Walang Hiya

“Walang hiya,” literally translates to “no shame”/ “shameless” in Tagalog.

My ears are no stranger to this saying. In fact, all my life I’ve heard the terms, “walang hiya,” / “walang ka hiya?!” (“Have you no shame?!”). This phrase was almost always said to my sisters and I by our parents. And it was most definitely said to check us and humble us with the quickness. When you hear someone say, “walang hiya,”(statement form) / “walang ka hiya?!” (Question form) to another person, they’re checking the other person’s character and actions. It is generally not a positive reaction, especially in its statement form, “walang hiya” is most likely followed with a head shake and look of disappointment.

“Have you no shame?” has been instilled in mind at a young age. Every Filipino kid has heard this term growing up. And to be honest, my parents still say this to us to this day! Everyone can relate to their parents telling them that they are shameless, to the point where it’s almost a joke. Well, for my cousins and I atleast. When someone is being out of pocket and takes a joke too far, we’ll laugh and throw in, “walang hiya!”

When I was thinking of what to write for this week’s blog post, I kept thinking of how I could summarize my 2019. I didn’t want to do the typical, “What has 2019 taught me…” / “My goals for 2020 are…” post. I thought back on how I changed from the beginning of 2019 to now, about to close out the decade. And all that came to my mind was, “Walang Hiya.”

Shameless. I was definitely shameless this year. “Walang hiya,” has always been seen as a negative thing, but for me, being shameless this year has brought me inner growth. It has been such a confusing year for me personally. I really had to dig deep and remember who I am, what I want, and where I want to be.

My 2019 new year’s resolution was to start posting consistently on this blog. January 2019 came and went, and my blog was mad crickety. I was freshly graduated, and wanted to start my passion projects. The only thing getting in the way of that was… myself. I was over thinking, being insecure, and shy about my work. It’s easy to say, “just start!” when you’re posting your work for the public to see and criticize.

May 2019 I walked the stage with my journalism class. And my graduation ceremony sparked something in me. At that point I was 5 months out of school, and being back in the school setting, even if it was just to walk the stage, ignited my fire again. I saw my professors, and it inspired me to get out of the slump I was in and do something – anything – writing wise. It took a little over a month, but July 2019 I started posting consistently.

In the past, when I was still in school and would post what I wrote every now and then, I would get insecure about what people would think, the engagement I would get on the post, the photo that went with it, etc etc etc. But now, I don’t care about the likes, the comments, if I look “nice” in the cover pic. The thing was, in the past, I did have “hiya.” I had shame, when I should’ve had pride in my work. I was always taught that there is a very thin line between being proud/humble and being cocky. Posting about my writing / occasional video projects made me feel weird. It made me feel like I was boasting about my work, showing off, and seaking attention. It took me a while to let go of that “hiya” and share my ideas/ posts.

Before I started posting consistently on my blog, therefore all my social media platforms to get more engagement, I was very particular about what I posted. I was one of those social media users that would post like, once a month, and was very choosy on what I chose to share. Like I said before, social media is what people want you to see of them. And for me, I didn’t really feel the need to share anything particularly personal. It was like “you can see my family, friends, boyfriend, and that’s about all I’m going to share.” I didn’t post things if it wasn’t “Instagram worthy,” or if I didn’t look cute in it. I didn’t want to post too frequent, and I didn’t want to have too many posts on my feed. Because more posts on my Instagram meant that I was giving the public more pieces to the puzzle of “me.”

When I started posting a blog post every Monday, all that went out the window. In the beginning I felt some type of way that I was over sharing my life, and posting way more than I ever did before. My blog is kind of like posting my diary entries for the world to see. It gets real real quick. But I knew that if I ever wanted to be known as a writer who writes about real shit, I have to share what I write. That was definitely a transition for me. I’m not one to share my personal life on a Facebook status, and you would never catch me having Twitter fingers if I had beef with anyone. I was always a “think what you want to think, I keep my circle small and the people that matter know the truth,” if I was ever in some drama. But now, here I am, sharing my deepest thoughts, my fears, my struggles, my triumph, for the public to see.

Some of the things I write about would certainly get a, “walang ka hiya?!” from my parents, which was part of the reason why I was hesitant on posting consistently. Surprisingly, my mom hasn’t hit me with the, “walang ka hiya?!” statement yet on anything I have written so far. I think it’s one of those situations where she thinks it in her head, but won’t say it out loud because she knows I’m an adult and that I want to reach a bigger audience. Her feedback to me once was that I curse too much on my blogs. “Its good, but just don’t use ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ because its embarrassing, don’t you want people to read and like you? They may not like you if you curse so much.”

I responded by saying that I’m not writing for people to like me. I’m not changing my writing style to show face, because I’m not like that in person. If you know me, I type how I talk. People tell me all the time that they read my content and it’s like they hear me reading it. I have thought of what I post biting me in the ass. As a journalist, we were taught to be professional all across the board. But that’s why I don’t see myself in hard news, because I feel like I have too much personality. I went on to tell my mom that whoever has a problem with seeing cuss words in my writing, doesn’t have to read. I was taught that whatever content you choose to write about attracts a certain audience, and it’s okay if everyone isn’t into it.

