I’ve uncovered a truth about the oneness of my body and mind. My physical body thrives when it is allowed to exist in its truest purpose and artistic form. I was created to exist and thrive in art filled spaces. All my movements and sounds are most potent and true in the form of synchronized artistic performance with all energies existing around me. When I am not thriving in harmony with the living organisms of the universe, my body’s outer shell begins slowly dying. Performing the arts in line with creation is the active force that keeps my chakras aligned and opened. The freezing lifeless existence within the construct of society keeps me in bondage and is poising the air that I breathe. My life was never meant to feed on assigned quotas, dictated beauty, fabrications of existence, or even to race against the social construct of time. Life has always been a graceful dance and a melodic song that fortifies the universe and heals the wounded within. Our society punishes those who dwell within this purpose filled artistic existence. Have you ever heard of the starving artists? We feel the crushing weight of capitalism coercing us to give ear to the ultimatum, conform or starve. You have been reading my blogs. Yes? We’ve established so far that I love to eat. Right? Therefore, here I am, in this class trying to make one last attempt to conform for the promise of tomorrow’s meal. I have made myself a promise, however, I will return to my purpose, and live in it unapologetically. Until then, I forgive myself for wanting to eat. You should forgive yourself too but do remember to get back out there before the final number and show the universe how much you really care. Without you dear reader, there is no me.

What are we willing to do to be thought of as pretty or beautiful? Many of us believe so deeply that if we were the textbook definition of beautiful some person will finally love us the way we deserve to be loved. They would fall in love each time they look at us. They will fear losing us and worship the ground that we walk on daily. I think about the hardships I’ve endured in love and the trauma and pain that was inflicted on me by people who didn’t even find me the least bit attractive. I was a zero to them, an empty holding place waiting for the right woman to come take their rightful place and then I would be discarded. I have been audaciously accused of having low self-esteem or low self-image. This is an untruth. I truly believe that we live in a world where people are so shallow that my beauty will never be seen or appreciated. Many people are obsessed with fakeness, and many don’t even know it. The media portrayal of beauty is airbrushed and photoshopped to the highest of heavens. Fabricated beauty is a force-fed high that is infused into the minds of people who will chase it to the ends of the earth (as round as it may be). Sometimes it seems as if the natural arrangement of the human anatomy is no longer the acceptable example of what should attract us. So, lets for a minute look at what happens when we go along with the process and have our bodies altered to fit the cookie cutter idea of beauty. What happens then to the soul of those lucky persons who can acquire the perfect body or look? Do they remain humble or kind? Do they remember how to react or interact with their friends and family? The answer is not always. As a matter of fact, many people don’t know how they fit into their lives anymore. They are new to all the attention, new to the growing attractions of others to them, and sometimes they convince themselves that their peers and family members are jealous of the changes that they are going through. They feel envied for their newfound pretty privilege. How useful is a new lovely body when new wickedness lies within?

With each day growing darker and colder its a wonder that I can still see and that I don’t freeze to death. My body betrays me. I am far to young to feel the vice grip of the inevitable death by obesity. Each visit to the doctor is the same. My concerns are either psychosomatic or a result of my weight. Tuh! Imagine that all my aches and pains are in my mind and if I wasn’t fat, I wouldn’t believe that I’m sick anymore. Is this all that we have gained from modern medicine? I remember thinking to myself that if I could just heat up a huge knife and just cut my stomach off… I could just heal from the burn, but the fat would be gone. I am fully aware that the notion is irrational and absurd when it’s said aloud but nevertheless it was my honest thought process. I spoke to a dear friend who shall remain nameless for the sake of privacy. They offered to pay for liposuction if I found a good surgeon in the area. I called around feverishly. The verdict is out, I am not a candidate for liposuction because my BMI is far too high. My response is one of confusion and hopelessness. How can they expect me to lose half of my body weight before they will consider me for the procedure? Must I truly lose weight before I can lose fat? I began to wonder; how many people probably made this their last attempt before accepting defeat? How many people received this news and then chose to give up on life? Even I was tempted to give up on living in this foreign vessel. What then will happen to those people who cannot imagine living in their bodies for even one more day without a viable solution to address their obesity? Does anyone working in the weight loss industry consider the rejection part of the process? Does anyone even care what happens to people who deal with rejection as a microaggression for years only to be rejected by the very professionals they seek out for help? After this thought process of how easy it is to just give up, I began to make rules for myself regarding eating habits. I will never eat alone. I will never eat in front of strangers. I suffer with such guilt when I eat. I speak to myself saying, “I’m so fat, haven’t I eaten enough”, or “haven’t I eaten more than my share?”. To eat when I’ve clearly overeaten makes me a glutton, doesn’t it? Now that I’m riddled with guilt, I just starve myself because, “how dare I feel entitled to food without a pressing reason to eat?”. The new understanding of the acronym BMI: Bodies Managed Insanely

