Month: October 2019

To My Filipina Girls

Marinelle Cabillo

Filipina girl,

Please just keep doing you.

Don’t let these beauty standards tell you what to do.

Fuck those products that make your skin lighter,

I feel like this is something I need to address as a writer.

You don’t need products or surgery to change what you were given,

I wish you inner peace and accept the features you’ll forever live in.

However, I am not one to judge if you go down the surgery route,

But let’s be real we know what this epidemic is all about.

Society and culture tells you that you have to look a certain way,

These things were molded into our minds so young as if our brains were clay.

You’re confused as to why your family tells you to eat more, but will later throw it in your face,

And now you’re wondering why you stare in the mirror and look at your body like its a fucking disgrace.

You’re looking at the people on TV and can’t help but stare,

You’re stuck wondering if you’d feel better about yourself if you were fair.

Fuck that shit, let me say this once cuz I’m a lil’ fighter,

Those people want you to stay insecure and have you wish that your features were “whiter.”

The running joke is that of a Filipino’s nose,

Well let me tell you this, and this is how the new story goes…

I love my nose, my color, and all my Filipino features,

I’ll never deny my background, preachin’ like I’m a preacher.

There’s nothing more sad than discrimination from your own people,

They think if your “Filipino” don’t look the same as theirs then you are not their equal.

Growing up, I never saw people in shows that look like me,

I would get excited and feel pride when there was a known Filipino on TV.

When they repped Filipinos publically it made me even prouder,

So that’s why I’ll say this message again, this time even louder:

Filipina girl,

You are more than your outer beauty,

Educate, inspire, grow that brain, that’s your fucking duty.

Because when you do that, only then will you know,

They want you to stay insecure so they can sell you things, and damn now it shows!

My mission is to make it for the people that look like me,

I’m Filipina and I’m proud, and that’s the fuckin’ tea! 🐸☕

Imposter Syndrome

Marinelle Cabillo2 Comments

“…it’s only natural I explain my plateau, and also what defines my name…” -Nas / J.Cole

These last couple of weeks I’ve been feeling stagnant, uninspired, and I’ve had hardcore writer’s block. I’ve thought about skipping out on blog posts some Mondays and falling off the wagon for a week or 2. But I knew that would only make me feel worse, so I pushed on.

I’m just over 3 months into consistently writing every week, and I’m high key disappointed in myself that I’m running out of gas this quickly. And honestly, running out of things to write about haha. I know that just means I need to reignite my curiosity on topics and really sit down and think on what to write about.

This is just another wave of the post-grad depression blues. Especially since this December will mark my 1 year anniversary of graduating, I’m almost positive that’s why I’m feeling the way I am. Damn. Let me repeat that. One year. And it sucks because the times I feel off like this I think, “One year post-grad, and what do you have to show for it?” And like I said in the past, this was supposed to be my 1 year “break/chillin'” year… the irony. And I annoy myself because I purposely planned on taking off 1 year to just focus on my blog and passion projects, which I have been doing. So why do I feel like this?

I’m projecting “I’m a writer, I’m a writer,” on all my platforms, but sometimes I think, “But are you? You haven’t been published since SFSU’s Xpress Magazine…” and I hate when I doubt myself like that because it puts me in a mood where I overlook everything I’ve already accomplished, and doubt my decisions I’ve made up until this point.

I’m dealing with Imposter Syndrome so bad right now. What is Imposter Syndrome? Gill Corkindale explains:

Imposter syndrome can be defined as a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist despite evident success. ‘Imposters‘ suffer from chronic self-doubt and a sense of intellectual fraudulence that override any feelings of success or external proof of their competence

While Karen Schneider describes Imposter Syndrome as:

A lack of self-confidence, anxiety, doubts about your thoughts, abilities, achievements and accomplishments, negative self-talk, feelings of inadequacy, dwelling on past mistakes and not feeling good enough — these are all signs and symptoms of imposter syndrome. And these thoughts and feelings plague all people, successful people, men and women of all ages, races, and orientations.

I felt this way when I was preparing for my speech at the Women Gender Studies Conference in Fresno this past April. I was presenting my paper on The Body Positive Community as the new wave of modern day feminism, and I wrote about 11-12 pages on it. But when practicing, I felt like I was going to draw blanks. This is a topic I’ve been so passionate about for a couple of years. I did my research, I had articles to back up my points, and I still felt like, “Ok, but who are you to be presenting this? Are you really that educated on the topic? Or are you just going to go up there and sound stupid like you don’t know what you’re talking about?”