Simultaneously while I’m posting consistently, I noticed 2019 was the year that I gave less and less a fuck about my outward appearance. I’m a preschool teacher, I’m always in leggings, no makeup, and a whatever top, because I’m constantly on the move. Might get shit on, might get boogers on me, might have to clean the whole unit, I literally never know. Even on weekends, I found myself not caring how I looked. And there was some freedom in that. But it sometimes made me sad. I wasn’t putting effort into my appearance because I genuinely didn’t care and was too lazy to put on makeup. But at the same time, it made me happy that I was secure in myself that I didn’t feel the need to look a certain way all the time. I also wake up at 5 am, there is literally no time to get cute anymore.

I took “I don’t care,” to a whole new level. Appearance wise, body wise, and all the above. But I mean this in a good way. I found no point in complaining about my appearance. I put less importance on my outter appearance and worked on the kind of person I was on the inside. I learned that I can only control myself, my actions, and my emotions. I can’t control how others react or how others interpret things. I realized my toxic traits and try to work on them. I’m quick with my words when I’m upset, and I’m still trying to learn the meaning of restraint. That’s one thing where I should have shame! But it’ll take time to break bad habits.

I made it a point this year to not support any business or brand that did not support me as a bigger bodied woman. That being said, I stopped buying undergarments from Victoria’s Secret, and started supporting Aerie for their body inclusivity. It was hard for me because I was a die hard Victoria’s Secret fan for years. I’ve spent a lot of money at Victoria’s Secret and they had my brand loyalty. But when they made that comment about plus size women and trans women, I couldn’t. I could no longer support a company that didn’t care about plus sized women like me. I had no shame in vocalizing my reasons. And now, Aerie loyalty it is.

2019 I really opened up myself to the public. I had “walang hiya” in a lot of things I did, and it worked in my favor. Growing up, I was taught that having “no shame” was a bad thing. Now, I want to share that having “walang hiya” doesn’t always have to be negative. Being shameless in my writing, life, and appearance has helped me grow into a more secure woman.

Here’s to having walang hiya in 2020 🥂

In Her Shoes

Christmas 2017

Around this time I had just landed my current job, located deep in San Francisco. I was to start right after New Year’s break. New year, new job, new transportation route.

I guess you can say it’s our family tradition to exchange Christmas gifts after returning home from my dad’s side’s Christmas Eve celebration. We get home during the early AM hours. My sisters and parents will all get settled down, change into pajamas, put away gifts we received, and eventually meet upstairs at the livingroom to exchange the gifts we got for each other.

My older sister handed me my gift. I forgot what the main gift was, but I sure as hell remember the 2nd gift. I unwrapped the littler present to discover a pink can of pepper spray, keychain addition.

“…uh, okay?” I probably said. My little sister got the same gift jr.

“You’re gonna work in San Francisco now and be walking home at night. You never know.” Spoken like a true Ate.

At the time, I probably thought it was a bit dramatic, but was thankful because my broke ass didn’t have to buy it for myself.

I never put my pepper spray to use, but roaming through San Francisco all hours of the night – from night classes to just being out – I realized this was something I should’ve had a long time ago. Especially as a woman.

It made me feel more safe being out. Walking home from Bart, I would keep it in one hand, tucked under my sleeve. Paranoid, I know. I knew I most likely wouldn’t need it, but I wanted to be prepared at all times. I always thought of scenarios where I have my pepper spray in my backpack or something, and then something happens where I need it, and it’s not like I’m going to say, “Wait, ma’am-sir, pause, I have pepper spray in my backpack if you could so kindly wait for me to retrieve it…” Nah. If my parents taught me anything, its trust nobody, and be aware of your surroundings.

December 2018

Almost a full year of having said pepper spray, not once did I ever have to use it. However, I came close to using it during that racist Uber ride, you know, the story I tell on “This Is America.” But I thankfully never had to actually push that button.

My cousins and I took our first big cousins trip, and we were 23 1/2 people deep in SoCal. We decided to look around Downtown Disney, and so much had changed since the last couple times I’ve been. There were metal detectors and stop gates. I don’t know why that shocked me, but I do understand the “why” and the necessity of these check points. I gave them my bag and hella forgot my pepper spray was in there.

“You’re going to have to toss this out or we need to take it.” The police officer told me.

I must say, I was that bitch. “What?! Why? I need it. If I give it to you, will you give it back to me later when I leave?”

The answer was no. I debated with them for about 2 minutes before I finally caved in. Bye bye pepper spray. I was annoyed about parting ways with my pepper spray, and my cousin thought it was lame too. He reassured me that he would try to get it back for me when we left.

When we made our way out of Downtown Disney, my cousin tried to talk his talk with the police officers.

“But come on, she works in downtown San Francisco! It gets dangerous! That’s how she feels safe! It makes her feel like a woman!” He told them, halfway serious and halfway laughing.

At the end of it, I didn’t get it back. I was more so irritated over the fact that I had to buy a replacement. I didn’t realize how unsafe I would feel walking home without it though. When work started up again after the school’s winterbreak, I dreaded walking home by myself. It was still winter time, so it got dark around 5 pm.

I was scared to walk home with my earphones on. I turned around behind me often. I kept my phone and valuables tucked away and hidden. I would even tuck in my chain so it wasn’t visible at first glance. I’m a tough girl, and I’m sure I could fend for myself and fight like a badass, but what terrified me was being defenseless against someone with a weapon.

But then I thought, “I’ve had the pepper spray for over a year and never had to use it. I’m good until I get a replacement.”

Early months of 2019

I will admit that it took weeks to even maybe a month or 2 to replace my pepper spray. It actually took a scary encounter for me to get it asap.