Emotional labor requires managing emotional expressions as part of one’s job. This includes evoking feelings or suppressing them too. A great example would be a flight attendant who gets paid to suppress negative emotions on the job, and instead evoke respectful, positive feelings to all passengers regardless of the situation. Flight attendants are expected to understand that this is part of their job, and they are getting paid to do so, therefore it is emotional labor.

Over the past few years, researchers have studied the people who are responsible for emotional labor in workplaces. Studies have found that emotional expectations in workplaces are extremely gender biased. In general, women are given the role of emotional caretakers while men are rarely criticized for expressing their feelings however and whenever. In an article published by Saint Catherine University, a list is provided of what women are expected to do in the workplace. The list is as follows:

• Not be too assertive or threatening in meetings

• Possess innate skills in dealing with difficult clients or co-workers

• Offer emotional support to subordinates

• Automatically know how to address gender-related problems in the workplace.

These assumptions and demands are ridiculous for women, or any laborer to follow, especially at times when work can become frustrating. Some consequences from obeying these demands are decreased cognitive energy, fatigue, and reduced worker’s output. There can also be long term effects such as insomnia, loss of memory, and hypertension.

This issue needs to be appropriately addressed in many workplaces, especially ones that put more of the pressure on women. Some steps workplaces can take to change include, but not limited to, showing more appreciation to workers emotional efforts, provide training for all workers to practice ways to deal with emotional conflicts, and offer adequate break times for emotional recovery. Not only will this improve individuals’ mental well-being, but it will also enhance the overall work environment by creating a comfortable, positive atmosphere.

In the past three years, every Papanicolaou test (Pap test, Pap smear) I’ve received has flagged as “abnormal.” A pap smear is a method to screen the cervix for potentially precancerous or cancerous cells in the cervix. The first time you hear/read something in your body is abnormal, you go in to a minor shock. What does this mean? What will this abnormality yield in the future? When a woman gets a Pap smear, it already feels extremely invasive. You lay half naked, with your vagina nearly hanging off of a table, and cold instruments being inserted by a stranger. You don’t know how to comfort yourself through the exam so you spark awkward conversation and drown in anxiety.

Once the Pap smear results return from pathology, you’re either labeled as normal, or abnormal meaning there are cells (lesions) on your cervix that need further examination. The abnormal lesions can either be low-grade squamous intraepithelial lesions (LSIL) or high-grade (HSIL)- a result of the Human Papillomavirus (HPV). HPV is the leading cause of cervical cancer in women. The different strains are classified by the type of mRNA present in the cervical cells. The strains of HPV are then compartmentalized into high-risk (more likely to evolve into cervical cancer within 5-10 years) or low-risk (may revert back to normal cells over time). The strains are identified with numerical indicators- examples would be a high-risk strain type 16 or low-risk strain type 6.

After three abnormal Pap smears back to back, you’re sent for a Colposcopy. A Colposcopy is an exam performed in the doctors office with a colposcope, which is just an inserted microscope. Two solutions are then placed on the lesion: 3-5% dilute acetic acid, and Lugol’s iodine solution. A biopsy is then completed, meaning a piece of your cervix is CUT OUT and placed in a jar. In a doctor’s office. Although the cervix doesn’t possess many nerve endings, the metal instruments feel like you’re being dissected. After the piece of your cervix is removed, a large metal rod is inserted above your cervix and into the uterus to swab for more cells. That was the worst part. Instantly, I cramped and almost threw up. I actually shed a tear and begged the doctor to stop. When the procedure was complete, she told me “you actually handled that very well. Like, wow.” I immediately questioned to myself “how do other women react to this?!” I’ve always managed pain well but, I know others don’t. I feel like a cervical biopsy is….torture? I was then left in a cold room, with one wipe, and a maxi-pad. Go home, everything is fine, you may have some spotting and cramping. After the procedure, I went to class because it was mandatory attendance wise and that was a huge mistake. I sat in the UMBC parking lot for an hour, trying not to vomit.

