Don’t mistake my highlight reel for real life

On occasion, I’ve been overwhelmingly praised for my confidence. For inspiring other women. For sparking a change in their lives. For helping them feel more comfortable in their own bodies. For being a rebel. For being fat when fat isn’t considered beautiful by the media. By men. By other women. For wearing less clothing than a chubby girl should. For showing off my curves (and my rolls). For not doing what is expected of me. For wearing a bathing suit. In public. And taking a picture.

 

For that praise, I am immeasurably grateful. To be referred to as an inspiration is incredibly humbling. And certainly not something I ever expected to be. But it makes me want to be better. It makes me want to try harder. I want to be an advocate for people to feel comfortable in their skin when they need to most. To put on a bathing suit and go to the pool with your children, to relax on a beach with the love of your life, to wear shorts when the weather is sweltering, to be in the pictures instead of just taking them.

If posting a picture of my yoga body, neither long nor lean, lithely moving in one of my beloved pairs of bright and colorful yoga pants can encourage someone to step on their mat every morning, I’m all in. I’m proud of the things my body can do, despite my back injuries, and the fact that I am now limited in my yoga practice. My body is strong.

plus size yogi practicing a head stand in a sports bra

If sharing a carefully posed image of myself in a two-piece bathing suit or a sports bra pushes someone to strut their stuff on the beach, then by all means yes! I’m your girl. I bought a two-piece bathing suit because I was inspired by others, and it made me feel fucking amazing.

But don’t — not for one second — believe that my highlight reel is anything more than anyone else’s daily existence.

I fight with myself every day. To be the confident girl you see in pictures. To be the highlight reel. And some days, even if it’s only for a minute, I’m that girl. Other days, I’m insecure girl. I’m jealous girl. I’m change-my-clothes-five-times girl. I’m stare-in-the-mirror-and-project-hate girl. I’m paranoid girl. Are they looking at the way my boobs pop out of my shirt? Is he staring at the cellulite on my thighs in these shorts? Is she watching me eat this cheeseburger and thinking what a fatty I am? Do they think I’m disgusting? They’re staring at me, right?

90%* of the time, the answer is NO. It’s all in your head. The other 10%* of the time? Assholes. Go ahead and judge them right back. Or don’t. And be the bigger person.

Do I love myself? Fuck yes. I think I’m fantastic. Some of the time. Do I look at myself in the mirror and think I’m beautiful? Sometimes. It’s all a part of who I am. I like to think if I loved only myself all the time, I would be a complete asshole who didn’t care about others. One who couldn’t empathize or sympathize. I’d be a robot.

Instead, I choose to spread love. And kindness. And passion. To support my friends and join them on their beautiful journeys. To live and love unabashedly with my boobs and cellulite and cheeseburgers.

Does that mean I’ll always be happy with my body the way it is? Probably not. If given the opportunity to have liposuction or a tummy tuck, would I take it? Absofuckinglutely. But…that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit on my ass waiting for it under several layers of clothing while I hide behind my computer.

Instead, I’m going to create a highlight reel.

My highlight reel on social media helps me boost my own confidence

*I mathed in a fictitious land called, “Chrissy’s World” and make no promises as to the accuracy of any numbers used in the making of this post.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Rando Photo Ops

After last night’s engagement photo shoot, I realized to my great dismay that I am not a photographer. I know this may surprise you, what with my killer Snapchat history, but it’s true. Our photographer, Joy, was perfectly lovely, and spoke of cameras and lenses the way Brian speaks of computery programmery things…or the way I speak of cheese. Using a language specific to the passion.

Despite my lack of skills, I thought I’d share some of my finer moments of photography.

What’s on my phone?

We’ll start with my ability to capture moving subjects. Drunk girls can’t sit still, apparently.

Erma Bombeck and awesome writers including Gina Barecca

Sometimes, I take fuzzy selfies with my writer friends posing with Gina Barecca – who’s awesome.