I vented these frustrations to my community college journalism professor, Nancy. The same visit where she told me, “you’re always ahead of one person and always behind someone else,” when it comes to success. I was telling her about the Women Gender Studies Conference and how nervous I was. I even told her how I was lowkey thinking about not going, but the only thing stopping me was the fact that I booked the AirBnb already. She looked at me and said, “You have Imposter Syndrome.”

She explained to me that Imposter Syndrome is normal and that she herself has been in my shoes. She was delivering a speech infront of other professors and colleagues and felt the same way I did. She was questioning herself and her successes, but still pushed on.

And that’s the position I’m in right now. I feel like an imposter, lowkey. I’m a writer. But I haven’t been published in a while, and I’m attaching my credibility to the number of times I’ve been published. And it sucks. And the only person that puts me in this mood is the same person that can get me out of this mood. And that person is me. I’m doing it to myself. And that’s what’s hella annoying.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a lazy motivated person. If that’s even possible…. but clearly it is, because here I am in the flesh. Let me break it down. I have dreams and aspirations, I want to inspire and spread truth to my readers. I know the steps I need to take to achieve my dreams, and I always end up taking those steps, however, it’s always at procrastinated rate. I’m lazy as hell, but I deliver when its crunch time. Its so bizarre. In school, some professors would praise me for my work, little did they know I started it at midnight. I never missed a deadline, but waited until last minute to get it together, and I always got by with pretty good grades. And that’s how I earned my degree. I guess I do my best work under pressure and borderline anxiety attack and mental breakdown. I’m stressed and anxious now, not knowing what steps to take towards my writing career, but at the same time, what do I expect? This is all I’ve ever known. The stress of “Will I make it or not?” The scary part is, this isn’t for a grade, this isn’t for a paper or project that won’t matter anymore once I turn it in. This time it’s my future, my career.

I get into these moods where, for a period of time, I will be so motivated and I take initiative. I grab life by the balls and get shit done. And then, out of nowhere I’ll feel like how I feel now, burnt out, unmotivated, and I want to fall off for a minute. When I’m feeling really low is when I somehow shoot back up and repeat the process of having immaculate motivation and nothing can stop me, until I run out of gas again. I’m still trying to find the balance of having a continuous motivation and drive, without burning myself out. I want to be at a constant level of productivity, not seesawing back and forth from motivated and inspired, to feeling unfulfilled and down in the dumps.

I was on Instagram, and a friend I follow posted on her story a quote. It was something along the lines of, “People speak about their problems and battles only in the past tense,” and the quote goes on to say people only share their struggles when they already are passed it and have a solution. And that stuck with me. And it’s true. I talk a lot about my past stories, and what lessons I realized they taught me. And nothing is wrong with me reflecting on past events and stories because it does take time to reflect and grow from things. But also, I wanted to share what I’m currently going through, in the moment.

I think that’s why I was feeling a little unmotivated to write – because I was covering topics I was interested in, but I wasn’t addressing how I was feeling in the moment. I will say that writing this blog post was waaaaay easier to write. I guess I need to vent and be real with myself. Put it down in writing how I feel. Right now. Not when I’m already over it and decide to share.

Right now, in this moment, I’m confused, I caught another wave of the post-grad blues, and I’m doubting myself and my abilities. I’m feeling like a fraud because I haven’t been published in a while. I’m feeling some type of way because I’ve almost been out of school for a whole year. It’s so hard to rediscover yourself as someone other than a student. I’m still exploring the non-student-Marinelle. And it’s a confusing time and I want to cry, but at the same time I wouldn’t know what I’m crying for. Just feeling lost, confused, and unsuccessful?

Ever since I’ve started writing consistently, a lot of people have reached out to me saying how proud they are of me, how they’re inspired, and how they look forward to my writing. Thank you, thank you 💘 I appreciate every single person – friend or stranger- that has ever reached out to me with kind words. It really means everything. If you read my stuff and get inspired, I’m so glad and happy my work is touching someone in a positive way. And I’m hoping by sharing my struggles in the moment, it’ll help someone who is feeling the same. Because I don’t have a solution yet. And if I want to inspire others and tell real stories, I need to share the good, the bad, and the ugly.

