There are approximately 1,650 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader approximately six minutes to read.
I grew up in a small town in northwest Washington State.
I thought racism was dead, like the history books said. Like my white teachers taught. And as far as I could tell, in my white community—there weren’t any racial issues. In the 2010 census, my town was 91% white, and 0.4% African American—and that was six years after I left the town, and they’ve been (tongue-in-cheek) trending toward a more diverse population for decades.
There are 1511 words beyond this point. This blog will take the average adult reader about 5.5 minutes to read.
Valentine’s Day passed not too long ago. Some people like to celebrate it for the day of love it’s supposed to be. Some people make snarky remarks about S.A.D. (Singles Awareness Day) that drip with cynicism and bitterness. (Some of my unholy strengths include cynicism and bitterness, too.) Some people skip Valentine’s Day, and go straight to half-priced-candy day on February 15.
And then, in Christendom, some people celebrate “Purity Day”. It was hugely popular when I was at Liberty University. An army of young (single) Christians would get together and wear white shirts to symbolize their commitment to purity before marriage. By “purity” I’m fairly certain they meant “no involvement with another person’s genitals” before marriage—or for those who’d already been involved with another person’s genitals, “no more involvement with another person’s genitals”.
There are 1,585 words beyond this. It will take the average adult reader approximately six minutes to read.
I do not believe being overweight is sinful. As an overweight female Christian, however, I can tell you three specific things about my own personal obesity:
- It was and is, in part, caused by medical issues.
- It was and is, in part, caused by others’ sin.
- It was and is, in part, caused by my own sin.
I do not believe that the excess weight on my body is actually sinful. However, I do acknowledge the role sin—and this fallen fucking world—has had on my body.
This blog will take the average adult reader approximately four minutes to read.
A friend recently pointed out to me that, in all aspects of life, I am a data collector. I know I do this consciously as part of my job—and I know I do it as a bit of a hobby. I never realized until very recently that I do it non-stop in my head in my personal life. It is an adequate way to describe how I process much of the world around me, though.
I collect data by observing behaviors (intentional and otherwise), language, and my environment—I sort it into data sets—and then I draw conclusions. I can trace this behavior back to when I was about five years old—I’m sure people that knew me as a wee tot can trace it back even farther. It is how I process information. All of life, for me, is data collection and analysis.
(This blog will take the average adult roughly 4 minutes to read.)
“Indifference is the opposite of love.”
The pastor of the church I attend spoke on this some weeks ago. And I’ve been ruminating on it in my head and my heart ever since.
I wax indifferent when the storm tide rises. I can be a very calloused, apathetic person. It’s nothing shy of a defense mechanism. It’s how I’ve learned to deal with the storm surge in my life that has yet to recede.
(This blog will take the average adult about 3 minutes to read.)
They say it takes one to know one.
Consider me an authority on manipulators—because I am a champion among them.
I can spot a manipulator and a liar from a mile away—because I know it intimately within myself. Continue reading
This blog will take the average adult about 4.5 minutes to read.
I see a lot of drivel on the internet about “self love”. (Perhaps the fact that I used the word “drivel” to describe it might cue you into how I feel about it.) I just can’t get on board with it from an emotional, spiritual, or intellectual standpoint. And honestly, after a handful of discussions and months of observations, I don’t think many of you really can, either—if you’re honest with yourself. It’s why attempts at self love always crash and burn—it’s not because we’re “just not there yet”—it’s because we know it’s a fucking crock of shite.
It’s like that scene in Inception where Saito asks Cobb & Arthur if inception is possible, and Arthur explains why it’s not. (And yes, over the course of the movie Cobb proves Arthur wrong—but let’s not forget that, to the best of our knowledge, there’s not really any dream hijacking going on in real life.)
(There are 1,465 words after this. That’s a little less than five minutes of reading for the average adult. This is a continuation from An introduction to being overweight.)
“Oh my gosh, I’m so fat.”
*shoves food into mouth* “Haha I’m gonna get so fat!”
*is telling a story from the day* “… and this fat woman—and she was huge—did this *mildly offensive thing*…”
“He was like—disgustingly overweight.”
*after eating a meal* “I feel so fat.”
“Oh my gosh did you see the fat lady on the bicycle? She looked so ridiculous!”
Those are all things I hear on the regular—from people who I love, and from people who love me. They’re not about me—but it feels like they are. The ones I listed above actually come from specific memories—I recall each of those moments clearly because they felt so uncomfortable.
There are 795 words after this. That’s under 3 minutes of reading for the average adult.
I write a lot about failure. Specifically, I write a lot about failure as it pertains to womanhood—because, quite honestly, I perpetually feel like a failure at womaning.
It comes up often in my head and heart with the words “not good enough”. Lately, those words have been playing in my head on repeat as I repeatedly come to terms with the fact that most of my friends are married and many are having kids. I want that so badly—but I’m not good enough. That’s why I’m 30 and am seemingly unwanted on the romantic front—I’m not good enough. (I’ll write more on that later. I can feel it welling up inside me like vomit.)
In my own head, I’m not good enough for a plethora of reasons. I won’t list them out here—a lot of them can be found in past (and future) blogs. Summarized, I am a shitty woman.