(I don't mean to beat a dead horse. Really, I don't. It seems that every Catholic/Christian/opinionated woman in the blogosphere has a post or two about modesty. If you're tired of the subject, please, feel free to skip this post. I'm blogging from my heart and only intend to help my fellow women navigate a small aspect of this crazy world. I do not intend to offend anyone or even to defend any particular group of people. I'm simply expressing my thoughts. xoxo)
My dear women,
We've all been there. Stepping out of the shower in front of the mirror that graces the wall of every bathroom. Barely glancing at our reflection. If we do glance there, we immediately bombard ourselves with a litany of insults. I'm fat. My stomach sticks out. My thighs are too big. My breasts are too small. My nose is wide. My forehead is short. We wrap towels tightly around our imperfect bodies and hurry through the motions of getting dressed. Covering up. Hiding our shame.
We wear layers of clothes, all designed to accentuate our good features and hide our bad ones. We arrange and rearrange the combinations to diminish the appearance of imperfections. If we are ashamed of our skin, we hide it.
Sometimes we do this in the name of modesty. We tell ourselves that we shouldn't wear clothes that are too tight because it's immodest. But ask yourself - are you doing it because you find your body beautiful and wonderful or because you are embarrassed by what you see? Are you unwilling to share the secret beauties of your body because they are holy or because you see them as ugly sources of shame?
Modesty is not a cover-up of imperfections because we are ashamed. It does not adjust necklines because we are embarrassed about our cleavage. It does not tug down a skirt because thighs are ugly. Modesty is not intended to hide ugliness. It is intended to veil beauty.
Even if you don't have body-image issues, you can still approach modesty with the wrong attitude. You may recognize the beauty of your feminine body, but you cover it because you're ashamed of the beauty. I know this seems impossible and even contradictory, but I have known women who love their legs, but cover them in baggy pants because they are afraid. Afraid to love themselves. Afraid to lead men to lustful glances. Afraid, afraid, afraid.
But ladies, modesty isn't fear. Modesty is confident. It recognizes beauty and does not fear it. It protects it and honors it, but it does not fear it.
If you carefully measure necklines in finger-widths from your collar bone and conscientiously make sure your shorts extend past your fingertips, make sure you do it with the right attitude. Clothing does not a modest woman make. The attitude adjustments that I am encouraging do not demand a change in your wardrobe. All I am suggesting is that when you put those clothes on, remember that you are beautifully and wonderfully made. Your body is nothing to be ashamed of, nor is it something to be feared. It is your body, given to you by God, to be loved and protected.
Much love, beautiful ladies.
xoxo
10 December 2013
01 December 2013
Reunited & It Feels So Good
Got to meet up with some of the most awesome people in the world yesterday.
My & my bro. We are so fabulous.
My ladies.
There is nothing that makes me happier than hanging with the people I love. These people really are the best. They're kind, generous, funny, loving, and loyal. They make my heart siiiiiiiiing. Well, ok, maybe that's a little overly dramatic. But they make my heart happy.
30 November 2013
Why Twitter is Nerd Heaven
Think about it. Twitter is the greatest invention for nerds that has ever existed. Ok, maybe the second greatest after the invention of television, which allowed nerds to not only read nerdy things, but to see those nerdy things brought to life. Twitter is second only to that. It allows us to take our nerd-dom to a whole new level of obsession.
With a few simple clicks of a few buttons, every nerd is allowed to practically stalk his or her favorite actors, actresses, directors, and writers without feeling guilty about it. Why is twitter guilt-free? Because each and every tweet is put up by the celebrities themselves. The famous people control their twitters so if you know they're going to Chicago to celebrate Thanksgiving with their family (here's looking at you, Chloe Bennet), it isn't because you did some creepy internet stalking that is likely to end with the receipt of a restraining order. It's because she told you she was going.
I've also noticed that while I saw a picture of Neil Patrick Harris's Thanksgiving dinner, I don't feel as connected to him as I do to the actors in actresses in total nerd shows. The Whedonverse members, in particular, are always interactive with their fans, gracious, and grateful for the love. This allows people (me included) to feel they have an actual relationship with these people. It's the ultimate nerd fantasy. Well, not ultimate. It doesn't give us lightsabers or allow us to be beamed up by Mr. Scott. But these people allow us to have relationships with them. We can talk to them. They can talk to us. We can watch them have dance parties at 4:30 in the morning in the make-up trailer. We can exchange puns.
