bodyimage – Brooke Lyn Landon

My Three Biggest Insecurities

224AF776-9994-45C1-AA64-B463301356F6 I think it’s safe to say, having insecurities is something we can all relate to. I don’t know why I feel so inclined to talk about my biggest insecurities, but I have a feeling this will make people laugh, and by the end, leave you feeling inspired. Not to mention, I’ll roast the shit out of myself, and who wouldn’t want to hear that? Without further ado, here are my three biggest insecurities.

Let’s start with my hair. Rather than my hair, I should say lack thereof. It’s so damn thin, I’m one hair pull away from looking like Danny DeVito. I brush my hair as carefully as Gollum polishing off his precious ring to avoid losing a single strand. Sometimes, I’m convinced I’m watching that scene in The Lord of The Rings when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning.

However, looking back, I remember one of my biggest insecurities growing up was my hair itself. I hated the way it looked, and straitened it for so many years that most people had no idea what my real hair actually looked like. Now, I love my Jew curls, and wish I could have seen the beauty in it then. I also wish I could see more of the beauty in whatever left of it I have now.

Next, we have my back. Sounds strange in theory, but it’s not when I’m walking in front of you, now looking like a mix between Danny DeVito and Jessica Simpson… During her pregnancy. There’s this tiny accumulation of fat in my mid to upper back that makes it seem as though I’m about to sprout wings. If I’m not careful, I’ll be able to fly myself back to the US for the holidays. At least I’d save some money. Maybe I’m being a little extra with that statement. I’m not waddling around like Eric Cartman right after Halloween or anything. It’s just not cute, and the thought of exposing my back in a bikini makes my wings shudder from nerves.

Yet, who’s to say it’s not cute? I remember seeing two girls in bikinis at a river while I was with a guy I had spent the last few weeks traveling with. One of the girls looked like she was just on the cover of Vogue Magazine. I said “Damn, look at her body!” He asked who I was referring too, and responded to my answer with “I like her friends body better.” To her side, was a girl who had a little belly, curves, and a relatable back roll. Nothing wrong with any of that, but I wasn’t expecting him to have that response while standing next to such a bombshell. He had little to no interest in miss wingless Vogue Cover Girl.

Lastly, (not actually last, but for the sake of time it is.) we have my mouth. Not my literal mouth. People pay to have lips as fat as mine. I’m taking about my inability to shut the fuck up sometimes. If I get excited or nervous, I’ll talk your ear off. Filters no longer exist and I’ll be sounding like an auctioneer in no time.

To be honest though, that’s an insecurity I’ve been embracing. Yes, at times it can get a bit out of control, but it’s a gift. I have the gift of gab, and I’d rather have to learn to reel it in sometimes, than not have such a gift at all.

All of those things we call insecurities now, will either continue, or be replaced with the next part of us that we choose to negativity focus on. That is, until we decide throw our middle fingers up and say fuck what the world has programmed us to accept about ourselves. All of what we call “shortcomings” are illusions and become accomplishments once we overcome them. It’s all a gift.

There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with you. The insecurities we perceive were created by our past because we didn’t know any better at the time, and that’s okay. You’re not alone. Now, we know better. So lets start rewriting our stories.

Bad and Boujee

Urban dictionary defines boujee as.”High class, flossin’, ballin’, One who posesses swag. Always on fashion trends. Elite, rich.” Right now, I’m getting a $4 pedicure in Hanoi, Vietnam, and am bra-less, in a shirt I bought in Thailand for $5. I’m also rocking $12 sweat pants I got in Japan because I didn’t want to do the walk of shame in my booty shorts from the night before. Yet, I’m still feeling Bad and Boujee.

Whatever you’re feeling has very little to do with what’s happening outside of yourself. Certainly, getting a pedicure while sipping tea is a big contributing factor to me feeling badass and boujee af, but it ultimately it is how you interpret life internally that sets the tone for the way you feel. If a lad roasts me for my ballsy outfit, I have a few options. One option is to be a little bitch and change clothes. Or, I can think he’s just not as innovative, creative, confident, or badass as I am, and continue my bad and boujee feels.

Outside influences can so easily deter us from feeling our best. We’re accustomed to comparing ourselves to the limiting constructs that our society has inflicted on us. It’s all make believe, and we’ve done it to ourselves. As in, we believe something so much that it makes the reality we perceive. hence the word make believe. We make it believable.

I’ve been feeling somewhat insecure at times. I’m constantly surrounded by beautiful people that are nearly a decade younger than I am. I’ve compared myself to other girls and felt like if I searched “past their prime” into google images, my picture would be there. But I’m fucking fire. Inside and out I am perfectly imperfect and I love it. I’m beautiful. You’re beautiful. Beauty comes in every form, and it’s what we make ourselves believe that will determine if we feel bad and boujee or just strait up bad.