I really enjoy capturing random subjects. Like dinosaur meeples from board games.

dinosaur meeple

Like when I take photos of dinosaurs to send my friend, Smash…and then I never send them.

Other times, I pretend I’m an archictural photographer and snap shots of buildings in the city.

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And then, when I’m in Florida, I think I’m a nature photographer. Look out, National Geographic.  I’m coming for you.

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But, when it comes to the things I love…I think I’ve got this photo thing down.

I’m a foodtographer.

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And a cheesetographer.

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And a Briantographer.

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And a yogatographer.

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And a selfietographer. Of course.

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I guess we’re all photographers in our own right…but I’ll leave the big stuff to the professionals.

What are some of your favorite photos in your phone?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Because I Need to Take Care of Myself

I’ve been thinking about self-care a lot lately. I haven’t been taking proper care of myself. Brian likes to joke that he feels responsible for making sure I’m well cared for, and I joke that it’s because my parents gave up that responsibility when he walked into my life. In reality, I need to make sure that I’m doing everything in my power to actually take care of my mind and body. Because when one part of me isn’t working right, the rest follows suit.

I participated in an Influencer Activation Program on behalf of Influence-Central for Massage Envy. I received compensation as a thank you for creating this content. As usual, the thoughts, opinions, and beliefs expressed in this post are wholly my own.

With the last week and a half off work, I’ve been focusing more on me and what I need. As a gregarious lady, I need vastly different things in my life than my introverted boyfriend. I’m at my happiest when I’m surrounded by people that make me smile, laugh, love or some combination of the three in a comfortable setting. Basically, I consider myself to be an introverted extrovert so I want to be in a place I know and feel welcome, but I recharge through the energy of people. In short – Party at my house, people!

Just kidding. Sort of. Self-maintenance, for me, involves a combination of activities that allow my physical and emotional well-being to thrive. This is how I do:

In your busy life, you need to make sure you're taking time for yourself. Try one of these 5 ways to promote self-care in your own life.

Yoga – physical and emotional

My practice is a safe space to meditate, relax, and breath. Not only does it help me move my body physically and stretch muscles to encourage activity without injury (well…I try anyways), but it also calms my thoughts, minimizes my anxiety and makes me a more positive person. I need yoga in my life. It gives me confidence, strength, peace. It gives me a sense of control. This is something I’ve been missing for a few months, since returning to my normal from my back injury, and I know I need to regain my yoga time. I’m starting back up again, and can’t tell you how excited I am to do so.

Yoga is part of my self-care routine.

Writing – emotional

Who needs a therapist when you can write all your crazy out in a story or blog post? When I’m anxious or depressed or just can’t seem to sleep, writing is my go-to version of insta-therapy. I can sit down with a notebook or in front of a computer screen and pour my heart out through words. In my previous role, I was writing so much dull marketing content, that I was slacking on writing for me, a mistake I won’t be making again.

Writing and painting my nails are both therapeutic exercises for me

Writing and painting my nails are both therapeutic exercises for me, which leads me to the next part of my self-care

Painting my nails – emotional and physical

Yeah, yeah…I know what you’re thinking. Chrissy, that can’t possibly be part of your self-care routine. And yet, here it is. When I can occupy my mind doing something that requires physical concentration, I can often think better, focus more thoroughly, and listen more intently. I paint my nails when I’m binge watching TV or having a conversation with Brian, because I’m more apt to pay attention without distraction. Also, when my nails look nice, I feel better about myself. It’s something I can pride myself in, and I take that as a necessary part of caring for myself and my body.

Socialization – emotional

While I can’t get behind the idea of forced socialization (something that happens when you feel obligated to join a group for a social outing – typically a work or organization obligation when you don’t love your peers), I love being with my people. It is an unfortunate circumstance that some of my writer friends are scattered around the world, but I’m also super lucky to have a lot of fabulous friends right in my backyard.

Just me and a bunch of awesome ginger writers. No big deal

Just me and a bunch of awesome ginger writers. No big deal (except that it’s totally a big deal).