We get to know these people in a non-creepy and authentic way. Well as authentic as social media relationships can be - but it's 1,000,000 times more real and more awesome than reading gossip magazines and looking at photos taken from creeper-cams.
With a few simple clicks of a few buttons, every nerd is allowed to practically stalk his or her favorite actors, actresses, directors, and writers without feeling guilty about it. Why is twitter guilt-free? Because each and every tweet is put up by the celebrities themselves. The famous people control their twitters so if you know they're going to Chicago to celebrate Thanksgiving with their family (here's looking at you, Chloe Bennet), it isn't because you did some creepy internet stalking that is likely to end with the receipt of a restraining order. It's because she told you she was going.
I've also noticed that while I saw a picture of Neil Patrick Harris's Thanksgiving dinner, I don't feel as connected to him as I do to the actors in actresses in total nerd shows. The Whedonverse members, in particular, are always interactive with their fans, gracious, and grateful for the love. This allows people (me included) to feel they have an actual relationship with these people. It's the ultimate nerd fantasy. Well, not ultimate. It doesn't give us lightsabers or allow us to be beamed up by Mr. Scott. But these people allow us to have relationships with them. We can talk to them. They can talk to us. We can watch them have dance parties at 4:30 in the morning in the make-up trailer. We can exchange puns.
We get to know these people in a non-creepy and authentic way. Well as authentic as social media relationships can be - but it's 1,000,000 times more real and more awesome than reading gossip magazines and looking at photos taken from creeper-cams.
24 November 2013
Redefining Feminism
Invisible lines have caused me a lot of problems in my life.
I don't know where they are. I tend to be overly confident in my understanding of them. Consequently, I stumble across and land on my face into the quagmire of the "other side" of the line with frightening frequency.
We walk along a lot of lines in our lives. We have to "toe them," but sometimes we "cross them" to serve a bigger purpose. One line, in particular, has been on my mind a lot recently. What is the line of feminine feminism? I guess, more accurately, the question would be where is the line? What is feminism, even? Not what it has been, but what it should be.
I consider myself a traditionalist. I have traditional values, traditional expectations, and believe in traditional gender roles. I considered myself - until very recently - to be about as far from a feminist as was humanly possible.
But something has changed. I like to think that I am a feminist, with the proper understanding of that word.
Feminism isn't about demeaning men.
Feminism isn't about burning our bras as we yell passionately about our rights.
Feminism isn't about turning women into men.
Feminism came about because it is enormously insulting and demeaning to have a patient refer to you as "your girl" to the doctor. Because hearing that makes you go, "excuse me??? I am nobody's girl."
Feminism came about because it is entirely unfair to be told, "Oh, it's okay, I expect you to make mistakes. You are a woman."
Feminism isn't about making women into these perfect beings who can do no wrong. It's about giving them the respect that is demanded by their human dignity. If I make a mistake, it's not because I'm a woman. It's because I'm human.
True femininity does not consist of skirt wearing, elegant jewelry, and a distaste for getting your hands dirty.
True feminism does not consist in angry rants and belittling men.
We need to redefine femininity and feminism. We need to retake them and make them real virtues.
Women: don't be ditzes. Don't be angry.
Be strong. Be compassionate. Be intelligent. Be gentle. Be selfless.
Don't attach your self-worth to an ideology that makes you less than you are, traditionalist or feminist. Don't look at the people on the other side of the line between femininity and feminism and condemn them. The truth of the matter is, there shouldn't be a line. No one should have to deny a whole aspect of their personhood. There is nothing unfeminine about independence. There is no reason to be ashamed of gentleness.
Why must we draw lines where there are none? We must redefine those words; we must change expectations.
We must be feminine, feminist women.
I don't know where they are. I tend to be overly confident in my understanding of them. Consequently, I stumble across and land on my face into the quagmire of the "other side" of the line with frightening frequency.
