Have you ever waked through a mall and felt either insanely targeted or extremely ignored by retailers? Does it ever feel like the 21st century is a mess of physical & “psychological warfare in the form of advertising” (Esmail, 14)?
If so, that’s usually a valid reality that is not only encouraged by managers within stores, but also executives and shareholders at the top of many film studio corporations and companies. Continue reading
For a couple of weeks, I have noticed something that has been circling my life, that something is oppression. Continue reading
As I was growing up I went to the farm house every Eid-Al-Adha to make sacrifices of cows, goats, lambs, etc. This is a religious obligation that every muslim person has to perform. Growing up to this practice it became a norm for me. But for these past couple of years, I’ve come to the realization that this practice is not performed properly most of the time.
Every day I question my appearance. I ask myself, what makes me ……. me? If I lose a part of me will I still be me? These questions may not make sense to you but these are some things that I ask myself. Continue reading
I’ve had a few jobs growing up and nothing has shaped my body like being a waitress. I worked at a Mexican restaurant and our most popular dish was fajitas. If you’ve never had fajitas you have to know they are served with two plates: an iron plate for the meats (or veggies) and then a separate plate for all of the sides. Being our most popular dish, I would often end up with a table of four customers that would all order fajitas. I was petite, and balancing four iron plates on one hand and a tray stand on the other proved to be a difficult task, especially when I had to squeeze through a crowded bar. I could do it, but I wasn’t as fast as the men I worked with. The men, being taller and stronger, were given sections with up to six tables, I was stuck with three. My lack of strength was affecting my income and I had to take action. I couldn’t make myself any taller but I could definitely get buff. I began lifting weights and practicing after hours with empty plates on a tray until I proved I was strong enough to be given more tables. I wasn’t as strong as the guys, but I could carry my own weight.
My father passed away a few years ago. I have never felt such grief as I did when I received the phone call. It was early in the morning and I was still sleeping. I awoke to the vibrating phone and saw that it was my Mom. I thought to myself, “she never calls this early. something must be wrong.” I could hear her sorrow through the receiver. Continue reading
Growing up, I had never been very comfortable with my body, specifically in terms of my weight. Throughout high school I was never the most girly or skinny but I was generally okay with that. Uncomfortable at times yes, but I had friends, I played sports and did generally well in school academically so I didn’t have a very unpleasant high school experience. I enjoyed it a lot actually. It wasn’t until after l left my home town and would come back to visit friends and family that I started questioning the way I viewed myself as well as how others viewed me then and now. Without a doubt every time I go home and see someone from high school, close friends, and sometimes even parents of friends, that I haven’t seen in a while, one of the first things that they comment on is my weight. Usually things like, oh my god, you’ve lost so much weight or you look so good now, have you been working out a lot? What’s your secret? And every once in a while someone will add to the end of the comment “not that you ever looked bad or big, you just look really good now.” I tell myself to just take the compliment, but it’s hard to just take it when there is an underlying negative aspect that I can’t help but to associate with it. These comments really have me self-reflecting a lot because I weigh maybe five to ten pounds lighter than I did in high school, do I really look that different?
Most of the weight loss is not a healthy weight loss. Which took me a long time to realize. More so result of not taking time to eat properly because of stress and anxiety and a general lack of appetite because of it. But everyone responds to my body like I have lost a drastic amount of weight. This has caused me to think excessively about a time in my life that has long since passed. Was I just the funny fat girl who happened to have pretty friends, and that’s why people hung around me? Or were people friends with me because they genuinely enjoyed my company? Even my mother has made the comment of “she just doesn’t eat anymore” when people comment on my weight loss around her. To everyone else, I have lost weight and that’s such a good thing, but for me the weight loss and comments serve as a constant reminder that I have become temporarily incapable of taking care of myself and body because of the stress, anxiety, and depression that I deal with every day. The past couple years have been the most trying for me mentally so having this constant reminder of that adds another layer to the hardship. Work, school, and other obligations are always put first over making sure that my body is healthy and well taken care of, both physically and mentally.
As a young girl, I started undergoing puberty quite soon. It began at 8 years old to be exact, such that, without medical intervention, I could have gotten my period by age 10. Alarmed, my parents scrambled to find a solution that would both conserve my innocence and manage the unruly growth that didn’t fit the proper timeline.
CW: This post deals with trauma and the resulting mental repercussions and includes mentions of sexual assault and the holocaust.
Ever since I was a baby, people have compared me to my parents. When I was younger, my parents would often be told I resembled my father. As I grew older, the comments changed. I was now told I look almost exactly like my mother. I got my mother’s acute sense of smell and taste. It’s easy to point out the observable traits I inherited from my mother, but I may have gotten even more than that. According to recent scientific studies, my mental health may have been affected by my mother’s trauma. Continue reading
I struggle to type (I’m a great typist, 88 wpm, not to brag or anything) that I suffer from chronic illness. I have an idiopathic immune system “issue” that makes my body more susceptible to bacterial/viral infections. Despite being more wordy, for whatever reason, that’s a lot easier for me to type. So basically, I get sick. A lot.
Unruly Bodies 