In addition to interacting with my peer groups through parties, dinners, and board gaming, I find myself soaking up the brilliance and silliness in Facebook groups with writers I adore, I attend conferences and meet those writers face to face, and I recently met up with one of my new favorite people to talk, snack, and write.

Massage – physical

Monthly massage is one of the most important things that I do for myself. I’ve been a member of Massage Envy since the summer of 2007 when I was a catering manager who was consistently spraining her ankle and pulling muscles. For a few months, I saw whatever therapists were available, but the day I met Craig, everything changed. He asked if I had a preferred therapist, and I shrugged. His response is burned into my memory, ‘Well, let’s see if we can change that.”

Eight and a half years later, I feel like I’m cheating on Craig when I visit another therapist (which he,  encourages when he’s unavailable). When I hurt my back this summer, I made several extra visits to Massage Envy in addition to my regular monthly massage (sometimes with Craig, who only works Monday through Friday, and sometimes at another location with my secondary therapist who works weekends).

 

Massage is not some fluffy thing I do as a luxury for myself, it’s a necessary part of my Total Body Care.

Because I am active.

Because I spend 8-10 hours a day sitting in front of a computer.

Because I fall down, trip over chains, walk into poles.

Because I hurt myself.

Because I still feel injuries from more than a decade ago whenever the weather changes.

Because I care about my mental and physical health.

Because it makes my body feel healthier.

I am an advocate for taking care of yourself, your body, and your mind.

What is your because moment? What do you do to take care of your emotional and physical well-being? Do you take the time out to get regular massages? What activities do you participate in that make you you?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Where’d You Get Those Crazy Ass Yoga Pants?

For the last several months, you’ve seen me prancing around Instagram, blog conferences, and, let’s be completely honest here, real life in the most amazing (or obnoxious) pants known to man. And for the most part, I’m pretty sure you love them as much as I do. Many people have asked where I find my yoga pants (which are really just my daily drivers, because I work in a surprisingly lax office that lets me wear tie-dye and bright patterns). I’m not a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination, but I am real…and I’ll give you the DL on my yoga-wear obsession.


YOGASMOGA - Free Shipping
My personal preference is to wear cotton yoga pants, as they stretch nicely and fit comfortably without digging. I’m also a huge advocate for the fold-over waistband so that I can 1. smooth out the area from my waist to my hips without some horrible elastic waistband creating more rolls and wrinkles and 2. not have a horrible elastic waistband digging into my belly.

I have spent the last 8 months on the hunt for the best plus-size yoga pants around. These are my favorites.

And to be completely fair and transparent, I’m going to tell you my pants size. I wear anywhere from an 18 to a 22.

The OG Pants (Victoria’s Secret Most Loved Yoga Pant – size large)

My go-to leggings, yoga pants, and shorts have always been Victoria's Secret. They also double as dress pants.

Green top – Victoria’s Secret, White top – Soybu, Swimsuit – Swimsuits for All, Sports Bra – Bare Necessities

Unfortunately, as of March 2017, these are no longer for sale on the VS website. And my heart is pretty much broken. The Most Loved Yoga Pant from Victoria’s Secret was my be-all, end-all favorite. I have them in legging, cropped legging, capri, and short version. To say I live in yoga pants is an understatement. I wear them under skirts and dresses or on their own. The fold-over waistband is amazing (I always unfold that waist band up to my waist). I wear a size large. I’ve tried the extra large pants, and they’re not tight enough for holding my shit in if you get my drift. Pro-tip: If you’re going to keep the waist unfolded, opt for the non-sequined versions.

Tie-Dye Dream (Shining Shakti – Classic Pant – size large)

I love the colors and designs of Shining Shakti yoga pants and leg warmers.