We walk along a lot of lines in our lives. We have to "toe them," but sometimes we "cross them" to serve a bigger purpose. One line, in particular, has been on my mind a lot recently. What is the line of feminine feminism? I guess, more accurately, the question would be where is the line? What is feminism, even? Not what it has been, but what it should be.
I consider myself a traditionalist. I have traditional values, traditional expectations, and believe in traditional gender roles. I considered myself - until very recently - to be about as far from a feminist as was humanly possible.
But something has changed. I like to think that I am a feminist, with the proper understanding of that word.
Feminism isn't about demeaning men.
Feminism isn't about burning our bras as we yell passionately about our rights.
Feminism isn't about turning women into men.
Feminism came about because it is enormously insulting and demeaning to have a patient refer to you as "your girl" to the doctor. Because hearing that makes you go, "excuse me??? I am nobody's girl."
Feminism came about because it is entirely unfair to be told, "Oh, it's okay, I expect you to make mistakes. You are a woman."
Feminism isn't about making women into these perfect beings who can do no wrong. It's about giving them the respect that is demanded by their human dignity. If I make a mistake, it's not because I'm a woman. It's because I'm human.
True femininity does not consist of skirt wearing, elegant jewelry, and a distaste for getting your hands dirty.
True feminism does not consist in angry rants and belittling men.
We need to redefine femininity and feminism. We need to retake them and make them real virtues.
Women: don't be ditzes. Don't be angry.
Be strong. Be compassionate. Be intelligent. Be gentle. Be selfless.
Don't attach your self-worth to an ideology that makes you less than you are, traditionalist or feminist. Don't look at the people on the other side of the line between femininity and feminism and condemn them. The truth of the matter is, there shouldn't be a line. No one should have to deny a whole aspect of their personhood. There is nothing unfeminine about independence. There is no reason to be ashamed of gentleness.
Why must we draw lines where there are none? We must redefine those words; we must change expectations.
We must be feminine, feminist women.
23 November 2013
Blog Your Heart | November 2013
Thanks, Steph, for starting another one of these up! I've done a couple on my own, but it's been awhile... thanks for the inspiration.
The "rules" (I hate calling things rules. They're more like guidelines, anyway. But I love following rules. Weird, I know), copied, pasted, and edited to be relevant from Stephanie's lovely post.
1. blog whatever is authentic. whatever is truly on your mind and in your heart.
2. It can be serious, silly, short, long. NOTE:no one said it has to be serious. But it should be authentic.
3. No judging allowed no snarky comments, no making fun, no passive agressive digs.If you are going to read the blogs linked below, don't be mean. Nothing here is whining, though I can't help it if you perceive it that way. It's me honestly sharing my feelings. if you feel that it's whining, then you don't have to read. :)
4. If you join in, leave a link to your post. I'll stop by and read and comment.
5. If you are reading my blog today or if you read any of the blogs linked, please leave a comment.
1. I am so stinking tired of being sick 50% of my life. I know, I know, I should be a "good Catholic" and "offer it up," but if one more person tells me to to that, I am going to punch them. Or put the eye on them. Seriously. How can a statement meant to be helpful sound so darn condescending? STOP IT. Being sick stinks and I don't want to be told what to do about it. Don't tell me to go see a doctor either. Been there, done that. I'm doctored out. When I'm good and ready, I'll go again to try to find the source of my various ailments for the 7213198642916935th time. Back off.
2. Chauvinists give me anxiety attacks. Also anger problems. I wish I could sincerely, authentically blog my heart about this one, but that wouldn't be prudent. ARGH.
3. I'm super excited about redoing my room. Painting is done, including the ceiling and trim. Curtain rod & curtains are up. My books are stacked up off of the shelves and I'm ready to head to IKEA later today. Me and my snotty, wheezy self. It's gonna be fun. My room will be beeeeautiful. Yellow, white, with grey chevrons. Classy.
4. I'm struggling to find a direction for my life currently. When people ask me what I want to do with myself, all I really want to say is "get married and start a family." But society has made that an uncool thing to say. People think I'm kidding. But really... that's all I want to do. I want to have a husband, a home, and babies. I really, earnestly, authentically believe that's what I'm called to do. I just can't find a man willing to hitch his horses to my wagon and go. (Weird metaphor, sorry. But you get my point.)