I was walking home from Bart. It was really dark out, even though it had to be around 6-6:30 pm. There’s 2 guys about to cross the street, they’re about 1.5 steps into crossing, but then they turn and look at me, then at each other, and they trade words. They turn back around. And they step back on the sidewalk and stand behind me, as we’re waiting to cross the street, perpendicular to where they were about to cross.

“Oh fuck nah,” I thought to myself.

I started walking to cross the street, and of course they followed. I’m not even trying to throw shade, but they were legit probably homeless, high on drugs, or both. One was wrapped in a blanket, and they both seemed like they haven’t bathed. Once I got to the sidewalk and they were still following me, I got a bad feeling. So I turned into the dollar store so they could walk off and leave me alone.

Negative. They waiting outside of the dollar store. Just standing there, looking at me, and waiting for me to walk out.

I. Think. The. Fuck. Not.

I started freaking out a little bit. I pretended to shop around and would look up at the exit every now and then. They were still there. Guarding the door, I would definitely have to pass them to exit. I panicked.

Should I call an Uber? That’s such a waste of money, my house is literally 4 blocks away. I’d have to pass them anyways to call an Uber. Do I tell the workers? But what are they even gonna do?

I started going to the back aisles so I was no longer in plain sight. I started dodging, going deeper into the store. Making it hard for them to pinpoint exactly where I was. One of the guys entered the dollar store, the other stayed outside. Then the 2nd man went inside and pretended to be looking at stuff closest to the exit. I inched closer to the exit and waited for both of their backs to be turned. I was legit calculating my moves, if I fuck up and exit at the wrong time, it’ll get creepy real quick.

Thankfully, they both had their backs towards the door, and I saw my opportunity and ran. And when I mean ran, I literally mean ran. I ran out of the dollar store, probably looking like I stole something. I ran for about a block and a half, looking behind me to see if they were following or running as well. I didn’t see them.

That experience was so crazy. I felt so unsafe and defenseless. A day or 2 later I got a new mace pepper spray.

It made me sad to know that I only feel safe when I know I have spray on me. And even with pepper spray, sometimes we still don’t feel safe. And I know that this is the sad reality of a lot of women. The extra steps women (not to forget gay and trans people) take to feel safe is mindboggling. From what you carry, to what shoes you wear, to what clothes you wear, to what route you walk, etc. We learn at a young age to be aware of our surroundings and those around us more than the average heterosexual male. “Not safe” is engraved in our minds. And it sucks when real events support that theory.

…& If It Doesn’t, It Doesn’t.

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 🤷🏻‍♀️.

If It Fits, It Fits.

For the longest time, I not only valued the numbers I saw on the scale, but also the size I saw on the back of my tag. At whatever stage of my life, I was always at the bigger end.

Shopping in stores was always a tough battle for me. I dreaded trying on clothes, or seeing if they even carried my size. And the dressing room was a whole other issue. There has been countless times where I tried something on and I’m just like “🥴🥴🥴 why.” When I was going through it the worst, there would be times where I would be on the verge of tears because I hated what I saw. Sidenote- it seems like the lighting in dressing rooms are always so bright that it brings attention to every flaw on your body. Or maybe that’s just me!

I used to try to shop in the “in” stores growing up, but that usually meant that they didn’t go beyond a L. If I was lucky I could find an XL, but even the sizing was way off. Some stores’ XL’s would fit like a M and then I’m stuck there thinking, “omg not even the biggest size fits me 😭😭.” So I would just give up. I hated going shopping for that reason. I’d think, “not like I’m gonna find anything that fits anyways…”

And for so long I wanted to get out of the L/ XL, and beyond club. I hated when sizes randomly came up in converation. Usually growing up that would be around Christmas time and my birthday. And what was more of a FML feeling, was when they got you something hella bigger than what you wear and you’re like omgggg thanks for thinking of me but also wtf.

Forever 21, Charlotte Russe, and a couple other stores just got their official plus size sections not too long ago. I appreciated the size inclusivity, but I always wondered why they had to be a whole ass different section. Why couldn’t plus sized clothing be on the same rack as “normal” sizes? Why did it have to be labeled “plus size”- in it’s own section away from everything else? Why did “plus size” start at 0x, which by the way, is a L. I was happy that there were finally clothes that could fit my body type. Big boobs, broad shoulders, thick thighs, some booty, Cabillo-calves for days, and not to mention a fuckin’ gut.

But why was I feeling happy that I had clothes that were tailored for a girl like me, but at the same time felt some type of way that people with my body type were being alienated? Like thanks for including us but 1. Your shit should go beyond a L anyway, 2. Why I gotta shop in a whole ass different section of the store, with different clothing choices instead of just expanding the sizes of the clothes you already have, and 3. What took so long?

I appreciate stores that have size range. But also clothing companies that advocate for real unedited bodies. I love online shopping and seeing the girls that I’ve followed on Instagram way before they made a name for themselves in the modeling industry. The size inclusivity that I see online, in the media, and on other platforms give me hope for a more diverse representation.

Last week I was looking around at the clothes section and saw a really cute jacket. I switch up my style on a daily. I can literally be dressed like a man one day, and a total girly girl the next. It really depends on my mood. The switch up is real. I’m talking timbs, ripped jeans, and baggy jackets to boots, long cardigans, and skinny jeans. So when I saw this jacket, I was like oooo I need.