And I will say that writing this all out has been therapeutic haha. I don’t know who I’m writing this post for – y’all or me 🤣. But thanks for reading, just riding yet another post-grad wave. 🏄🏻‍♀️

Joker

Marinelle CabilloLeave a comment

I’ve never been one of those superhero / villain movie fanatics. Unpopular opinion, but it is what it is. However, over the last couple of years, I’ve grown a huge liking to the Joker. Mostly because of his ride or die relationship with Harley Quinn. Cue in the “you shouldn’t glorify mad love relationships,” etc. etc. comments, yeah, I know, but they’re still my favorite, sorry.

I knew there was a new Joker movie coming out, but I wasn’t obsessing over the date or watching it ASAP. My boyfriend texted me while we were both on break saying we should watch the Joker movie that night. We later found out that we watched it on the release date! That explained why we were literally in the first row. I was kind’ve bummed out that we were so close to the screen, but wow. The movie did not disappoint! It was so good, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to watch it again.

….So I did. This was the first movie ever that I raved about. I’ve seen good movies, but never to the point where I wanted to spend money to watch it again. This was the first movie ever that I paid to watch it twice within a week and a half span. And I decided to treat my whole family to the movies because I knew my dad would probably really like it. I was so excited to the point where I was counting down the days to watch it again. I figured that if I enjoyed the movie that much sitting in the first row, then watching it a second time from further away would be just as good. Watching the Joker for the second time gave me the opportunity to dig deeper into the movie.

I’ve always been a back story kind’ve gal. I always enjoyed knowing why people are the way they are and how their past played a hand in how they are as an adult. I’m that way with people in real life and characters in movies and shows. So when I found out it was a whole movie dedicated to the Joker’s backstory, I was all for it. To be honest, I didn’t really care about Marvel characters until Suicide Squad where I was first introduced to the Joker and Harley dynamic. I know, so late, pitiful. Anyway, I just knew the jist of the Joker and his story, so this movie was allllll dat and a bag of chips to me.

Clearly, Arthur Fleck deals with a few diagnosable mental illnesses. He has a condition where he laughs obnoxiously in situations where he is stressed, anxious, uncomfortable, or in an awkward situation. He carries around with him a card that explains his condition so he can hand it out at any given moment. The card says this condition causes him to laugh even though laughing does not match his mood. This condition is usually what makes Arthur the target of violence.

They never really say what Arthur’s mental illnesses are, but I think we can all agree that he is severely depressed. In the opening scene, he is painting on his makeup to start his shift as a clown. He stares at himself in the mirror with his painted on smile, and forces his actual mouth to smile by placing both pointer fingers in his mouth, pulling his cheeks all the way up with force. His mouth is “smiling” but he actually begins to cry. I thought this was such a powerful depiction of Arthur’s inner demons. On the outside he puts on a smiling face – literally – but on the inside he is so broken and unhappy. The movie literally makes his day job a clown, twirling signs for stores going out of business, doing gigs at children’s hospitals, and all these little weird side jobs that would call for a clown. His dream is to be a stand up comedian, and his day job and goal job scream irony. Even his mother questions his dreams of becoming a stand up comedian by saying, “Don’t you have to be funny?”

Arthur meets with a social worker regularly. It seems like the only people he talks to consistently are his mother, the social worker, and people at work. Even though he meets with her regularly, he still feels like she doesn’t listen to what he says. At one point in the movie his social worker tells him that the government is cutting off funding and that would be their last session. She goes on to say that the government doesn’t give a shit about people like him or people like her – the mentally ill and those in the field that are trying to help the mentally ill. This really plays into the theme of Arthur feeling like he is being left in the shadows. Not only in society, but with people in his daily life as well. During one of their meetings, Arthur tells his social worker, “You don’t listen do you?” He goes on to say that she asks the same questions week after week, even though he tells her all the time that he’s miserable and always has negative thoughts. The repetition is what pisses Arthur off because week after week his responses are the same, and he believes his social worker isn’t listening to him when he verbalizes his misery.

It really seemed like the whole movie everyone was just abusing Arthur. Like damn, got jumped by teenagers, got beat up by 3 rich privileged assholes, punched in the face by Thomas Wayne, this guy was just the punching bag of Gotham.