5. I despise the stigma surrounding mental illness. Getting personal here, I have PTSD. I do. I have my good days, but I also have my really, really bad days. I have my really horribly bad moments. But when I tell people (aside from my PTSD suffering family members and a handful of very close friends) that I have this problem, they laugh. I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. And here I am, a girl who required years of therapy to get to the point where she could acknowledge that she had a problem that wasn't her fault, but was the fault of the men who cruelly abused her for years, and it that it is a real problem, being laughed at because... I don't even know why they laugh at me. Is it because they don't believe PTSD is a real problem? Or that I don't really have it? Or does mental illness make people so uncomfortable that all they can do is laugh because to actually acknowledge it and connect to the sufferer in a real way is too frightening?
6. I am excited for Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. I love cooking. I love food. I love our traditional walk to the neighborhood park between dinner and dessert. I need to get my gratitude on, though. Reading back on this post, I really need to get my gratitude on. Time to be thankful for things.
7. I am obsessed with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Seriously. OBSESSED. I've watched every episode at least twice. Agent Grant Ward? Dreamy. I love his clean-cut, professional attitude, alongside his deep and fierce loyalty to his team. I love his complexity and his drama that is portrayed so well through a lack of drama. I would like to marry him, please&thank you. And those abs? and pecs? and triceps? meeeeelting.
That's all, folks. xoxo
The "rules" (I hate calling things rules. They're more like guidelines, anyway. But I love following rules. Weird, I know), copied, pasted, and edited to be relevant from Stephanie's lovely post.
1. blog whatever is authentic. whatever is truly on your mind and in your heart.
2. It can be serious, silly, short, long. NOTE:no one said it has to be serious. But it should be authentic.
3. No judging allowed no snarky comments, no making fun, no passive agressive digs.If you are going to read the blogs linked below, don't be mean. Nothing here is whining, though I can't help it if you perceive it that way. It's me honestly sharing my feelings. if you feel that it's whining, then you don't have to read. :)
4. If you join in, leave a link to your post. I'll stop by and read and comment.
5. If you are reading my blog today or if you read any of the blogs linked, please leave a comment.
1. I am so stinking tired of being sick 50% of my life. I know, I know, I should be a "good Catholic" and "offer it up," but if one more person tells me to to that, I am going to punch them. Or put the eye on them. Seriously. How can a statement meant to be helpful sound so darn condescending? STOP IT. Being sick stinks and I don't want to be told what to do about it. Don't tell me to go see a doctor either. Been there, done that. I'm doctored out. When I'm good and ready, I'll go again to try to find the source of my various ailments for the 7213198642916935th time. Back off.
2. Chauvinists give me anxiety attacks. Also anger problems. I wish I could sincerely, authentically blog my heart about this one, but that wouldn't be prudent. ARGH.
3. I'm super excited about redoing my room. Painting is done, including the ceiling and trim. Curtain rod & curtains are up. My books are stacked up off of the shelves and I'm ready to head to IKEA later today. Me and my snotty, wheezy self. It's gonna be fun. My room will be beeeeautiful. Yellow, white, with grey chevrons. Classy.
4. I'm struggling to find a direction for my life currently. When people ask me what I want to do with myself, all I really want to say is "get married and start a family." But society has made that an uncool thing to say. People think I'm kidding. But really... that's all I want to do. I want to have a husband, a home, and babies. I really, earnestly, authentically believe that's what I'm called to do. I just can't find a man willing to hitch his horses to my wagon and go. (Weird metaphor, sorry. But you get my point.)
5. I despise the stigma surrounding mental illness. Getting personal here, I have PTSD. I do. I have my good days, but I also have my really, really bad days. I have my really horribly bad moments. But when I tell people (aside from my PTSD suffering family members and a handful of very close friends) that I have this problem, they laugh. I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. And here I am, a girl who required years of therapy to get to the point where she could acknowledge that she had a problem that wasn't her fault, but was the fault of the men who cruelly abused her for years, and it that it is a real problem, being laughed at because... I don't even know why they laugh at me. Is it because they don't believe PTSD is a real problem? Or that I don't really have it? Or does mental illness make people so uncomfortable that all they can do is laugh because to actually acknowledge it and connect to the sufferer in a real way is too frightening?