I grabbed for a 2x since I would prefer that style of jacket to be baggy. I looked in the mirror and was digging it. But being little miss goldy locks herself, I wanted to try a size up, a size down, just to make sure I was getting the right fit and look. The original one I tried on, the hanger said 2x, but the jacket was actually a 3x! I tried on a 2x and zipped it up. It was kinda tight when zipped. My boobs are huge and my gut ain’t no different.

You see, if this was a few years back, I’d probably go for the 2x, maybe even the 1x if I was really tryna show face. Because I was taught that smaller is better. Who cares about comfort, just as long as the size on the back of your tag gives you peace of mind, go for it. I seesawed between the 2x and 3x, knowing that I liked it baggy and going for the comfortable feels, I went with the 3x – the one I liked from the get.

But don’t get me wrong, I was thinking about going for the 2x because the size was easier to digest. And this is what I mean by my body positive journey is forever ongoing. I’m not body positive all the time. I do have my moment where I cower back to my old ways to prove God knows what, but then I have to snap myself out of it. Like in this instance. Why was I going to buy a size down, when I liked the size up more? Why am I going to spend my hard earned money on something that makes me feel tight and restricted? Why am I trippin off of a size? And like that I remembered who tf I was.

4-5 ish years ago I probably wouldn’t even have bought the jacket if I didn’t fit the XL. Yo, I got a 3x. That’s XXXL my friends. I’m a big girl, but there are a lot of people that are way bigger than me. And I really feel like that jacket fit like an XL honestly. But what I’m saying is : who gives a shit about size. If it fits, it fits. And if you like the way it fits, who cares what size it is.

Don’t make yourself try to fit a certain size. A size M in one store can fit like a XL in another. Size ain’t shit!!! My shirt sizes literally range from S – probably 3X. I kid you not. I fit some small sizes, but most of the time ya girl rocking an XL if not bigger depending on what brand! And that used to bother me. To my core. I wanted to be a uniform size. I wanted to be smaller. I wanted to feel comfortable in my clothes.

……and all jokes aside, that’s probably why I wasn’t comfortable in my clothes- because I was getting sizes too small to prove a point to who? Myself? Who knows I should probably get a bigger size because my gut and titties are yelling, “Sis, we can’t breathe….”

Clothes are clothes. And honestly if somone’s knocking you for what the size on the back of your tag says, they’re probably going through their own thing. Size tags really ain’t shit. Let go of all the toxic ideals that come with size shaming and feel yourself flourish with new found confidence. If it fits, it fits.

My Weight Gain Journey

Yes, you read that title right.

You always hear and read about people’s weight loss journey, but rarely about someone’s weight gain journey.

This is something I wanted to write about for a while, but never had the guts to do it. Probably in fear of getting negative comments, fear of getting too personal so publically, mixed with not being ready to share my story when I was still in the evolving process (still am, to be honest). But now, I speak my truth. I don’t expect people to understand my journey, and I know there will be a handful of readers that will disagree with me. But I’m not here to please everyone. You don’t have to agree with me.

I’m sharing my story in hopes that it reaches someone who is struggling with the same thing I spent my whole life struggling with. That self-love journey is the most intense thing to struggle with, especially since it’s all from within. It took me years to cleanse my mind of all the toxic Eurocentric beauty standards that I learned throughout my whole life. To unlearn all the negative thoughts people have and associate with my body type was in itself a journey. But most of all, training my brain to not speak and think negative things about myself was hard mentally. This is my story. This is how my weight gain journey saved my life.

I’ve always thought in my head how outsiders who don’t know me at all see my weight gain journey. Because let’s be real, it’s completely obvious. When explaining this blog post to close friends, I said, “You know, to outsiders who haven’t seen me since high school / early community college, they probably see me in person or on social media and think ‘Daaaamnnnn, she got hellllaaaa bigggggg!’ – thinking ‘what a shame,’ ‘damn, she let herself go!’ But if only they knew what I went through back in the day, and how unhealthy and toxic it all was. Gaining weight and “getting helllllla bigggg” is the result of what I like to dramatically label as my enlightenment.

🎶 Let me take y’all back, maaaaaan! As I do soooo wellllll! 🎶 *J.Cole voice*

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with my weight and body dysmorphia. I was always the chubby little girl growing up. I’ve literally been big since birth. My mom takes pride in the fact that I was 8 and something pounds and she pushed my big ass straight out the womb naturally. Honestly, she deserves all the boasting rights, she delivered all 3 of us naturally and won’t let us forget it! So since birth I’ve been labeled as the big baby.

You know how kids go through a chubby phase and grow out of it? Uh, yeah, I just never grew out of it. The words of adults when you’re that young really absorb in your brain quickly. Around age 4-5, you start being more aware of yourself as a person and that’s when insecurities start to form. I’ve studied that when once upon a time I was an Early Childhood Development major, and I see it now working with children ages 1.5 – 5 years old. I was always being told by family that I was big and “to be careful.” It all stems from a good place, but the execution was sooo lame.

At age 6-7 I was writing in my diary how I need to lose weight. It was during the summertime, so I was stuck at home and obviously feeling mad insecure. I remember writing down a list of things I was going to “STOP EATING! NO MORE!” I jotted down all the foods I was going to avoid for my “diet.” Just the thought of it stressed me out (bruh, at 7), not even a couple hours later, I opened up my diary and crossed out my whole list. It’s crazy that diet culture starts that young.