When I got home, I curled up in bed and couldn’t move. I had a severe panic attack before the procedure. The way the chair sat in the room, the color of the room, the consent form, the doctor. It was all extremely uncomfortable- constantly asking me if I was ready for the procedure as if it was a major surgery only to know there was no anesthesia, no pain medication, no in-depth explanation as to what was about to happen to me…terrifying. I was in the most vulnerable position. My vagina was exposed to three strangers, watching me as if my body were a specimen in a science class.

Women who visit the doctor are often minimized and the procedures we’re expected to endure from strangers are shrugged off. No one acknowledges the elephant in the room- vulnerability. Men go for a colonoscopy to have their prostate examined and receive twilight sedation, are told to have someone drive them, and understand exactly what is happening to them. Women are viewed differently. Maybe it’s due to our child bearing abilities. If we can push out a child, we can be dissected. A woman’s body isn’t viewed with sensitivity and I could tell even as another woman dug out the lining of my uterus.

The anxiety attack lowered my immune system enough to spiral directly in to a flu. I haven’t been sick in 5 years. The procedure was so painful, it induced my period. And not only a period but THE most painful period I have ever endured. Everything after that procedure knocked me down for an entire week and some change. The way a woman’s body is viewed in healthcare has to change.

CW: Pregnancy anxiety (tokophobia), mention of sexual assault

I want to be a mother. Not right now — I’m 20, with a life full of complications and a brain that is not fully developed yet, so I think it’s best I wait a while — but someday. I have always pictured my future through the lens of motherhood: visions of waking up far too early to send the little ones off to school, coming home from work to hugs and toys scattered across the floor, shopping for last-minute school supplies and snacks that probably have too much sugar. 

But — I’ve never wanted to birth a child. I am not equipped for that sort of thing. My health has always been tumultuous, and the thought of growing a child inside the same body that can’t even make it through a blood draw without passing out — just no. I don’t want to share my body with something else; I don’t want the stress of worrying about every awkward movement and strange sensation; I don’t want any of it. And I don’t think I should have to. But no one seems to believe me when I tell them with certainty that I do not want to carry a child.

When I mention wanting my tubes tied, the response is usually one of two questions: “What if your future partner wants a biological child?” or “How can you be sure you won’t regret it?” For the former, that’s great, good for them. But my body is not theirs. There are ways to have a biological child that do not involve my uterus. And for the latter, my honest answer: I can’t be certain. But people do a lot of permanent things they can’t be sure they won’t regret. They have children. 

Even if I was absolutely sure, it’s not like it would matter. I’m 20. No doctor would let me anyway. Women who seek permanent contraceptive surgeries out of medical necessity are often questioned — and sometimes denied — by doctors, so being 20 and getting a tubal ligation is probably out of the question. 

It’s frustrating, feeling like my reproductive potential outweighs my bodily autonomy. I feel like my body is being patrolled. I’m being held hostage by a hypothetical human — not even a fetus, not even a fertilized egg, but the mere possibility of a future child. People will say “just use protection” or “just don’t have sex if you’re so worried,” but, unfortunately, that’s not a guaranteed solution. I know too many people who haven’t had the luxury of that choice. And even protection, birth control, and Plan B aren’t perfect solutions. (It’s worth mentioning that tubal ligation is not infallible, either, and it is not a substitute for condoms, which protect against STDs.)

I just want the choice. I want to decide what happens to my body. I am not a vessel for a future child; I am a person, and I should be treated as such. 

Learning about critical weight studies it made me think if how I precived my body and my realtionship with it. Growing up in middle school I always felt out of place. My realationship with food was not the best but overtime became to be better. Often times it is trained in society to idolize a certain kind of shape to fit in. In reality every type of body is beautiful and should be valued. Our way of being is different and will always be no matter how we look.

Video games. Whether they are set in a fantastical world or in a world similar to ours, gamers and non gamers alike usually find some way to relate to the characters we play with and as. Many times, game developers incorporate things from real life into their games. Whether it be mostly based off of the real world with games like Battlefield 1 (set in World War 1) or something entirely separate from reality like Sky: Children of the Light (a game about fairy children collecting light), players find some enjoyment away from the realities of everyday life.