Shorts – Victoria’s Secret, Swimsuit – Swimsuits for All, Tee – Victoria’s Secret PINK, White tank – Soybu

My first pair  of funky yoga pants came from Shining Shakti, a retailer based out of the Chicago suburbs. The website is shut down, but you can still find a few rogue pairs here and there (like on yogadirect and Etsy). My yogi girlfriend is BFFs with the former owner and told me I absolutely HAD to try them. I was skeptical because…size. She promised they were super stretchy, much like my beloved VS pants. I discovered they went up to size XL, and was ecstatic, fearing they would be ridiculously tight. When the owner saw a photo of my yoga-ing on Instagram, she told my pal I should start with a large. I did, and went back for 3 more pairs plus two pairs of leg warmers to spruce up my VS pants.

Banana Pants and Other Fan Faves (Couture Tee – Fold-Over Flare and Legging – size extra large)

I am obsessed with Design Your Own Yoga Pants by Tristan Christopher - I seriously wear these Couture Tees yoga pants everywhere. (1)

Teal cami and black tee – Torrid

I ordered a surprise pack of these magical pants and was not disappointed. The Etsy shop by Tristan Christopher takes several months to make, dye, and ship your pants, but once they arrive, you’ll be thrilled with the product. The were definitely worth the wait. Not only will it be exciting the day your pants arrive, but you’ll also have the added joy of surprise designs! If you give them your measurements, the designers will guarantee a perfect fit, so I highly recommend you do that. They recommended an extra large, and the pants fit me exactly as I wanted them to. The surprise pack also goes up to a size XXXL, so girls of any size can rock these amazing pants.

I've been a Fabletics subscriber since March, and I'm really enjoying the sports bras, shirts and yoga pants.

Salar fold-over capri and sports bra – Fabletics, Green tee – VS PINK and Lima capri – Fabletics, Black cami – Torrid and Salar capri – Fabletics,   Yellow backless tee, sports bra, and Salar crop –  Fabletics, Black tee – Torrid and Salar fold-over capri – Fabletics

 

Pants with matchy matchy sports bras and tanks (Fabletics –  Salar Capri Fold-Over and Ayni Sports Bra – size XXL)

I’m a Fabletics junkie (that link is for a referral that earns me $10 if you sign up and is not an affiliate link). I used to max out the sizes here, and sometimes it was hard to catch the XXL before they were sold out or waitlisted, but now they go up to 3X, are easier to catch, and are oh so comfortable! When I catch the ones I want, I love them. These aren’t cotton, but they’re still pretty comfortable. I’ve tried some of the other pants, but my fave is the Salar fold-over. The sports bras are ideal for me (racerbacks tug on my neck and shoulders thanks to my boobs, so I prefer sports bras that have different strap options).

 

You will occasionally see me don other colorful pants from other brands, but I don’t fully stand by those brands just yet. These three are my tried-and-true lower body besties. They hug me on the daily. These are the ones that I would recommend to you. If you want a complete list of the brands that haven’t worked out for me or that I’m still trying out, you can send me an e-mail and I’ll hook you up with the rest of my legging and yoga pant finds.

No one asked me or paid me to write about my love of yoga pants. Some of the links are referral or affiliate links so if you click through, I may earn points or money to buy more yoga pants. Oh and keep this blog running smoothly.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

This is What I Get For Showing Off Like an Asshole

Saturday was my birthday. It was also my bloggiversary (insert celebratory birthday and ‘versary music here to commemorate the anniversary of my 29th birthday and the completion of my THIRD year of blogging here on Quirky Chrissy). My blog is a toddler. And what an adorable little toddler she is. She walks, and babbles, and goes to fancy blog conferences where she pretends to be a grown up. My blog is obviously smarter than me.

I know this because on Saturday, after a few celebratory dark beers, a glass of wine and a couple shots of ice cold vodka, I thought it would be a great idea to play yoga with one of my most darling friends (who just completed her yoga teacher training and is, in fact, the reason I began practicing yoga again). Now let me clarify that while I had been drinking, I wasn’t drunk. It was a fucking marathon, and there was a long day of beverages that led to my happy fun yoga time. And snacks. Oh God, so many delicious snacks.