After getting jumped by teenagers, a co-worker gave Arthur a gun to protect himself. The gun ends up falling out of his pocket while he’s doing a clown gig at a children’s hospital. The gun incident gets Arthur fired from his job. He’s so distraught because he really enjoyed his clown job. After finding out the news of his termination, he’s on the subway on the way home. He encounters 3 upperclass privileged men who are harassing a woman on the subway. With Arthur’s condition, he starts laughing, upsetting the men. They begin to beat him up, and Arthur finally uses his gun, killing all 3 men.

On the news, Thomas Wayne is asked what he thinks about the subway killer, who was said to be in a clown mask. Wayne states that the murderer is a clown and coward for hiding behind a mask, mad at the fact that those 3 men made something of their lives while the killer himself is basically shit. The concept of hiding behind a mask is a popular theme in the movie. Not only does Arthur hide behind the identity of Joker, but also hiding how he truly feels inside. When someone is wearing a mask, they are trying to conceal their real identity, and although Arthur wasn’t originally trying to use the clown act to hide his identity, that’s what ended up happening anyways. And the fact that it’s a clown, really adds and hints to the fact that Arthur feels like his mental illness – or even his existence – is seen as a joke to the public eye. He doesn’t get taken seriously and is seen as a “clown” with or without makeup on.

When news of the subway murders circulates, Arthur starts to feel empowered by all the attention it is getting. Even though people don’t know he is behind the murders, he still feels a sense of pride when he sees all the media attention it is getting. This was a big deal for the social outcast to finally be and feel “noticed” by a society he feels ignored and abandoned him. His clown mask unintentionally became the face of the protests. The people of Gotham were upset that Wayne referred to the working class as “clowns.” So, they saw Joker as the idol who killed those elite rich guys in the name of politics.

What really sets Arthur off into a killing spree is when he discovers his mom was lying to him his whole life. She too was mentally ill, and adopted him and tried to convince Thomas Wayne and Arthur that Thomas was his father. She was in fact mentally ill, and was admitted into a mental asylum. The records show that Arthur was abused by his mother’s partner, and had pretty bad head damage. This sets Arthur off. The loss of his identity is what makes him turn rogue. He lost his job and the understanding of who he was. Knowing the truth about his “mother” set him into a killing frenzy. Killing her, and those he believed did him dirty in life. He lost sight of the Arthur he knew – the clown by day and mama’s boy by night. When he lost the understanding of those two things, he really took on the villain role.

Murray Franklin has been Arthur’s idol. He watches his shows religiously, and all he’s ever dreamed of was being on his show and meeting him. Murray ends up playing a clip of Arthur’s stand up act, and basically makes him the butt of the joke. Imagine, having your idol, someone you look up to, bash you on national television to make you look like Boo Boo Tha Foo himself. To have your idol straight make you the laughing stock of the town is enough for any person to feel salty as hell. But to have a mentally ill person who has stopped taking their medication feel this type of resentment is dangerous.

Arthur later gets a call from Murray’s people saying they want him to appear on the show. By this time he is full blown Joker, and taking on the villain persona. Arthur is in full blown clown makeup, and they believe this can be an issue since there are political riots and civil unrest. But Murray insists that it will be fine. Arthur requests to be introduced as “Joker” since that’s what Murray introduced him as when they played his stand up clip.

When Arthur was on stage at the show speaking his truth, I felt that shit. He confesses to being responsible for the subway murders, and shit gets real. He expresses that he’s not political, but those guys got what they deserve because they were shitty people. Arthur rants about how society is messed up and how nobody tries to see life through the other person’s eyes. It’s some pretty heart felt shit that I feel like POC can relate to – being like the 2nd class citizen, being ignored and neglected, not having people sympathize with you because society only cares about the rich, like Wayne. Murray goes on to say that Arthur is playing victim and basically take out that lil violin and play that sad song. In my head I was cheering Arthur on when he told off Murray saying he only brought him on the show to make fun of him, and it’s people like him that make this world so fucked up. He murders Murray on national television.

This leads to more riots and looting on the streets. Joker becomes the face of the riot and he finally gets the attention he’s been desperately craving. Throughout the movie they kept going back to a quote in Arthur’s journal that read:

“I hope my death makes more cents than my life.”

The way he spells “sense” to “cents” also plays on the theme of the rich not caring about the mentally ill/ poor people. He forshadows that there will be more to gain from his death/ how he dies than his real life as a person when he was actually alive. And that hits hard.