6. I am excited for Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. I love cooking. I love food. I love our traditional walk to the neighborhood park between dinner and dessert. I need to get my gratitude on, though. Reading back on this post, I really need to get my gratitude on. Time to be thankful for things.
7. I am obsessed with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Seriously. OBSESSED. I've watched every episode at least twice. Agent Grant Ward? Dreamy. I love his clean-cut, professional attitude, alongside his deep and fierce loyalty to his team. I love his complexity and his drama that is portrayed so well through a lack of drama. I would like to marry him, please&thank you. And those abs? and pecs? and triceps? meeeeelting.
That's all, folks. xoxo
24 October 2013
Yet Another Trip to the ER
Tuesday night, my feet were cold. This is a rare occurrence. My feet rarely get cold. I despise socks, but I put some on, out of some desire to be mature and normal for once.
I came down the carpeted stairs without incident. My luck ran out when I headed down the tile and laminate stairs.
One of my fuzzy-sock covered hit the edge of the step and I slid. My left hip landed hard on the laminate-covered-concrete step. My left elbow cracked against the tile. My peanut butter and chocolate chips flew out of the paper cup and onto the floor. All three of these things were tragedies. The peanut butter and chocolate mess was cleared up easily. The other two things have had longer-lasting results.
I couldn't sit or bend my elbow or hip at all on Tuesday night. It made watching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and New Girl difficult. I was in tears all evening and was kept up all night with the pain.
I went to work Wednesday morning. I lasted an hour. After 10 minutes, I was sweating bullets and vomiting from the pain. I called in a sub (the doctor's wife, who I woke up... go me) and waited for her to get there.
Mum was convinced I broke a bone. I wasn't so sure. Yes, my butt was swollen and blue to the point that I couldn't get pants on, but they were just bruises. In the end, the pain was so bad, though, that I had to stop arguing.
You see, guys, I don't cry about pain. Anyone who went to school with me knows this. My pain tolerance is through-the-roof high. When you dislocate joints several times a day, your body adapts. But I was crying yesterday.
So we went to the ER.
There was a small problem: we arrived with a life-flight helicopter and two ambulances. We were also following after 3 other life-flight helicopters and 8 more ambulances. There had been three enormous accidents within about 5 miles of the hospital.
It was crazy in that hospital. People were running around, scrambling from one trauma to another, bumping into each other, and shouting orders and vital signs. It was like a scene from ER. (Dr. Carter is adorable and I would marry him.)
They kept apologizing for the wait, but I kept reassuring them that it was ok. I just had fallen down stairs. No life-threatening injuries. Please, just take care of the dying people.
I had a glamorous bed, parked on the side of a hallway. People kept looking at my butt. I recommend against bruising your hip because it shows up on your butt and then people keep having to look at it. I had x-rays. Each of the six seemed to be an exercise in how to make my pain even worse. I got drugs.
After a few hours, I was told "you bounce, but don't break" and was sent home with a pain med prescription and orders to rest.
Hence this blog post. I'm home, lying uncomfortably. There is no comfortable position for these severe contusions. Poor me. I am feeling freaking sorry for myself. MY BUTTOCK IS BLUE. MY ELBOW DOESN'T REALLY BEND. WTH????
At least I have My Antonia, which is a beautiful book.
I came down the carpeted stairs without incident. My luck ran out when I headed down the tile and laminate stairs.
One of my fuzzy-sock covered hit the edge of the step and I slid. My left hip landed hard on the laminate-covered-concrete step. My left elbow cracked against the tile. My peanut butter and chocolate chips flew out of the paper cup and onto the floor. All three of these things were tragedies. The peanut butter and chocolate mess was cleared up easily. The other two things have had longer-lasting results.
I couldn't sit or bend my elbow or hip at all on Tuesday night. It made watching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and New Girl difficult. I was in tears all evening and was kept up all night with the pain.
I went to work Wednesday morning. I lasted an hour. After 10 minutes, I was sweating bullets and vomiting from the pain. I called in a sub (the doctor's wife, who I woke up... go me) and waited for her to get there.
