LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: body image (Page 1 of 4)

OCD 1,2,3

**Ok folks – I’m talking OCD (obviously), body image, a tiny bit about self harm and A LOT about checking … This is your heads up warning!**

Alternative title: My fingers are numb, rain and hail are bouncing off my face mixing with the tears, I’m sobbing … I’m counting … I can’t seem to stop, because it doesn’t feel safe. Because it isn’t safe. Because I can’t feel my fingers the ritual feels broken … I’m hunched over the drivers side door, yanking at the handle … Over and over and over. 

It’s assumed that when you crack the ritual once, that you have cracked the OCD cycle, but it isn’t true. Some days go by without checking being at the forefront of your mind, other days you spiral and find yourself back in that all-consuming place … Stuck in a loop. The need to complete the ritual overriding everything else and panic floods your system with each ritual that fails to complete.

Lost to a cycle of broken rituals.

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Back to Therapy

**Not sure if there needs to be a warning but hey ho – I’m talking negative body image folks so heads up**

Alternative title: Because sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees. 

“And how do you feel about yourself?” She asks as she flips over the page of her notebook.

I wish she hadn’t asked me that. I sigh. I furrow my brow. The word is already there, on the tip on my tongue … Acidic. Abrasive. I really wish she hadn’t asked me that.

“I’m … ” I start, the tears already burning my eyes, I don’t want them to fall, I will them to stay where they are, eye balls swimming in them “… Grotesque”.

I say the word with a sickening level of warmth, as though doing so would cushion the meaning of it … It’s a word that my brain uses to taunt my reflection with, my brain never uses warmth.

The word just hangs there in the space between us, her eyes focused on me … I can feel them, I don’t meet them. It just stays there, along with silence … And I can’t decide which is more devastating.

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Rise of the Pole Dancer

Alternative title: New Instructor, New Moves, Same Ole Ruebi? … Judging by the amount of times I’ve shrieked “I have a flapjack wedgie” and “well, I don’t need to shave there anytime soon” I can safely say that yes, I’m the same ole Ruebi … And yes, front wedgies are as painful as they sound!  

My hands are blistering, my thighs are burning and I feel dizzy from the spins but the anger I felt pre-class has dissipated and what remains is a mixture of contentment and respect. Pole Dancing isn’t just a sport for me, it’s part of my therapy – It pushes me outside of my comfort zone in a manner that gives me control over the Anxiety and Depression, it allows me to vent frustration/anger in positive ways, it shows me how strong my body and mind are and it allows me to interact with an amazing group of supportive and body positive women.

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Aerial Hoop

Alternative title: My feet are pressed against the fabric wrap, the metal resting against my neck, I steady my breath, I steady my heart and release my hands from the hoop…

S had initially talked me into the Aerial Hoop taster session in the hopes of finding an alternative to Pole Class (our instructor has been rather unreliable of late) … It soon became a necessary distraction as my Depression started to take hold. And distraction it was! The moment I saw the hoop my mind was suddenly focused on the poses, the steps it took to complete them, in awe of the body as it pushed itself further and further.

The body silenced the mind … It silenced the demons.

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