At the end of the movie I asked my parents if they liked it. They both said yes, but my mom added, “but I didn’t like the part where he killed his mom..” and I 100% knew she was going to say that lol.

But knowing the backstory of the Joker really made me sympathize with him. And then I thought of all the mass shootings and how the shooters claim mental illness. And then I thought, “but I wouldn’t feel sorry for them.” And I started over analyzing everything and the movie. The Joker killed all the people that did him dirty in life, so I feel like that’s why I sympathize with him. He wasn’t (to my knowledge) a dangerous person before everyone fucked him over and government cut his funding. But what I told my mom in regards to him killing his mom is, “I don’t agree, but I understand.” And I think that applies to the whole movie and all his actions.

This was such a good movie, I just had to share my thoughts on it and over analyze, like I do so well. 🃏

My Gym Story

Marinelle CabilloLeave a comment

My first job was at a gym daycare. I watched the kids of members who were working out. At the time, it was my first year in community college, and I declared my major as Early Childhood Education. This was a great first job in the childcare field. However, it seemed so ironic that of all places, it was a freakin’ gym. It was almost embarrassing to tell people that I worked at a gym. I would quickly follow up with, “But watching the kids!”

My coworkers consisted of personal trainers and gym enthusiasts. And then… there was me. Don’t get me wrong though, I made friendships with some old coworkers that are friendships for life! But it really seemed like I was the only one who wasn’t about that gym life. So… I tried to be about that gym life 🤦🏻‍♀️.

When I first got the job, I was fresh out of a toxic relationship. The gym really helped me cope and deal with my inner turmoil. I used my anger and hate to fuel myself for working out. My inner demons and insecurities were my own personal preworkout. I was listening to aggressive “fuck you” type of rap break up songs, and embraced the anger inside of me.

I worked out everyday after my shift. It felt good to be care-free and dealing with the breakup in a “healthy” way. I started working out with my sister and my friends. It was like a new hobby. I dropped weight, this time without starving myself. But sometimes it was really forced. I felt like I was working out to fit in with my coworkers and felt like everyone’s eyes at the gym were on me, because I worked there and was totally not fit.

Even though I was working out consistently, I was embarrassed to do workouts out in the open. You know that feeling when you feel like all eyes are on you, and people are judging your every move? That’s exactly how I felt/feel. To this day I still feel insecure to do lunges out in the open! It’s so dumb because in reality, most people aren’t even paying attention to you, and pretty much don’t care if your form is wrong, etc. But we believe that this is the case, that all eyes are on us and we’re secretly the butt of somebody’s joke.

When I met my boyfriend and we started dating, I didn’t care too much about the gym anymore and just wanted to hangout 24/7. I lost some of my motivation to workout because now I was happy. Remember, I was using my hate and breakup as motivation for revenge body mentality, and after almost a year of that, I finally met someone who made me happy. It’s like I lost motivation for the gym because I wasn’t angry anymore. My only source of motivation was my anger, and with time, when my anger faded, so did my interest in working out.

But I look back at how I was back then, and when I wouldn’t workout, I would beat myself up about it. I would workout, then fall off for a bit, then get in the habit of working out again, then fall off. I was never consistent for long periods of time, and I always beat myself up over it. When I didn’t see progress fast enough, I gave up. When I was feeling shitty about myself, I would give up. When I didn’t go to the gym after consistently going, I would beat myself up over it and make myself feel bad. At times working out would feel like a chore. Like I knew I had to do it and I just wish it would be over with.

It’s so crazy because before meeting me, Christian was all about the gym and hardcore working out. And since we’ve been together, he kind of fell off the wagon for a bit, because we spend so much time together. But now, he’s finding his way back to the gym again, trying to get back to how he used to workout before he met me. And I’m all for it. I know it makes him happy and I know working out has always been an outlet for him. But what I love about him is that he encourages me to workout with him, because he knows I want those booty gains, but doesn’t put me down or make me feel bad if I don’t want to workout – whether that be a week straight or 3 months straight. He’s supportive of anything I choose. He’s hard on himself about being consistent in the gym, but never puts those standards on me. I’ve gained weight since we’ve first got together, and when I’m feeling insecure he always reassures me that he doesn’t care what weight I’m at. Bigger or smaller, I know he’ll accept me no matter what size. And that’s a breath of fresh air to feel secure.

