capable, because you are focused, with your thinking, on the problem, not the solution. Try instead to sit quietly for five to ten minutes per day and think of all the things that you appreciate about your current body. Send your body loving thoughts. Maybe you like your toned arms. Well, tell your body that. Maybe you love your skin. Tell that to your body. Have a discussion with your body. Ask it what it wants and needs. Even if you do not “hear” anything in response, know that you are creating bridges of understanding between your consciousness and your body and its particular consciousness. Be willing to listen and this will create huge openings inside of you. You will start to feel better, slowly, but surely.

This is what I know: all of us can change our minds and learn to love our bodies. We have ultimate power and control over what we think, feel, and how we react to life’s circumstances. All of us can decide to change our thinking and thus, our beliefs about our bodies (or any topic). We do not have to hate or be critical of our bodies. We can choose love and appreciation. If we choose to facilitate a deeper love and respect for our bodies, lots of positive things will result. The most important of them: you feel better and you have more happiness. Consider falling madly in love with your body just as it is and see how your life unfolds. Just watch the universe mirror that love and appreciation back to you.

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Breaststrokes: Titty City; A Guest Post by Claudia Moss

Shoot. That’s kinda cute. Talk about giving up something, like a sacrifice, we’d have given up our Claudia Moss LIVE picprized ace-boon-coon roadie, Sita, to have the kids at school and random ole common folks in the street look at us and see “cute” and “shotgun” in the same thought. Kinda like they saw Sita, whose ‘breasteses,’ yeah, that’s what we said, put them in the mind, we know, of sexy melons a couple years shy of plucking, at least in this country. Where Sita from in New Delphi, way over across the globe in India, she’d already be some ancient, wealthy man’s wife and him and her babies would be hanging like Christmas ornaments from her breasteses right now. Then again, they probably never be as gargantuan as us, we don’t care how many old men and babies laid gums to them.

We so huge, we make Sita’s grandma look flat chested.

And we won’t even mention her Amma, Sita’s word for Mama. It blows us away every time we see her and those two handballs she got. Won’t even mention she done had five babies. Five. Sita is the baby, like me, but she got four brothers, who all try as hard as they can to keep they eyes in they head when we come around.

Yeah. We that huge.

Make it so bad, we have nothing to blame but Mama’nem gene pool. We come from a long line of big-breasteses womens. Mama’s make her look like a capital letter P. You can’t even tell she got hips and legs and a stomach under her clothes, her top that heavy. We’d never ever tell her, cause we only told Sita that Sunday after church, when Sister Foote whispered to that nosy Johns woman that Mama’nem were “catfish,” one and all.

“Catfish?” Sita ask, that black braid snaking down her back riled up and flopping. “I don’t understand.”

We didn’t either until we passed the word back and forth between us for a day or so. Daylight got shed on matters when our sister Kat overheard us on the back porch, thinking out loud, swinging on the scratchy wooden swing.

“Who call who that?” she want to know.

We told her.

“They can talk,” Kat growl. “All them favor water buffalo.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t tell us what ‘catfish’ mean,” Sita chip in.

Kat open the screen door on her way back into the kitchen. “It mean a woman favor a huge fish, a catfish be good as any, just that her feets be like two lil fins and her body go up into a oversize fish head that stick out, ‘cept her stick-out mouth be her humongous bosom.”

In that minute, fish-faced, too, we must’ve looked as crazy as Chicken Little.

“Should’ve known. Mama’nem so pretty that’s all Sister Foote and that ole Johns woman could make mention of—her breasteses,” we say.

“They jealous.”

“That and mean,” Kat add.

Sita nod her agreement.

“Wonder if the kids at school jealous when they call us Titty City. The boys say it mostly. A few of the girls join the Peanut Gallery, when they aiming to show off. They say, ‘Girl, if all titties in the city disappeared tomorrow, you got enough titties to give every girl and woman two cups each. DAMN. You a titty factory. Just a titty plant. How you sleep? You ever topple over standing up with all that? Bet it’s a sheer miracle you can get out of bed on yo’ own in the morning!’”

Kat turn around, step over to the swing. “Scoop over, Baby Girl,” she say.

We scoot over and she hug us, her arms squeezing our shoulders tight. Then Sita, face droopy and cute, like one of the new puppies in the backyard, reach over and hug me from the left, her lil thin Indian arms hugging Kat’s. All of us in a group hug.

