self esteem boosters

Running in the morning then working out in the afternoon is really kicking my ass.

When I was about 16, way back when, before you could use Facebook without a college email address, there way Myspace. Did you guys have those?

There were ‘groups’ instead of just liking a page on Facebook. I can’t remember all the rules, if you had to be added in or something, but even back then, there were thinspo groups.

My boyfriend of the time’s ex girlfriend ran a thinspo group. She was the Tumblr thinspo girl five years ago. She had black and white photos of herself drinking milk out of the carton in front of the fridge in her underwear. We forever referred to her as Milk Girl after this.

My boyfriend of the time had a picture of us from behind, walking though the park holding hands (cue awww here). I was wearing shorts that I remember to this day were a size zero. I was short and petite, yet to hit puberty. And Milk Girl commented ‘whoa, who is that chick with the thunder thighs?’

For one, we’d been dating for years so I have no idea what this what about. I remember being confused - what the hell were thunder thighs, why was she being so rude to me when she didn’t even know me, who did she think she was?

Luckily, I was raised in a stable enough environment that I wasn’t hurt so much as I was angry. I remember being furious, but at the same time knowing she was insecure and probably jealous that I was dating her ex boyfriend.

So believe me when I say that I remember being a teen and being torn down for the way you look. All you have to do is remember that it’s their insecurities showing, not your flaws. This had enough of an impact to stick with me to this day. I can still remember viewing the comment with my friends and asking what she meant by it.

It could have tipped me one of two ways. I could have hated my thighs, or I could have hated her. I chose to hate her. I was 16, hate was a viable emotion. If I’d known better, I would have felt sorry for her and the way she ran a group promoting starving and 500 calorie a day diets.

But I never bashed her. I never bashed her looks or the pictures she posted on Facebook in her undies. I tore apart the fact that she ran a thinspo blog and was pathetic enough to be commenting on my boyfriend’s page about me. I called her sad. I said I pitied her. But if I was honest, it was the first time I looked at my thighs and questioned whether or not they were too big (I decided quickly that they weren’t.) I was a girl. I knew about feeling fat, or too skinny, or not curvy enough, or too curvy, but I didn’t know girls picked themselves apart in this severe of detail.

To this day, it bothers me. But when I bumped into her working at CVS and saw that she was still doing the scene hair over one eye and raccoon makeup, I didn’t feel better about myself. I just felt sad for her. I wondered if she was still starving thinking that it would make her prettier.

Yes, I have thunder thighs. As I was flipping through pictures from Universal, I could see them clearly. They’re thick. They’re muscled. They move me throughout the day. They’re tan and freckled, or pale and freckled come winter, and I love them no matter what anyone else says.

Don’t let it destroy you or define you. It’s always your choice.

I started talking to my coworkers about my healthy step today. I work in a predominately female office, so diets are a constant discussion.

‘I cheated this morning,’ my boss said as she sat down at her desk.

‘On what? Your husband? He deserves it for forgetting your birthday.’

‘I wish. There’s cake in the kitchen, by the way. I got an egg and cheese from Dunkin. I feel like a fat cow.’

‘It’s one slip up. That’s okay,’ I insisted.

‘Last night I had half that cake.’

‘It was your birthday.’

‘I have to stop using those excuses or I’ll be a fat cow forever. I look disgusting. I’m disgusted with myself.’

Do you know how often I hear this? When other coworkers walk by, they nod in agreement. ‘I’m huge. I’m ugly. I hate my body.’

It’s said so casually. Tossed out like, ‘did you see the sale Macy’s is having?’

‘Stop thinking of it like a diet. Think of it like a lifestyle,’ I suggest.

‘It’s easy for you to say. When you’re our age, your body slows down. We can’t workout. We have kids.’

‘You could make your house a healthy place. That’s what my mom did. Everything was organic.’

‘Like we have the time for that.’

Those are the excuses. Time is tight for everyone, but it isn’t impossible to make time for yourself. You can fit in a 12 minute workout. You can choose organic over processed and your kids will eat it. They might throw a fit, but they’ll get used to it. I don’t think I had a piece of white bread until I was 16.

I try to get them to realize that the negativity is slowing down their progress. They have to stop hating themselves and think of it was a work in progress. Mistakes and speed bumps happen. It doesn’t work. That insults at themselves are easy conversation. It’s easier to talk about how you hate yourself than to compliment yourself.

97% of women will be cruel to themselves today (Glamour). Don’t be one of them.