Anyways, several hours into the celebration, we made our way to my front room, cleared a little space, and busted out the most adorable pair of trees. CC had just perfected her handstand and wanted to show off, and I’m just happy to lift my leg to my knee. It was super cute.

Then, of course, I wanted to show off. Here are a couple of the cool brag-worthy things I can do on a normal day with and without assistance:

Quirky Chrissy Yoga

See? This is me, showing off. (Just remember, this is my highlight reel and not my bloopers.)

Here are the bragworthy poses I can do with a dress on:

Yoga Dancer Pose

I love dancer pose. But this is also the pose that got me in trouble.

So, we decided to rock out a double dancer. You may have seen it all over social media. You may have even liked it. What you didn’t see was the pain I’ve been in since I woke up Sunday morning.

I have a really bendy back. It makes me look like more of an advanced practitioner than I actually am. So I can do things like dancer pose, and wheel pose, and king pigeon pose. But (there’s always a but), I usually need a decent warm up to let my muscles bend in such a way that they’ve become accustomed to. Some light stretching before slowly working my way into these very deep poses.

But when there are 15 thousand people in your house, you can’t just bust out a 45-minute practice to take a few pictures. So you jump into a pose, show off your shit and smile at the amazing picture you took with one of your besties. Because she’s an amazing yogi and you want to be just like her when you grow up.

Double Dancer Pose

I mean…it was a pretty adorable photo & all…but I was definitely trying to hold my own and show off with CC by my side. She’s my yogi mentor.

And so, I spent all day Sunday, resting. I slept until 3 pm. I mean, I woke up a couple times and laid in bed and shit…but I was basically in bed until 3. When you get up to go to the bathroom and you can barely bend over to sit down, let alone wipe your own ass without screeching in pain? You go back the fuck to bed. Twice.

I worked from home Monday and Tuesday, resting. With the occasional squeal of pain with one wrong move.

On Tuesday night, I visited Craig, my massage therapist (who also does double duty as an emotional therapist without the fancy degree…basically he listens to my bullshit and tells me when I’m full of it) of almost a decade. After telling me I was an idiot (for the bazillionth time – and he didn’t ACTUALLY call me an idiot…but I know he was thinking it), he spent 90 minutes trying to work out the softball-sized knot in my lower back to some avail. At least he was able to confirm that it was muscle related and not a disc or something. But I kind of have to go into work today. And I’m still in pain. Because I was showing off like a motherfucking asshole.

This is what I get for showing off like an asshole

Lesson learned: Stretching before and after intense yoga asanas is ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

So if you see me this weekend, and I offer to show you amazing feats of yogi genius, tell me to sit my ass down and stop trying to show off.

Now, tell me your story of injury, bravado or both, friends? Have you ever done something to show off and totally wrecked yourself in the process?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

How to Drunk Yoga in 12 Easy Steps

So you know how sometimes I do things so you don’t have to? This is one of those times. So please. Kids. Don’t try this at home.

Yoga is fun. Yoga is fucking awesome. Yoga is one of my new favorite things to do. Sometimes, I think in my head at night well, I can yoga or I can write, but I can’t do both.

As evident by my recent posting schedule, you can see where my head has been. And last night after happy hour (that ran well over an hour) was no exception. The thing is…Drunk Chrissy wanted to yoga AND write. And she had a brilliant fucking plan. That went something like this.

How to drunk yogaHow to drunk yoga

Step 1: Drink expensive beer and eat $2 tacos. The beer/beverage choice is up for discussion, so really, pick your preferred poison.

Step 2: (which is really like 10 steps in one, but it doesn’t really matter how you get home, as long as you’re not driving) Go home.

Step 3: Make a snack. You can’t be expected to be brilliant without your hungry drunk brain cleared.

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Step 4: Decide that you’re going to try amazing feats of yoga. You have no fear. (No, really. DON’T. TRY. THIS. AT HOME).