“Don’t pay folks no never mind,” Kat say, her tone grown up, sounding more like Mama’nem. “Remember. It ain’t about you.”

“No,” Sita chip in again. “It’s about them and how they feel inside.”

The most important thing is how we feel inside, this much we do know. The first chance we get we gone look into getting a breasteses reduction, we don’t care what nobody say about leaving this life with what you came with. Even though we loving all the love Kat and Sita showering us with right about now, that don’t discount the fact there ain’t hardly no room in this swing, we squeezing out the air and space, between us and Kat’s breasteses and Sita—well, hers ain’t even touching my arm, they so small, and she squeezing the wind out of herself.

Next time one of them boys, or girls, for that matter, say something to us at school, we gone get up and plop out of this T-shirt and bop somebody upside the head. We can see it now: “Boys Assaulted by Classmate’s Chest.” Teach them who to mess with.

As for Sister Foote and that Johns lady, they better not let us overhear another conversation like that last one. If so, we gone forget Mama’nem home training and inform them they need to hush up and figure out which pond Brother Foote and Deacon Johns splashing around in.

Now there.

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This is part two, in a series of three guest posts provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful peeps; better yet, visit Claudia’s links below, tell her how you feel about her writings, and connect with this Goddess of self-esteem.

Claudia Moss

Breaststrokes: Shotgun T*tties; A Guest Post

By Claudia Moss.

Before she identified us, as though we were standing in a line-up, her words a poke in the ribs, a shove to the shoulder or a definitive finger to the tip of the nose, we were nonexistent. Just twin mosquito bites with a dark-brown, unblinking eye on both sides of her chest. Not much different from her twin brother’s chest. And we were okay with that.

Yet, the moment shifted when Aunt Marion named us. Just like that.

Said it before everybody in the room: her oldest sister, my mother, my Aunt Suda, and my sister, all of whom had a “bosom.” That was Mama’s word for us. Maybe that’s why we caught her sister’s attention, us poking persistently through a white T-shirt, no training bra to tame us, considering Mama didn’t think us big enough to bother about hiding us respectfully away from society and its groping eyes. So, Aunt Marion opened her mouth and exercised her right to name us, as if God had given her dominion over everything under her gaze.

“Shotgun titties!” Everybody looked around, but there was no mistaking about whom she was speaking. We would have fainted and receded back wherever we’d come, if we weren’t smooched under tight cotton. The sound ripped into our preteen world and parted the curtain on everything that held no prior importance…until then.

Laughter fountained from every corner of our mother’s bedroom. We hardened in embarrassment. And as if her words weren’t enough, Aunt Marion made twin pistols of her hands and fired them at us. “Pow! Pow!” she joked, blowing the smoke from her manicured nails. “Bet those little peaks could hurt somebody in a traffic jam.”

That’s when she turned and raced out of the room, heading for her bedroom. Safe behind her locked door, we rose and fell on her chest for several long minutes, her belly trembling, until she could pull herself together. Then, she domed us lovingly under her palms, although the seed had already been planted. All we thought about from that moment on was how to get into the cup of a bra. With white pads. Obsessed, we were willing to do whatever to be larger and favor two perfect pyramids under blouse or dress, preferably her low-cut ones.

If other girls could boast of having to adjust their bra straps, their titties nestled daintily in A cups, then Mama should do the same for us. She owed us that. Didn’t she know her baby sister had already poured the cement for a major complex?

After that, we couldn’t go anywhere or meet anybody without studying her chest. Did she have boobs? Titties? Bump? A rack or a bosom? Floodlights? Flashlights? Candles? Party hats? Raisins? Breasts? Sugar babies or teats? Maybe, like my teacher Mrs. Ferguson said, “sugar teats,” molasses in cloth, like the slaves used to keep the babies quiet on the railroad to freedom? Every word I’d ever heard to name us seemed better than “mosquito bites,” though “shotgun” still left a sour taste in our mouths.

Months afterward, Mama eventually stood in Sears and Roebuck with a woman older than her measuring us, top and bottom, for our first bra. Why they insisted on referring to it as a “training” bra was a mystery? What was it supposed to be training us to do? Not be visible? Not show our nipples? Quit being so noticeable for hands other than our own to palm us? We never learned the answer to any of this trivia; the only thing we did learn was Mama’s commandments: “Keep these bras clean. Don’t go showing off at school. And, never come out of it for anyone, definitely not boys.” We tingled all the way from downtown to our front door.