Mum was convinced I broke a bone. I wasn't so sure. Yes, my butt was swollen and blue to the point that I couldn't get pants on, but they were just bruises. In the end, the pain was so bad, though, that I had to stop arguing.
You see, guys, I don't cry about pain. Anyone who went to school with me knows this. My pain tolerance is through-the-roof high. When you dislocate joints several times a day, your body adapts. But I was crying yesterday.
So we went to the ER.
There was a small problem: we arrived with a life-flight helicopter and two ambulances. We were also following after 3 other life-flight helicopters and 8 more ambulances. There had been three enormous accidents within about 5 miles of the hospital.
It was crazy in that hospital. People were running around, scrambling from one trauma to another, bumping into each other, and shouting orders and vital signs. It was like a scene from ER. (Dr. Carter is adorable and I would marry him.)
They kept apologizing for the wait, but I kept reassuring them that it was ok. I just had fallen down stairs. No life-threatening injuries. Please, just take care of the dying people.
I had a glamorous bed, parked on the side of a hallway. People kept looking at my butt. I recommend against bruising your hip because it shows up on your butt and then people keep having to look at it. I had x-rays. Each of the six seemed to be an exercise in how to make my pain even worse. I got drugs.
After a few hours, I was told "you bounce, but don't break" and was sent home with a pain med prescription and orders to rest.
Hence this blog post. I'm home, lying uncomfortably. There is no comfortable position for these severe contusions. Poor me. I am feeling freaking sorry for myself. MY BUTTOCK IS BLUE. MY ELBOW DOESN'T REALLY BEND. WTH????
At least I have My Antonia, which is a beautiful book.
19 October 2013
Checking In
It's just me. Checking in.
Life is still going. I still work, I still play.
Today I tackled my first spackling job ever. That was fun. No, seriously. It was awesome fun. It was sorta like finger-painting. And y'all know that I'm the type of girl who would love finger-painting. And I do.
I wish I had something to blog about. I really do. A funny story or something... but my brain is this fog of fogginess, and I'm pretty sure nothing coherent will come out of it tonight.
I will share photos when my room redo is done. I'm being an independent young woman and overhauling my room. It will be a new color and be super organized. It will also allow me to move my sewing and scrapbooking messes to live together with my clothes mess. In an organized way, of course. That way my mother, who makes no messes ever won't have to look at my messes anymore. Yay! Maturity is fun! :)
Wow, my sentences are sounding weirder and weirder the longer I type.
G'night...
Life is still going. I still work, I still play.
Today I tackled my first spackling job ever. That was fun. No, seriously. It was awesome fun. It was sorta like finger-painting. And y'all know that I'm the type of girl who would love finger-painting. And I do.
I wish I had something to blog about. I really do. A funny story or something... but my brain is this fog of fogginess, and I'm pretty sure nothing coherent will come out of it tonight.
I will share photos when my room redo is done. I'm being an independent young woman and overhauling my room. It will be a new color and be super organized. It will also allow me to move my sewing and scrapbooking messes to live together with my clothes mess. In an organized way, of course. That way my mother, who makes no messes ever won't have to look at my messes anymore. Yay! Maturity is fun! :)
Wow, my sentences are sounding weirder and weirder the longer I type.
G'night...
14 October 2013
The Biggest Show | Photo Set
Young Storytellers Foundation, The Biggest Show 2013
with Mindy Kaling, Max Greenfield, Rashida Jones, John Cho, Ed Helms, and the Sklar Brothers
If you don't know about the awesome people at this fantastic foundation, you should look them up. They are great. Teaching literacy through screenwriting. Or, in other words, making school fun.
The show was Saturday. It was hilarious. Looking forward to attending another one!
with Mindy Kaling, Max Greenfield, Rashida Jones, John Cho, Ed Helms, and the Sklar Brothers
If you don't know about the awesome people at this fantastic foundation, you should look them up. They are great. Teaching literacy through screenwriting. Or, in other words, making school fun.
The show was Saturday. It was hilarious. Looking forward to attending another one!
The screenwriters
He's... staring.
King and Queen of Candy
Getting caught in the dragon tail.
Crying dragon.
Cracking.Up.
Mindy Kaling as Lil Wayne
Blind animals trying to high-five
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