truebluemeandyou: Me Met, Me Married, We Live. Reblogging because. Read my post on why I reblog.
DIY Love Map. Found at Minimoz here. This has been posted on tumblr, but not taken from the original tutorial site, thus those posts have blurry and small images. Love this idea. Could be changed to birth, school, present or whatever you want. Cheap and clever. My favorite things.
The night before her husband’s burial, Katherine Cathey sleeps next to her husband, 2nd Lt. James Cathey, USMC (killed in Iraq), for the last time. Katherine refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before falling asleep, she opened her laptop and played songs that reminded her of “Cat”. One of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept. “I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it,” she replied. “I think that’s what he would have wanted.”
I can’t decide who is more honorable: the faithful wife lying next to her husband at the very end or the Marines standing guard over them both throughout the night.
This really doesn’t seem healthy. But everyone deals with grief in a different way I suppose. Maybe it’s different if you’ve not seen them in months, I don’t know. Beautiful photo anyway.
Instead of weighing yourself, take personal stock in a more direct fashion. Feel your body, including all the soft parts, the ones you like and the ones you don’t. Look at yourself in a large mirror. Naked. Every day. If I were a pessimist I’d call this aversion therapy, but really it’s meant to get you familiar with yourself on a seriously intimate level. Resist the urge to judge; just look.
If it helps, imagine you are exploring an unknown territory on another world, and you must memorize every feature. Mounds and crevices and varied textures are not unpleasant in a landscape; they simply exist. See everything, as often as you can stand it, until you know your body thoroughly. After all, this IS what your body looks like, whether you are seeing it or not.
On a day to day basis, we are quite capable of relying on our own personal knowledge of our bodies to tell us how we’re doing, how we’re feeling, and whether anything has changed — without a scale to help. We don’t need a scale. We don’t need a number. We can know when we have gained or lost weight, when something doesn’t look right, when we feel strange or unwell. In order for this to work, we have to cultivate a bodily knowledge, and I believe the scale is an obstacle to that.
With its numbers and its complex web of possible meaning, the scale stands between our bodies and our fullest conscious awareness of them; it defines us by pounds and not by how we actually feel; it enables us to rely on a number to tell us we are doing things right, instead of empowering us to decide when we feel our best.
The scale contributes to a culture that tells us that if we weigh more than X or less than Y then we cannot be happy with ourselves. And that, frankly, is bullshit.
ASK LESLEY: How Do I Stop Hating My Body (Part One) @ XOJane.com (via curvesahead)
Agreed! I think most people know what’s the weight they feel happiest at, for a number of factors, like what they’re healthiest at etc. mine was at around 9-9 1/2 stone (I’m 5’5”) when i was doing karate. I felt healthy and not ‘slim’ but more like my body matched itself and felt happiest with itself. Now i’m over that and I don’t’ exercise as much I feel down and squishy in the wrong sort of way, because it’s over what i feel happy at. My body doesn’t feel right and I dislike that. Now, I could have felt at that perfect equilibrium if I was at 20 stone - it doesn’t matter the actual weight, but it’s how you feel and how sexy and confident and healthy you feel, see? Not numbers, just feelings. The same applies for shaving ourself or makeup or how you dress - you go by you and don’t let anyone make you feel crap. And you can learn to love yourself as well anyway. so….it’s a mix. But none of that mix is on a weighting scale.
I would watch a movie about gay monk romance SO HARD. Ever since I did that ‘heresy & monasticism in mediaeval Europe’ module at uni, and ended up writing my dissertation about Franciscans, I’ve just fallen in love with monastic history.
I’m a sad sad git.
Anyway, why isn’t thsi a real film? *le sniffle*