In the past, working out was an outlet to release anger and hate. Then it became a chore. I was kind of over people telling me how to workout. I mean I’m all for tips, but you’d be amazed how many people believe you should take their unsolicited advice and their routine is the best routine.

It took a few years, but I think I found my balance. Its not always a consistent balance, but I’ve come to a place where I enjoy working out. For no one else but me. If I’m at the gym, chances are I’m 100% doing cardio and booty workouts. And I’m no longer fueled by anger, or forcing myself to workout, but more so as an outlet to relieve stress. And I’m also aware that I’m only getting older and there’s no shame in being body positive but still striving to be healthier. I no longer beat myself up for not being consistent. There’s times where I’m consistent, and then there’s times when I’m not. And either way, it’s okay! I can go a month or 2 without working out and still bounce back. I’m no longer going to make working out a chore, but more so make it a positive experience for myself where I want to workout and want to be consistent. But if for whatever reason I fall off the wagon and stop working out for a period of time- that’s ok too.

Don’t let other people tell you how you should stay active. It’s like that once commercial where this lady is trying yoga, the gym, and all these other forms of activity, and she’s just not feeling it. And then she finds her fitness niche, and it was taking walks around the neighborhood. Different things work for different people.

Before I wanted to skinny and petite. Now I want to be strong, lift heavy, and grow this peach 🍑. I’m not scared to be quad-zilla. These Cabillo-calves can get more buff and it is what it is. I also learned that I can’t pick and choose the body parts I want. If I’m working on butt workouts all the time, I should expect my thighs to get thicker as well. And I should love my body at any stage. Thick thighs, fat ass, flat ass, you name it.

My gym journey has been a rollercoaster, but I’m happy I’m at a place where I am content and at peace with my routine. No longer am I obsessing and beating myself up over working out. Anger and hate used to fuel me. And now, working out is my stress reliever. A workout to me now is an act of self-care, as I juggle all these things in my life.

Find your balance 🏋🏻‍♀️

…& If It Doesn’t, It Doesn’t.

Marinelle CabilloLeave a comment

I didn’t think to make this the blog post for this week, but it so happened to fit in perfectly with what I just wrote about the week before. Its almost a continuation of last week’s post. This is the other side of the coin.

I had dinner with some of my old Journalism gals from SFSU, as our last supper with Roxy. She’s one of the first friends I met at SFSU, and after 5 years in the Bay, she’s moving back home to SoCal. 💔 So we brought her to San Tung’s. 5 years in San Francisco and she never tried it. Disgraceful. The dry fried chicken, kissed by the Gods one by one and sent down to Earth for mankind. But Rox is a pescatarian… so the dry fried shrimp would have to suffice. San Tung was on her bucket list, so we had to make it happen her last couple of days in SF.

At the end of the meal we were so full, like can’t breathe, I should go lay down type of full. But you know, no meal or hangout is complete without boba 👀. So we ventured out into the cold San Francisco night. And when I mean cold, I mean Roxy is literally trying to use my body to shield her/warm her up. We GPS our next destination, boba. Of course, pick the closest one at this point. The short walk resulted in cold nipples jokes and talks of bloody feet if said cold nipples were to fall off – everyone piggy backing off everyone else’s joke 🤣

At the boba spot, Nicki dips for a quick second to find a bathroom to pee, and me, Bridget, and Roxy are left at the little windowsill inside the shop. We start talking about her move, and how her parents were driving up to come swoop her and all her belongings on the weekend. It was Thursday, and her parents were coming Saturday morning.

“Are you almost done packing?” I asked.

“Not even halfway. Maybe like 35%. I got too much shit.”

She went on to talk about how much stuff she accumulated throughout her 5 years here, and how she was lagging to pack it all away. Then she said something that almost every girl could relate to.

“And what makes me sad is I have clothes that don’t fit anymore, but I still won’t get rid of them so I’m packing it and it’s just taking up space.”

“Roxy, I’m writing about this for next week’s blog post.”

That. Right. There. I can’t count how many articles of clothing I’ve kept in my closet in hopes to “fit them again,” for “motivation,” or for the simple fact that it made me think of the times I was “smaller.” To look back and think, “I was once this size,” and reminisce, as I gently fold it and tuck it back in my closet to find again in the distant future to make myself feel like shit all over again 😊.