I got the nickname “Good Life” from my uncle. The joke was since I was big, I must be eating good all the time and have the “Good Life.” I turned red with embarrassment as all the family laughed at my new found nickname. “Its ok!” They all urged. They explained that my older cousin was the previous “Good Life,” she grew out of it, so years later, now I’m the new one. I remember trying to laugh about it too. “Join in the joke so they don’t know you’re actually about to cry,” I would think to myself. But everytime I would be called that, it would be like a full-body cringe, I would freeze up, and I could feel my face getting flushed with pure uncomfortableness. I remember always wanting to angry cry, but it took all of me to hold it in because I knew I’d get in trouble for taking it too seriously.

I think that’s why I became the tomboy. I wanted to be tough, act tough, and be Buttercup in every way possible. Shitty weight comments is what made me grow a thick skin. But even though I was a little tough kid and acted like those comments didn’t phase me, somewhere deep deep down on the inside I was a delicate little flower who struggled with body image issues. I checked my weight on our shitty bathroom scale often and wished I saw something lower everytime. This time frame I’m talking about Kindergarten to 4th -ish grade y’all.

And by 4th grade I had already developed and was most definitely bigger than 96% of the boys in my grade! So at this point, I have family in my ear talking about how big I am, but I also had classmates tell me I’m fat, I could break a chair, and overall just feeling shitty about myself. All of a sudden I had boobs, and I was bigger than everyone else, it was just an awkward time.

Hearing shitty comments that young made me decide early on how I’m not going to talk to my child, or any child for that matter. I’m a ruthless individual if I’m feeling catty. I can destroy someone’s selfworth with just a single sentence. It’s truly a blessing and a curse all at once. I’ve been bullied and I’ve been the bully. It’s all a cycle. Hurtful things have been said to me about my outward appearance, and at times I was the one saying hurtful things. We learn and pick up actions and mannerisms from the environment we grow up in. So since I know first hand what it’s like to be 5 to 10 years old, and being teased about my weight, I know now that I will never be that adult in some kid’s life.

Fast forward to middle school, I’m talking 6th-8th grade. That age group alone is a difficult time in your life already – trying to fit in, find your crew, and maneuver through the childish drama and teenage beef. On top of that you think you’re grown and you’re trying to get noticed by your crush and get chose. I’ve always been stuck in the frendzone hahah. I look back now and it’s funny and cringy as fuck, but back then that shit was tragic. I really felt like I was the DUFF (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) of my friend group. They were all having their first puppy love romances, and I was always just the bro. It made me think there was something weird about me, that nobody saw me past being a bro. Again, this shit is so cringe and minuscle to me now, but back then I was like damn, what the hell am I gross or something? Little did I know that those feelings in early teenage years are completely normal.

Puberty and all that shit really gets to you. Your hormones are all out of whack, popularity and fitting in seems to be the most important thing in your world, and you’re stuck comparing yourself to others. This is around the same time where Myspace was all that and a bag of chips, and Facebook was right around the corner. Peers were starting to get into makeup and beauty products – on the weekends only – since I attended a Catholic school that prohibited makeup, nailpolish, even ankle socks. HAHAHA.

But the benefit of being in a private school was the fact that I didn’t have to wake up everyday and stress over what to wear. Of course, I didn’t see it as a benefit then, but when I think about it now, it took a lot of pressure off of looking a certain way every day. There was a set uniform. Yeah, they weren’t fashionable or cute, but it didn’t matter what my appearance looked like because everyone had to wear the same thing. There were rare days out of the year where we had “Free Dress” days, meaning we could go to school in our regular clothes. These days were a big deal and an opportunity to show your style. I remember being on Aim (damn, I feel old) chatting with my friends the night before free dress days.

“What are you gonna wear tomorrow?”

“With what shoes?”

“Want to try to match?”

“Well do you have a shirt this color too?”

“Bring your camera so we can take pictures!”

I would also keep a mental note of my scars on my left arm. I almost never wore just a short sleeve shirt because I wanted to cover them. The stares, the questions, the disgusted faces people would make when they ask if they could touch it. I would rarely take off my school sweater, and would only take it off if I was legit sweating so much that it was unbearable. And even then I’d use my sweater to cover up my stomach. All these little steps I would take in the name of insecurities was ridiculous.

But the insecurities only amplified as I got to high school. Freshman year I kind of started thinning out because I had P.E. everyday, something I was not used to at all. Previously in my private school we had P.E. classes once a week, so you can only imagine how shook I was that I had to do this shit Monday to Friday. And when the teacher had to weigh us and shouted our weight out loud so the person writing it down could hear… bruh. As you can guess, I absolutely dreaded swimiming class. Changing infront of my peers? THINK AGAIN, I HUSTLED MY ASS OUT OF THE POOL EVERY DAY TO BE THE FIRST ONE OUT TO SHOWER FIRST AND RESERVE A PRIVATE STALL TO CHANGE IN. YOU THOUGHHHHT 💅🏽

But listen, this is where I wanted to start my story, but I felt like I had to give a little backstory of how this instance amplified what I already was struggling with all my life.

My junior year in high school, the guy I was in a relationship with for about a year moved away permanently. We decided to do long distance. Doing long distance at 17 and having it be in another whole ass country – let me tell you, 10/10 would not recommend.