And, would have promised Mama anything only to get behind our bedroom door, strip, slip on a delicate bra, one behind the identical other, adjust and readjust the straps, and admire our creamy brown skin against soft, white cotton. She smooched us together, her hands making us strain to form cleavage, what we admired most about the women in Uncle Junior’s girly magazines.

But we stayed “tee-notchy,” our Grandma’s word for little, for years afterward, no matter what she did to make us bigger. We might have gained a tad more plumpness when a new girl appeared in our class the year after we tired of being suffocated by bras every moment of the day, except nighttime. (And, sometimes she’d sneak and wear a bra to bed, sweating us horribly, until, gratefully, Mama caught her and made her stop, saying she was wearing out too many bras and money didn’t grow on trees.) Anyway, she was a big, peach-colored girl, country, although she came from the North. Name was Cathy. Cathy Robinson.

Her claim to fame was the song she taught the girls in our class. “I must…I must…I must increase my bust!” She crooned it as if she were on Broadway. Her hands flew over her own huge titties, massaging them like they had to hear as well as feel the song. We liked the ditty at first. And then it got old, unless somebody else was doing the massaging, and then it started too much stimulation in lower places, not to mention news getting back to Mama we was being felt up in public and she was being fresh to let it happen.

For all the times we stared proudly back at her from the dresser mirror or the bathroom mirror, who’d have guessed that one day we’d contemplate being enlarged so as never to slip down her stomach as if we were on our way to her navel? We might have started out as shotguns, but we eventually found our way to C cups that favored little brown balloon boobs. Just didn’t know we’d take a whole half of a lifetime and a baby to do it!

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This wonderful guest post is provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful friends, visit Claudia’s links below, and revel in the power of another woman squarely in her body and lovin’ it!

Claudia Moss

Guest Post Series: Breastrokes, Starting Tomorrow!

Hi, BigBodyBeautiful peeps! How are you all doing?

Quick announcement to tell you that starting tomorrow, we’re launching a new guest post series called Breaststrokes by Claudia Moss a wonderful author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN and sister-of-my-soul. I LOVE this woman so much. The light in her eyes, the fire in her belly, and the love that she beams at the universe is simply a gift to all of humanity and is breathtakingly gorgeous. Claudia is a Goddess.

The Breaststrokes series is a compilation of monologues, written from the point of view of the breasts and in which the breasts share their thoughts about life and enlighten us to the concerns of, and messages from, this part of the body. I love this series so much, because these writings are funny, interesting, poignant, and such a celebration of the body consciousness. BBB will be sharing works from the Breaststrokes series over the course of several months.

So, the first post will go live sometime tomorrow. Please give the series a read, leave your comments, and send a sister some love and support! All my love and light to you, friends. ~BigLizzy

HuffPostLive Discussion on “Love Your Body” Campaigns

Hiya, body-lovers! Following’s a link to the panel discussion in which I participated with other lovely women on HuffPostLive this morning. Had the best time with these wonderful, gorgeous women. It was a great discussion. Proudest moment of my body-lovin’ life. 🙂 Please take a watch and, as always, feel free to share your comments. All my love and light to you, BigLizzy

 

Three “Big-A$$” (heh, heh) Reasons to Share this Blog

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Helllooooo, all of you fine, body-acceptin’ humans! It occurred to me that if we are going to start and maintain a “revolution” of the body-lovin’ variety, we need more peeps in the loop. We need to spread the message. I cannot do this alone. I need my body-adorin’ posse to show up. So, toward that end, I offer you the following, compelling reasons for sharing this blog.

Reason #1: You want to help others

It’s clear that you are compassionate. You are present. You care about your friends and family. You see others as beautiful no matter what they wear, weigh, say, or do. While that’s abundantly evident and a core part of your life, you know that many of your friends and family could benefit from a small shift in focus, a new way to view physicality, a slight change in how they think. You know that getting to a higher plateau, a deeper, more tranquil relationship with the body would truly help others and would positively impact many different areas of their lives. Nothing would delight you more than seeing your friends and loved-ones begin (or continue) the process of loving themselves as much as you love them.