Why do we do that?! Why is getting rid of clothes that don’t fit anymore such a big deal? Or more specifically, why is getting rid of clothes that are too small* such a big deal? Because let’s be real, if someone lost weight and their clothes were too big, it would be almost an accomplishment to toss out those big ‘ol old clothes. But if they are clothes that are now too small, why is it that just the sight of them pull at the heart strings?

I mean, obviously I know the answer. Getting bigger is seen as a negative. You’re supposed to stay at your smallest, and never unlock a size higher. And if you do, you must forever be haunted by ghost of clothes past.

All jokes aside, this way of thinking is so detrimental to someone’s well-being. I’m all for someone using their old clothes as healthy motivation to be healthier, but it is rarely that. The “motivation” usually results in self-loathing and negative thoughts about one’s self. There’s a very thin line between healthy motivation and unhealthy obsessions.

I wish I could be that bitch that uses my small clothes as healthy motivation to get back in shape. However, I am not that bitch. I will seriously cry about it internally and let it bother me, giving me a false sense of motivation. In the past I would do crash diets and working out consistently, all for the sake of trying to wiggle this body into whatever the hell clearly didn’t fit me anymore. And since it would be sudden crash diets and forcing myself to workout or I’d beat myself up over it, it clearly didn’t last long. Is just give up. Still keeping the clothes that don’t fit anymore in my closest still, of course. And it’s all because this psuedo motivation is not done in the name of self-love, but self-hate. This is what I mean when I say there’s a very thin line between healthy motivation and unhealthy obsessions.

I once had a friend that was obsessed with diet culture. They weren’t trippin off the clothes that didn’t fit anymore, they were trippin off the clothes they bought for their goal body. Also known as, they bought clothes that were about 2-3 sizes too small – the size they wanted to be. They used the clothes as motivation to lose more weight, but the sadness and longing in their eyes everytime they pulled out the drawer full of “goal weight clothes” killed me. Like they believed their life would begin when they were smaller.

And that’s basically what we’re doing when we fixate ourselves over clothes that are too small. If it ain’t healthy motivation to get ya ass back in the gym because you want to change your lifestyle, than it ain’t helpin you at all. Stop thinking your life starts when you’re a smaller size, when you “get back to your college body” (whatever the fuck that means, can’t relate 🤷🏻‍♀️), or when you fit into those jeans you bought in a smaller size. Stop fuckin’ torturing yourself. What good does it do?

Last week’s post I told y’all fuck it, if it fits, it fits! Who cares what the size is on the tag! And this week I’m telling you : …. but if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. Literally who cares?

Don’t beat yourself up over clothes not fitting anymore. Don’t try to shop for your goal body. Don’t obsess over what size you see and wear.

I used to have this mentality (and sometimes still do) where I think, “I really want new clothes…. hold on, nevermind, I’ll just wait a while because if I start working out and I lose weight, I have to buy new clothes all over again.” STOP. THAT. SHIT. If you wait to wear the shit you want to wear, or buy the shit you want to buy all for the sake of body fluctuations, you’re literally not gonna have shit to wear at all.

Why not style the body you have right now the way you want to? Why must you wait until you’re “different.” If you’re waiting to lose weight to dress the way you want to, then you’re just playing yourself honestly. Feel good in what you wear now. Be you now.

So if it fits, it fits. And if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. A made it a point some time ago to get rid of all the clothes that I don’t wear and are too small. I gave them all to my little sister. Sometimes I see her in my old clothes and I think oh my God I used to fit that! Some time ago it made me sad. But now I’m genuinely in shock that I used to fit them, or tried to fit them. Like wow, I really forced myself in medium Adidas track pants. Literally who tf did I think I was 😭🤣

But I got rid of those clothes because not only was it taking room in my closet for absolutely no good reason, but it just made me feel awful about myself everytime I saw them. So why keep them? Why do that to myself when I know that’s how I’m going to react? I still have some articles of clothing that don’t really fit/don’t really make me feel nice when I wear them, but I still keep them in my closet just incase I need it for something. You never know when your opinion will change! But also my mentality changed, so my outlook on clothes also changed.

I’m no longer hoarding clothes that don’t fit anymore. Getting rid of them unapologetically and nonchalantly. If if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit 🤷🏻‍♀️.