It was such a toxic relationship. We both feared that the other would cheat, so I coped with it by stalking the shit out of Facebook to get my answers when I felt like I was being lied to. He coped with it by verbally abusing me and making my self-esteem so low that I wouldn’t even have the confidence to find someone else. This is part of the reason why I took so long to share this story. I didn’t want to write this in a way that focused on my ex being the bad guy. But more so, how this experience just stacked on top of all the past insecurities I had since a child. This is just 1 layer of the onion.

Anyways, we were “together” for 3-ish years on and off. 2 of those years were long distance without seeing each other physically in person. And in those 2 years of long distance, I truly experienced my lowest moments. It really felt like a test of my sanity sometimes. I was insecure as it is, and on top of that I had a “boyfriend” in another whole ass country that sometimes went M.I.A. for days. My gut feeling was telling me I was getting cheated on. So I would take to social media to try to find evidence. It was exhausting. Knowing you know the truth but can’t find the evidence to back it up. We fought almost everyday, I went to sleep crying daily, and we would break up to make up constantly.

I was stalking all these new found Facebook friends of his, and why it seemed like all of them were hot as hell with perfect bodies. If those were the kind of girls he was around daily, why would he need me? Now I see why he spoke bad about my appearance all the time, look what I’m up against…

“You should be happy a guy like me even gave you a chance.”

“Fat bitch.”

“Who would even want to fuck you?”

“Look at me, now look at you. I could get someone so much hotter.”

“You can’t get someone better than me.”

“Even my aunt said you’re fat.”

“If I was there I’d beat the shit out of you.”

“Some girls in my class saw on FB that we’re in a relationship and they were like, ‘that’s your girlfriend?!’ ”

All the while trying to flip the script and say that I must be cheating and xyz. I never cheated. Stayed faithful the whole way even though I knew it was a toxic, tumultuous, mind fucking mess. He later admitted that he did cheat on me after we broke up, which made me hate myself for not listening to my gut feeling. THAT SHIT BE THE TRUTH, PEOPLE! THAT’S YOUR BODY’S WAY OF SAYIN, YO, SOMETHING REALLY AIN’T RIGHT.

My senior prom was coming up and he had planned to attend. At this point we were almost a year and a half into long distance. I haven’t seen him in so long. I wanted to prove a point that I wasn’t the same fat bitch he had last seen in person 1.5 years prior. Prom was in April, so in January 2013 I started to diet. Also known as: starve myself.

I would eat just a handful of cheerios in milk for breakfast, I’d take a heatable “green giant” frozen pack for lunch. This said “lunch” was 30 or 50 calories (I forget) of frozen broccoli in “cheese.” That shit tasted like water. And for dinner I’d eat at home, but not as much as I would usually eat. And you know what? It started working. I started to slim down – and fast. But pretty often I’d feel depressed and binge out on a big hot cheeto bag. However, my binging didn’t out weigh the times I was hungry.

I boasted about how I’m trying to look good for prom. I took pride in the fact that I was starving myself but seeing results. People told me I looked good, they congratulated me on my weight loss. My confidence went up, even though I knew it was such an unhealthy way of living. But I didn’t care.

For once in my life I wasn’t the fat bitch. For once I could back up my comebacks that “no, you should feel lucky that I’m with you.” I valued what I saw in the mirror. The size on the back of my tags justified my worth. And for once it was “where I wanted to be.” For the first time in my life, I had confidence in myself. And if you would’ve told me what I was doing was unhealthy and wrong, I probably would’ve justified my actions.

And if you were to tell me that I picked up an eating disorder over a guy that was totally undoubtedly cheating on me, I probably would deny it. But that’s what it was. An eating disorder. And my peers and people around me had the same mindset as me- that it wasn’t that big of a deal. I planned to stop once prom was over, but I was getting used to it. Maybe I could continue after as well? Just until I get to “where I want to be.”

And what’s crazy is even at my skinniest, I still nitpicked at different parts of my body. Yes, I was getting smaller, but I wasn’t perfect. To me, there was always something else that could look better. It took my body dysmorphia to a whole new level. The sad reality was that I could lose as much weight as I wanted, but the self-hate I had towards myself would always tell me that I should lose more.

I did this process of starving and barely eating for about 3-ish months. Until I got the news that my ex wouldn’t be coming to my prom. I was so depressed that I started eating everything and anything. “What’s the point of this anymore,” I thought to myself. I was doing this to prove something to a particular person, and since he wasn’t coming anymore, why bother?

Around the same time is when I had to walk the runway for my sister’s first fashion show. It was a week or 2 after prom, so in my head, the weight loss wasn’t completely for nothing. Like I said in my previous post, I was so insecure during the first show because all the other “models” were actually models. They were all thin, fair skin, tall, and nothing like me. Even with my weight loss, I was still probably the biggest “model” there.

After some time, I gained back the weight I had originally lost. I was now in my first semester of community college. Some of my friends were juicing for weeks on end, and losing a lot of weight doing it. I somehow got convinced to try it. I told my ex I was going to try juicing for a week, low key hoping for a, “you’re beautiful the way you are,” type of comment. Bruh, he got so excited and happy and encouraged me to do it.

I lasted what, 2 or 3 days with juicing? Im not gonna lie I really felt like I was dying 💀. I felt so weak and hungry. I lost a couple pounds but that shit came right back once I started eating real food. Let’s just say I was a lost soul. Stuck in a shitty toxic relationship thinking my appearance would somehow ease my pain.