I’m not here preaching like I’m peachy all of the time and life always feels good. I get sad. Things irritate me. Earlier, I felt like rolling my eyes the moment anyone tried to talk to me because I was peopled out, and didn’t want to deal with humans. However, the opportunity for change always exists. I don’t know about you, but I’m choosing to consciously make my life a fairy tale, and it’s titled Bad and Boujee. Who’s with me?

Relapsing

Traveling the world the past 6 months has been the ultimate mode of healing in terms of transcending old beliefs, and addictive disorderly thinking and behaviors. I have never been less concerned about what I did, ate, or how I was perceived. However, it’s common to get to a point where we think we’ve done all the work we need in a certain area of our lives, only to discover there’s more we need to climb before we reach the mountains peak. That’s what happened to me this past weekend when I went to Ha Long Bay, Vietnam.

It’s everyone’s dream to get paid to party on a private island with guests for several nights. I knew my liver wouldn’t be thrilled, but I was. Then, things took a turn for the worse.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how I went from Lindsey Lohan pre Parent Trap, to her post Mean Girls. I’m kidding to a certain extent. I didn’t go crazy and go to jail, or whatever that chick did during her scandals. What I did was go back to my old ways of thinking and behaving.

I began to feel insecure, binge, and feel tremendous guilt for everything I ate or drank. I know I still have some reflecting and contemplating to do in order to trace back and acknowledge how this all manifested. There are however a few triggers that seem more obvious.

My co tour guide, Lu, is a sweet young girl from Germany. She’s also hot af. Standing next to her was the equivalent of super model Heidi Klum next to Snookie from her Jersey Shore days. All the guys drooled over her like they were on the Survivor reality Tv show, and they were about to eat their first meal since going off the island they had been stranded on for months. I felt utterly invisible, and undesirable. The large buffet style meals they served were something that took me ages to face again after rehab because that was my eating disorders happy place. As you can imagine, when that’s in front of me while I’m feeling like an ugly old fart, it’s a recipe for disaster. Also, the extensive drinking and empty calories certainly weren’t positively contributing to my body or mind. My self control and self esteem fell harder than a fat kid on a seesaw.

I’m looking at that temporary digression from a new and higher perspective. It’s an opportunity for growth, transcendence, forgiveness, and self love. In the past when I’ve relapsed I beat myself up. This time I’m more forgiving, accepting, and loving towards myself. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as bad, nor did I go as far as I did in the past when I went back to some of my old ways, but regardless, I digressed. Now though, I’m perceiving it more as a success because of how I’m handling it. I’m not saying having done that was a good thing. I am saying shit happens, and how you handle it can change your future. At the end of the day, I’m living my best life in Vietnam, but sometimes you have to go through ebbs in life so you can flow more smoothly after.

What it was like to be in a Bathhouse in a Foreign Country

Originally I had little interest in going to an onsen when I was in Japan. I can’t imagine many people blaming me for not wanting to get butt ass naked, and bathe with strangers, after having spent the last several months shoveling food in my face like a squirrel getting ready for hibernation. Still, I put my big girl panties on… or should I say took off, and headed to the bathhouse.

A Sesame Street game might seem irrelevant to my experience at a bathhouse in Japan, but it gives a great visual representation of my life at that time. In this game, they place several items down. One of which is clearly out of place. For example, an apple, an orange, and a squirrel. Then, they begin to sing “One of these things don’t belong with the other.” and the child has to guess which it is. You see where I’m going with this? When I was in the onsen in Japan, I was the squirrel.

It’s safe to say I’m not your typical petite Asian chick. Yeah, I’m 5 foot nothing, but that doesn’t mean my love handles and thic thighs instantly vanish like my self esteem did in middle school. Granted, I have no problem with the way my legs are, minus chafing on a hot summer day, but again, I was the squirrel.

At first my mind raced faster than my heart after I think someone might have accidentally seen a risqué photo in my camera roll. My thoughts consisted of… They’ll all stare. There is no way they’ll miss my cellulite and that upper back roll that I see slightly beginning to appear. Will they think I’m a greedy fat ass who has no self control?

Then, I entered the locker room. Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceilings. The relaxing spa music and cleanliness instantly gave me a sense of tranquility. All fear vanished and I was filled with curiosity and joy. Whether I felt that way simply because of the ambiance, or more so because I was on a high from feeling bougie af, is still yet to be determined.

I certainly compared the women’s naked bodies around me and saw the many differences. Obviously not in like a creepy sexual way. I felt more and more at ease as I saw the beauty in all of our differences and especially when I noticed people were not staring at me like I was the squirrel.

The baths themselves were so relaxing and beyond what I had imagined. From hot baths and cold baths, to lying down baths and silk baths, I tried them all with peace and fulfillment. It was hands down one of the highlights of my trip.