Step 5: Find your unsuspecting victim. I mean photographer. I mean boyfriend. Tell him you have a genius plan and you require his services. When he tells you that shoveling your massive driveway is more important than yoga pictures, pout just a little.

Step 6: Have another snack. If your first snack was salty, opt for something sweet, now. If you like.

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Step 7: Lay down on your mat and flop into a position that takes way more work when you’re sober. Twice.

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This is a position called plow pose. It’s a real pose. And it’s usually a lot harder for me.

 

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This is my attempt at shoulder stand. Apparently you’re supposed to do this before plow…I did it after.

 

Step 8: Lay back down and watch the room spin just a little.

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Step 9: Decide it’s time for headstand and race to the hallway that allows you to do it.

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Step 10: Get your inversion on. I prefer headstand…one, because I discovered this week that I can do it and two because it doesn’t wreak havoc on my wrists.

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I walked up the wall. It was fun.

I walked up the wall. It was fun.

Step 11: Collapse into the room spins.

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Step 12: Go to bed, drunky.

See, that wasn’t so hard? Still best not to do this. I probably could have hurt myself.

What stupid shenanigans do you get into after a few beers? What yoga poses are you proud of or excited to try?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Practicing Self-Compassion After an Eating Disorder

WARNING: This post may contain triggers for and about eating disorders. I had intended to write about yoga, but this post molded into something completely different.
1000Voices
Today, 1000 voices around the world are speaking and writing about compassion. This movement isn’t intended to change the world, but maybe…just maybe..it might. You can follow the movement by checking out the hashtag #1000Speak or by reading posts on the 1000 Voices for Compassion Link Up.

Compassion. What a beautiful and complicated word. Want to complicate it even more? Direct it at yourself.

Compassion. What a beautiful andI’ve had a love-hate relationship with my body since I was a little girl. I was the chubby girl. Bullied for my weight. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with my body since I was a little girl. I was the chubby girl. Bullied for my weight. Awkward. Quiet around my peers, but social around adults. Bigger than everyone else my age, but told I was beautiful by adults. Constantly informed that “I had a woman’s body.”

Chubby middle school pic

When I was in high school, I thought I was fat. I went on Weight Watchers for the first of MANY times. I lost between five and ten pounds. I would kill to weigh that much now.

Pink Princess

In college, I went back on Weight Watchers with my best friend. I lost about thirty pounds. I would kill to weigh that much now.

College party shirts

Over the years, my weight fluctuated as much as Oprah’s. Since I was 14 years old, my range has extended nearly 100 pounds. And sometimes, it was because of healthy things I did…and sometimes, it was not.

I guess it started in college when I was binge drinking. In college, I drank a lot. And I almost always threw up after drinking. When I felt sick, I’d preemptively puke. It seemed okay because everyone puked when they drank. And a lot of times, it wasn’t even preemptive…it just happened. I would drink to excess nearly every weekend.

And then it transitioned into something more.

At the end of and after college, I threw up. A lot. And it was no longer just because I was drinking. I purged daily for long periods of time. Some days it was more than once. Sometimes, after every meal. And after every snack. Between meals. Between dinner and dessert. I could go weeks or months without doing it. I didn’t believe I had a problem. And then one day, I would eat too much or not fit into a shirt the way I wanted to…and start again. I didn’t consider myself a bulimic. Because I was still fat. And I could stop whenever I wanted to.

Business suit

I would be eating something. And thinking about how full I was getting or how my stomach hurt just a little…and then I would think, well…just go throw up. And then I would. I started eating things that would be easier to un-digest. I preferred to eat out where I could purge in a public restroom rather than at home.  I would pull my hair back and take my shirt off before crouching over the porcelain god. I blamed itchy contacts for my red eyes after going to the bathroom. I carried gum and breath mints everywhere. I was strategic. But I still didn’t think I had a problem.

When my mom asked me about it, a couple years after it started…she was very blunt. “Are you bulimic?” She had seen remnants in the bathroom on a regular basis. The evidence was pretty stacked against me.