Finally, during my 2nd semester of community college, I finally ended things with my ex. It was such a breath of fresh air. I really felt like I could do anything and everything in life. I found my motivation to do better, by dropping the dead weight that was holding me back. It was 3 years too long. Nobody should have to go through abuse like that. Physical or not, verbal abuse is real and really fucks with your head.

At the time I was pursuing Early Childhood Education, so I got a child care job at a gym. I was so embarrassed when I first started working there because it was the most ironic thing for me to be working at a gym. Of all places. Hahahah. I took advantage of my free membership and would workout a couple times a week. I felt like I low key had to put in an effort since I was so out of place. I wasn’t a trainer, a body builder, shit I wasn’t even a member.

But it was kind’ve a lot of pressure to work at a gym, especially hearing what Male coworkers would say about people walking by the front desk. Honestly disgusting. I thought, shit, if you’re talking all that smack about someone you don’t know, I can only imagine what you say about me when I’m not around. Because I clearly wasn’t a fitness freak, and a lot of my coworkers were. I would get workout sessions from Jazzie for free since she was a trainer. It was off the clock for her, and I bitched every step of the way.

I really feel like I got this ironic job just so my path would cross Christian’s. He was my coworker that turned into my man real quick. It was so different being with a nice guy. It was actually weird to me. I didn’t know how to act. Even though I was single for a year, I felt like I had PTSD from my last relationship. I didn’t feel like I had to hide how I really am with Christian. For instance, I ate around him. This is something that I couldn’t do before. I would act like I was full because I didn’t want my ex to think I was a fatass. With Christian from the get, I’ll eat all mine and pick at his while I’m at it. The real me, cuz ya girl can eat.

As our relationship progressed, I added that happy weight, and birth control pills didn’t help this area either 🤦🏻‍♀️. But I have a guy that loves me regardless how big or small I get. But I still struggled. I struggled a lot. I hated the person I was. I hated how insecure I was. I hated that I was getting fatter and loved to eat. I hated that I was probably 35 lbs heavier since high school. I hated the way I looked, the body I’m in, the way I strived for the perfect hour glass figure. I hated that I was getting stretch marks. I hated that it was so obvious that I gained weight. But most importantly I hated that I hated myself.

At the end of my first semester at SF State I had a low key mental breakdown that lead to my rebirth. Transfering to SF State was lit. I spent 3 years in community college and finally felt like I was making progress with my life transfering to a 4 year university. SF State has a Quickly’s, a Phó, an Indian spot, pizza, ramen, Ike’s, Mexican food…. you get the point – I never went hungry. My first semester I had a weird schedule. Some early morning classes here and there, afternoon classes, even a night class that got out at 10 pm. I had to eat at school because I was basically there all day.

I remember this day vividly. I was waiting for my 7 pm class and had a gap. I got some Phó from campus and a boba drink, I ate in the cafeteria. It wasn’t too crowded. It was about 6:35 pm, and I finished my Phó, it was dark outside already. I was full as fuck. I sat there looking at my empty bowl of soup and my boba drink that was halfway done. I fucking hated myself. Fuckin’ pig. I felt disgustingly full. I felt so shitty about myself that I wanted to cry. To anyone passing by, I was just sitting, staring blankly at my food. On the inside I was breaking down, on the verge of tears. This wasn’t the first time I felt like this. In fact, I felt this way everytime I ate, especially when it was something I bought.

And while I’m on the verge of completely losing it, I look at the time a realize I got to get to class. I walk out into the darkness, not even caring about my surroundings. I’m passing by people but it’s all a blur. It doesn’t feel like real life, I’m too trapped in my head. I get to class and I’m still bothered. I hate myself. I feel disgusting. I’m so fat. You’ll never be happy with yourself.

Then it hit me. If I were to die at that exact moment, what would I have to show for it? I spent 22 years of my life hating the body I lived in. If I were to die right then and there, could I say I honestly lived? Or was the highlight of my life being forever insecure and unhappy with myself? “No more.” I thought to myself. This will be the body I die in. This will be the body and mind I have to live with everyday. Why waste my time hating it? Right then and there I refused to waste anymore time hating my body. It’s like a switch went off in my brain.

I went on Instagram and unfollowed every Kardashian, every account that would make me feel less than, every account that I compared myself to. I deleted a lot of famous people that edit their photos. “No more,” with every unfollow. It was empowering. I then started looking up body positive accounts.

*follow*

*follow*

*follow*

*follow*

All the while my professor is talking about diversity in journalism.

There was no stopping me. At the end of it all I felt my whole body was tingling. The best high – the road to self-love.

I started educating myself with the body positive community. I realized that I resonated with a lot of them. Their struggles were like mine. I felt likeI found my community.

Of course I didn’t accept and love my body that easily. It literally took so long to unlearn every negative thing that I have ever told myself. I found solace in the body positive community and feminism. When you realize that beauty industries profit off your insecurities, you really start to look at things differently.

Not too long ago I craved to be beautiful. Nowadays I crave to inspire, to be authentic, to be knowlegeable and smart. I crave to fight for body representation, and representation of people of color with different body types in the fashion industry. I declared Women Gender Studies my minor, and I truly feel like it opened up my mind.

I studied up on feminism and different ways that women are oppressed. It was like a revelation. I was intaking life differently. My existence in itself is a rebellious act. I’m a woman. A woman of color. A plus-sized woman. I felt empowered fighting for women’s rights, it’s like I had a new found passion. I was insecure my whole life because there was never anyone that looked like me on TV, in magazines, in Hollywood.