That’s not to say insecurities didn’t arise. I’m sure there was a moment I wish I hadn’t had that Pad Thái binging spree in Thailand. At the end of the day, that’s insignificant compared to the happiness, acceptance, and triumph I felt when it was all said and done.

To think I almost let that experience slip away makes me more determined to go beyond my fears and insecurities in the future. If there is one take away from this that trumps the rest, it’s don’t let the fact you feel like a squirrel stop you from an experience you’ll grow from. Also, if your ever near a bathhouse, just get your ass naked and have fun with it.

Does Size Matter?

Initially reading the title of this post, I’m certain a lot of curiosity arose. I’m sure at least a few people considered searching through their emojis to find the eggplant to accompany the comment with their thoughts on the matter. Sure, I could be referring to a dick, a pant size, or an eggplant, but that’s not all.

Well, does size matter? My answer is yes and no. For everything in existence, there is someone on this planet who will think it matters, and others who will not. Something matters to everyone, but it only matters how it matters to you and what you do about it.

Anyone else’s assumptions on what matters could change. When you embrace your size or opinion, and the beauty you have to offer, you have the power to shift the perspectives of others. Also, your mood can drastically change from Squidward to SpongeBob based off of what you realize truly matters to you.

Some days I feel so bloated I imagine others perceive me as that chick Violet from Willy Wonka when she chews the gum, and blows up like a gigantic blueberry. I feel like any moment I’ll have Oompa Loompa‘s rushing towards me to roll me away. I can’t imagine on those days people are actually looking at me like I’m a sumo wrestler, but my energy certainly isn’t offering a milkshake that’ll bring all the boys to my yard.

Other days, I wake up having the confidence of Beyoncé and give less fucks than Kanye West. I could look the same as I did the day I felt like Violet, but my mindset shifted my reality. If I’m beaming, walking like a hot piece of ass, people will be drawn to that energy in a positive way. What matters is how you feel and how you present yourself to the world.

When I asked if size mattered I said yes and no, but I’ve actually change my mind. It absofuckinglutely does not matter. Size doesn’t matter. Feelings matter. Focus on lifting your spirits. Then, wether it’s the size of your pants, bra, dick, or eggplant, it will be something to appreciate.

How I Feel About My Body Image Since Traveling

C380A78D-9673-4DA8-9012-F97FFA8C5D20 A big part of traveling the world is experiencing the culture, and that includes the food. What happens when you consume an absurd amount of pad thai and befriend a bunch of bros who eat about six meals a day? You guessed it. Thighs that are thicker than the minds of those who don’t believe in global warming.

Before traveling the world, I was a fitness instructor, I worked out seven days a week, and was vegan. Not the vegan that still eats vegan ice cream and french fries. The kind of vegan that looks at the package at a grocery store for 10 minutes to make sure they know all of the ingredients. So, as you can imagine, a lot changes both physically and mentally when your daily health and fitness routine goes from Kayla the fitness guru, to Honey Boo-Boo.

Having struggled with a sever eating disorder for years, it’s not hard to guess my initial reaction to my reflection as my body changed was not a positive one.

“It looks like I have a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego.” Was the kind of internal dialogue I would have when I had to get dressed in the morning.

Somehow, someway, things started to shift. I couldn’t even tell you why or how. I started to live more freely. I began to look at my curves as sexy. I was beyond grateful that I allowed myself to eat what I wanted, and experience the culture, without the excessive guilt or counting calories endless times a day like I used to.

Between the liberation of eating what I want without internally freaking out, and having people like me for me, it’s easy to see I used to give a fuck about all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons. I realize that if I was the twig I had wished I was, I’d want to look more like me now. You want what you can’t have. Even though society says one type of beauty trumps the rest, I beg to differ. Plenty of people prefer having something to hold on to, in which case, I have no shortage here.

My mother tells me “There’s a cover for every pot.” That I believe to be true. For every body type, there are plenty of others who’d admire the beauty of it. However, the most important thing to be able to do is cover your own pot. You can always trade lids when another comes along, but you don’t want to be left feeling cold because of the way you feel about who you are or how you look. I’m hoping that metaphor comes across as good as it did in my head.

Did I grieve today when I couldn’t fit into the pants I tried on in a store in Japan? Yes, but mainly because they were sexy af and I would have worn them so much. Gosh, I’m getting so salty just thinking about it. Let’s be real though, I do not have the physique of a typical Japanese woman, and that I’m okay with. Do I wish my body was different? Also yes. Though I appreciate what I have and how I am, I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all my extra fluff. Some is great, but I’d love to distribute the rest to my ass if I’m being honest.

If I was huffing and puffing like a chain smoker with asthma after walking down the block, that’s one thing. However, that’s not the case. Im living my best life, doing just fine. In fact, more than fine. Beautiful curves and all.