  • Simply put: Helping others to accept themselves feels good. It feels good to love others and to see them prosper. It feels good to give others an avenue through deeper healing, deeper being. Let’s do this together. Let’s help other people. : )

Reason #2: Body-hating is contributing to many social ills and it’s time to fix it 

Look around. All around us are massive-piles of evidence that point to mankind’s reluctance to accept and honor the body, its needs, its messages, its wants. This mass-decision (and delusion) is threatening humanity’s lasting happiness and I argue our continued survival. With everything from dense, antiquated, and unrealistic religious edicts about the body’s various sins, transgressions, and uncleanliness, to modern advertisements that beg women to hide their skin, smells, and bodily functions with chemical-laden, unhealthy, and frankly, dangerous products, it’s so clear that we have a serious problem here.

We, as a species, largely disapprove of or flat-out hate our bodies. For many people, this hatred permeates every aspect of life. It creates an adversarial basis to everything that we do. For, as we know, from within, comes the basis of all outer manifestation. If that inner terrain is rife with angst, anxiety, and disdain for our bodies and by proxy, others, how can we fully and happily live? How can we accept others? How can we truly be at peace?

If we are to evolve as a species and become creators and not victims, we simply must vanquish this pervasive body disdain, because it is the wellspring from which bubble many of our most vexing human problems, problems that range from mental and emotional to physical and behavioral. Some examples of the most damaging social ills include: child abuse, murder, self-destruction, drug abuse, damage to the earth, crime, and misuse of power (among many others); these problems are pointing to, at bottom, a mistrust of the body, either our own or others’. I’m not saying that body hatred is the root cause of these social ills, but in my estimation, it’s a key component of everything that is “wrong with humanity”.

If we do not accept the body, our full self, in all of its qualities, we cannot truly ever accept other people. We cannot walk softly on the earth or honor the earth-mother’s body. We cannot advance spiritually. We cannot love fully and deeply like we are designed to do. If we choose to neglect or hate our bodies, we cannot form lasting, peaceful relations with other cultures or life forms. In my humble opinion, this is the biggest threat to mankind’s survival.

  • Simply put: Hating the body is not okay. Subscribing to a religion or belief system that illustrates a shame or disdain about the natural processes of the body and teaches about the body’s supposed uncleanliness or depravity is to be questioned and if needed, quickly and thoroughly abandoned. This no longer serves us as a species. It’s time to take ownership of our beliefs and behaviors. It’s time to question our ideologies and ask why we believe what we are taught. It is time for free-thinking, people. Not life-damaging, body-desecrating dogma.

Reason #3: It’s time to embrace that we are powerful creators and can be the change that all of humanity needs

So many of us keep doing the same stuff over and over. We do the same routine, the same workout, the same Friday night get-together with the friends. We are routine-based organisms. We largely like predictability and sameness. However, sometimes the same old thing stops working.

I think humanity is caught smack-dab in the middle of one such crisis: the old is no longer working and we are faced with sheer, abject terror over what will replace the old ways of doing things. We realize that taking power over each other and our Earth-Mother is not yielding the satisfaction that it once did. We are feeling restless, bored, numb, depressed, and frustrated with ourselves and the powers that be. Many of us have a sense that there has to be more, there has to be something else out there, there has to be a reason for all of this stuff that keeps happening to us. This is good. It’s progress for us.

I choose to believe that mankind is going to get to a healthier place in all aspects of life and soon; I feel that that we are in the midst of a huge shift in consciousness. We are largely moving away from fanatical, damaging, and harmful behaviors to a deeper living, a deeper spirituality, a deeper awareness that includes honoring the body, Earth-Mother, and the even the unseen forces that so many of us sense (and which help shape our lives).

I can feel a building hunger in mankind to get better, to heal, to realize why we come back to this planet over and over. I can feel mankind one-by-one leaping into the unknown terrain inside and emerging victorious. We want answers. We want to know what things mean. We want to know that our lives stand for something. There has to be more than just acquiring possessions and wealth. There has to be more than watching endless episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Simply put: It’s time for mankind to embrace this shift in consciousness and abandon his  long-perpetrated rape-and-pillage paradigm in favor of a more peaceful, consciously aware, and responsible role. It’s time for us to push forward into our deepest healing and one way to do that is to question how we feel about our bodies and look for any opportunity to be aware of our thoughts and beliefs about the body because these absolutely color everything else in our lives. It’s time to celebrate the body in all of its manifestations. It’s time for us to reverse or at least stop the damage that we have done to our Earth-Mother. You can be a part of this effort. You, right there, reading this post, can begin to address this issue. You are a powerful being. You can affect change. We all can. It all starts inside.