Chrissy at a wedding rehearsal

By then, I knew I had a problem. I had even admitted it to one of my friends. A friend I knew wouldn’t judge me…and a friend I knew wouldn’t take action. And she didn’t. But she would talk to me about it. And try to support me as best as she could. I responded to my mom in the only way I thought could be more evasive than point-blank lying. I told her I was just drinking too much. I wasn’t lying. I definitely drank A LOT. But I was still lying. To her…and probably to myself.

Self-Compassion After an Eating Disorder

I didn’t have compassion for myself. I didn’t respect my body. One of the clearest memories through all of this was the control that I felt. It wasn’t feeling skinny or the satisfaction of eating whatever I wanted. It was control. I would stand in front of the mirror, suck in my stomach and think, I can control this. But I didn’t love my body. Not with everything I was putting it through.

Feeling skinny

I remember telling another very good friend. Another friend who I knew wouldn’t judge me…but he would try in his own way to help me. And he definitely did. At dinner, he’d ask me why I was going to the bathroom at a restaurant. And eventually, just knowing that he had his eyes on me and could confront me held me back. When I was out with that group of friends, I would only go to the bathroom when I needed to pee, and I’d be fast about it. I puked less and less.

Somewhere along the way I stopped for good.

I wish I could tell you what made me stop. I wish I could tell you the moment that I took control of my urges and changed the control from puking to not puking. But I can’t. And it’s not just because I decided to stop one day and magically did. I know I could have benefited from professional help.

The funny thing is…as I was trying to find old pictures for this post…I couldn’t find one where I thought I was REALLY fat. But at the time…I thought I was huge. I know that I’m bigger now than I have ever been. And while I will continue to try healthy routes of diet and exercise, I’m becoming more comfortable with myself. I’m respecting and loving my body. Even when trolls on the internet think I’m fat. Or ugly. Or stupid. Or worthless. I am none of those. I am beautiful. And by respecting myself and my body, I can better show compassion toward others.

When we have compassion for someone, we sympathize. We empathize. We express concern. We show love. We sometimes pity. We worry. We care. We think. We share in the experiences of others. Compassion is difficult.

When we have compassion for ourselves, we have to dig deep to truly understand our minds and our bodies. We learn to respect what we can and cannot do. We strive to achieve. We exist.

curvy yoga
I recently started practicing yoga again. And I can’t tell you how much the support on Instagram and Facebook has meant to me. I’ve been participating in yoga challenges, and posting yoga pictures daily. Not only is it keeping me accountable, but I’m able to channel that same control I once had over my body into a new venture. Instead of controlling what goes in and out of my body, I can control how I move my body. And I can challenge myself while respecting my limitations and understanding that I am beautiful. Regardless of my size. Or whether society thinks I should take a picture of myself in a sports bra.

curvy yogaHow do you practice self-compassion? Have you suffered from an eating disorder? How have you handled body issues for yourself?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

11 Things I Think in Yoga Class

I know that in yoga, you’re supposed to meditate and find your inner chi or peace or something…

Instead, my mind starts to wander and I have some very valuable (and bizarre) thoughts. It’s almost as good as my shower thinking (which is where I do all of my big thinking). A lot of the thoughts I have are about my boobs. But you’d think about your boobs a lot too, if you spent multiple minutes at a time with your face in your own tits. Fucking yoga.
Yoga

11 Things I Think While Meditating in Yoga Asanas

I wonder what would happen if I try that next pose?

My boobs are fucking ginormous.

He (the instructor) wants me to do what?

I have the worst frontal wedgie in the history of ever.

So this is what a motorboat feels like.

I don’t care what Special K said, a power bar does not equal dinner.

I wonder if I could pop my boobs like a balloon.

I wonder if anyone would notice me pull my underwear out of my crotch.

My feet are fucking freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth.

Is that pose even possible?

I’m supposed to be meditating. Is thinking about dinner meditating?

Blog friends, what do you think about when you’re working out?

 

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