I love thissssssss. Although… why exactly would Andy be slutty? Slut-shaming and all.

Unfortunately, these are her words. She says it all the time and I feel like I’m constantly assuring her that she is not slutty. I hate the word slut and I wish she wouldn’t use it because it’s super derogatory and it shouldn’t be used against anyone or yourself. But she doesn’t listen. Trust me, the way she thinks of her self will probably become more obvious as you read more about her. I wish she didn’t think her ‘body count’ (her lovely term) defines who she is.

This would be awesome from a guys point of view.

Any guy can feel free to contribute! Anyone at all can contribute. Bring us your embarrassing or revelatory moments!

Don’t worry, I promise this won’t take away from boostyouresteem. That one always come first. But with my girls, we’ve created an online version of our dish sessions at the bar. It’s usually about the sex that you don’t tell anyone about. What it’s really like and why we all pretend we’re having the greatest sex ever, when sometimes it’s downright laughable. It’s about stumbling through young adulthood deciding whether or not we ever want husbands, and suffering a million terrible dates to find the illusive one.

Where real college grads dish real stories about their real sex lives. Blowing the cover off movie perfect sex scenes and spilling the truth. Like a modern book club, but with more martinis, stilettos, and honesty.
Safe for work as long as your boss isn’t a micromanaging over-the-shoulder-reader.

How The Sex Life started: Every time we get the chance, my girlfriends and I hit the local bar and catch up on our lives. A little chatter about work, some venting about apartment hunting, lots of dishing about our sex lives.
It’s as if these nights are the only chances we get to tell the truth about sex as a young adult: it isn’t always good. An orgasm isn’t guaranteed. A one night stand is not always full of wall-slamming, rip-your-clothes-off passion after a night of eye-sexing across the bar. Lots of times it’s the awkward, meet me at my place at 1am when my roommates are asleep and be out before the sun rises dance.

‘You and Brendon still broken up?’ I asked Andy.
‘Yeah. He made me get on top all the time, and he put his hands behind his head while I did it. Plus, he owes me 160 bucks still.’
‘I thought I was the only one who had a guy try to put his hands behind his head and relax when I was on top!’ I yelled too loudly for the bar.
‘And he knew I hated being on top. It makes me feel fat and I’m so awkward up there. Like, what the fuck am I doing? I feel like I’m auditioning and getting judged.’
‘Why do we bother with this guys?’

This is why these gab sessions were so important. Even in our modern society, sex is still lied about. Everyone pretends they’re having the best sex ever while secretly wondering if anyone else has composed a shopping list in their head while faking pleasure.

‘What happened with that guy you hooked up with in the hot tub? He was your ex’s friend, right?’ Andy asked. She hated to be alone in sucky guy no-man’s-land.
‘I haven’t talked to him since. It wasn’t even a hookup. It was like 8th grade grinding while I was getting blinded by a jacuzzi jet. I really think I lost a contact. And he asked me to hand him a beer half way through.’
‘Guys are assholes,’ Andy said into her sunshine margarita.
‘Why didn’t our moms prepare us for this? They taught us about birth control and finding a man, but not that your husband may never give you a satisfactory orgasm, or that the one guy who gives you a good orgasm is in Brazil doing grad school research.’ I’d questioned this for a long time, but never vocalized it. Andy agreed though, bobbing her head.
‘The Brazilian never kept in touch like he said he would. My mother never prepared me for that. She also never prepared me for that guy from the club last weekend who got so into it in bed that he knocked over an old beer can onto my face.’
Andy always seems to get the worst ones, though Colleen has spent hours creating the perfect playlist only to have her iPod knocked off the dock by some over enthusiastic rugby player, and had a vlogger refer to her as a pair of Barbie legs with no brain in his latest podcast.
‘You should blog about that,’ Andy said. ‘Give the other girls out there a chance. Teach them the truth.’
‘Can I blog about you?’
‘Just change my name. And don’t make me sound slutty. I know I’m slutty, but I don’t want to sound like I am.’

When I remind her that the point of this was to tell the truth, she adopts a ‘fuck it’ attitude and tells me to dish it all. Tell the truth. And online version of a gossip session at the bar or on the beach. Prepare future generations and let other women know they aren’t alone.

**Shouldn’t**

Whoa. Someone didn’t have coffee before that post (that would be me.) Imagine if I said things like that? Edit, edit, edit. Thanks, babe!