So, all of this to say that I would LOVE it if you would help me spread the word about this blog and in the process help others. Together, we can help so many people change their inner world that will in turn help and change the outer world. Thank you for reading and being a part of the revolution. I appreciate each and every one of you.

Thin is Sickly. Or, Is it?

I have a confession to make. Once I learned to accept my burgeoning self, my rotundness, and once I learned to really, really like my curves, I realized something shocking as I sat thinking about a friend of mine (who, by the way, is impossibly thin and beautiful). What did I realize? That I’m just as judgmental about thinness as everyone else is about fatness. I’ll explain.

I have often had the thoughts that thin people are sickly, weak, and more prone to illness. I look at them and immediately, at that split-second-brain-warp-speed, think that about them. It’s true. I’ve thought that about nearly every thin person I’ve ever seen. Even the ones who are fit and use any excuse they can to show off their ridiculously toned abdomens in half-t-shirts or stretchy, brightly colored yoga-wear. Yep, in my book, thin has almost always meant sickly.

Well, this used to be my opinion until I caught myself thinking it one day and yelled “Ah-HAA!” loudly in the quiet room. Stunned, I sat there examining the thought that had just shot up from some dark fathom inside of me to hang there in my mind like a jagged little soot-colored shard of glass. Hoh-my-God! I think that thin people are sickly just like other people think that fat people are sickly. Hoh-my-God! I am doing the exact same thing: judging other people solely by their appearance!

But, it goes deeper than just judging appearance. (Doesn’t it always?)

We hold certain beliefs about the world that are from a primal, deep, and almost reptilian place, a place that is core to us, an area that is very difficult to access, but when accessed and analyzed, can yield great personal transformation. So, my idea that thin = sick is from that place, that reptilian, dna, core-belief center inside. How do I know that it’s a core belief? Because I have thought it at least a gazillion times. Stay with me.

Most of the people in my family are fat. I grew up around fairly fat people all of my life. And, when my family members weren’t fat, they were dieting or starving themselves into a temporary thinness (myself included) that was quickly supplanted by even more fat than when they started. So, I knew fat. I understood it. I looked at it, drew some comfort from it (as a young child) and then as a teenager, secretly loathed it and vowed that I would never ever end up like them. Which, of course, I did.

Fat was the norm, even though I knew that my family members were different and laughed at and despised and judged. Continually. But, fat, for me, was familiar. Safe. So, over time, I gravitated to the idea that thin was bad and fat was good. I mean, look at it: Fat is succulent and hearty. It’s rosy-cheeked and sturdy. It can carry two pails of milk from the barn and re-roof the house before lunch. Fat is fun. It jiggles, wiggles, and makes you laugh. It’s happy. Thin just looked painful to me. Thin looked like it was going to snap in half (at any second). Thin always conjured up images of bones angrily poking from beneath papery, ashy skin.

I walked around for years thinking this about other people and in most cases, it probably wasn’t true. Sure, some of the thin people I saw were sickly, but not all. Some of the fat people were sick because of their obesity, but not all.

As we know, the thought is always about the thinker. The thought is always the mechanism that creates the thinker’s reality. Core beliefs are formed by people observing circumstance, experiencing the results of their choices, and thinking certain thoughts over and over and over. These beliefs then form the place from which we make our inner (and outer) world.

But, these beliefs should always be questioned. They should be examined and teased apart and regarded from all angles. They should be asked: “Are you true?” “Are you real?” “How do you serve me?” “From where do you come?” “Why are you here?” “What have you given me?” And, in some cases, “When are you leaving?”

Thin is sometimes sickly but not always. Fat is sometimes burdensome, but not always. Thin is normal to some and easy for some, but not all. Fat is healthy for many, many people, but not everyone. Fitness is enjoyed by the fat and thin alike. Despite media reports, not every fat person is sick and not every thin person is automatically better off than a fat person.

So, what I learned from this experience is that trying to eradicate judgement is impossible, but it’s a good idea to catch up with oneself, think about the day, ponder the kinds of thoughts you have been having about yourself and others, dig around, look at your beliefs, weigh the prejudices and judgments that you hold, seek to understand the source of these things, and see if what you are holding onto still serves you.