Today I am probably 50-60 lbs heavier than I was in high school. But I can honestly say that I am overall happy with myself. Of course I have those days where I feel big and gross, but I got to remind myself who I am. I am so much more than my weight. I am so much more than my outward appearance.

All that’s ever geared towards women are beauty products, dietary supplements, clothes, and all these things that focus on the outside. Growing up I thought this shit was normal. But what does that tell women? That they’re only good for their appearance, that it’s all they should care about. And I refuse to feed into toxic beauty standards and ideals.

To most, gaining weight is the worse thing that could happen to a women’s appearance. A couple years back I would agree. But now, I eat what I want, I wear what I want, I do what I want unapologetically. I strive to be healthier by working out, but if I don’t go for a straight month or 2, I’m not beating myself up about it.

Not giving a shit about beauty standards and societal norms has truly brought me peace of mind. I’ve grown so much – literally, spiritually, and mentally. This is my weight gain journey – it brought me to the path of self-love and self-acceptance.

For those of you who remember me 60 lbs lighter and have thought “yo, wtf happened to her?!” The answer is, she grew up, she found herself, she doesn’t give a fuck 🥰😘

Podcast Episode #1 : Rose Vixen

I got paired with this really sweet girl in my Women Gender Studies GWAR class. We had to edit each other’s rough drafts, and I was very self conscious about mine. The professor let each of us pick whatever topic we wanted to write about for a final research paper. Of course, I went for what I was into – the Body Positive Community.

I explained to my partner that I had so much to say and this was a topic I’m very passionate about. She told me she really loved my topic and thought it was an important one to shed light on. At the end of class, she humbly and casually said, “I actually have an Istagram account that has a following in the Body Positive Community, I can help you.” Little did I know that my randomly selected partner was actually a well-known member of the community, who went by the name Rose Vixen. (@bbw.vixen on Instagram.)

Rose Vixen was the bomb. She told me certain things I should search up to bulk up my paper, told me the stories of her and fellow BoPo members being discriminated against, and different angles I could write from.

When I made my podcast, I knew I wanted the first real episode to be about the Body Positive Community. I’m so glad and thankful that Rose Vixen let me interview her! Check out Love Yourz Story Podcast Episode #1 with Rose Vixen:

Analyzing My Instagram

I made this video of myself where I analyze my Instagram feed and ask myself the questions: Why am I posting this? How do I want people to perceive me? How do I accomplish the image I’m trying to portray on social media? Is my social media accurate with what’s going on in my real life? I analyzed my Instagram and came up with 5 things about me that I try to reflect online. I’ve realized that I really want people to know that 1. I’m a writer, 2. I have a blog, 3. I’m obsessed with J.Cole, 4. I’m from the Bay Area, and 5. I’m a body positive advocate and a feminist. I’ve provided screenshots from my actual Instagram profile to be completely open and truthful, but to also show what specific pictures and posts I’m talking about.

I thought it was important to dissect social media in particular because it’s such a big part of our lives. I personally think that people try so hard to uphold a certain image online, and at times, it can be very detrimental to ourselves and others. We tend to compare our lives to those around us, and if all we see are curated, happy, “I’m livin’ my best life,” photos all the time, it can leave some viewers feeling like they need to measure up to something unachievable. It’s like a competition of “Who has the better life?” It’s more common to see happy pictures and moments posted up on the ‘gram, rather than in-depth self-reflecting posts. I’ve written a couple stories on social media and the effects it has on people and how they view themselves. And I’ve found that social media tends to make people feel worse about themselves- whether that be their appearance, their self-esteem, their jobs, their life decisions, or their life in general. Social media is so readily available to view, but this also opens the door for constant criticism and comparing. People are so fixed on broadcasting certain aspects of their lives, but you will never really know the entirety of someone’s life through social media. You’ll just know what they want you to know, what they choose to show you. Like I said in my video, it’s like playing mind games with your followers. It’s not like we’re doing anything malicious, but it’s still trying to persuade your audience to view you in a certain way.

When I was analyzing my Instagram and asking myself these questions as to why I posted them, and what image I’m trying to project, I had my moment. One of those self-reflecting moments where you’re sitting there trying to make sense of everything, and all of a sudden the stars align and everything makes sense and you hit enlightenment. Just kidding, it wasn’t that deep. But I really had a moment of clarity, where I’m like, “ohhhhh…. Ok, so that’s what I’m trying to show, because X, Y, Z.” I think that’s what’s really important. The why behind what we post. What’s the motive? What is it accomplishing? Is the explanation as to why I post things detrimental, or a toxic way of thinking? I believe self-reflecting this way can help someone see their real motives. When I was recording myself talking about why I post things, I felt a little embarrassed to give my “why.” Only because we’re so used to uploading things with a witty or meaningful caption, but never the reason behind posting.

You’ll only know what they want you to know, is what I’m leaving with after this video. Even if someone documents their everyday life regularly, you’ll never really know someone’s truth just by their social media accounts. I was scrolling through my profile and chuckled in my brain a little. Yeah, y’all know I’m a writer, I broadcast it all over and post up my work consistently. But did you know that I’m actually very insecure about posting my work? Did you know that I sometimes wonder if I should even post it up because I have that doubt of, “who will even care?” Yeah, I have a blog. But did you know that I only made it because a class required me to? And did you know that I wanted to make a blog before that but never had the courage to do it? Did you know I kept the blog a secret- aside from those in my class- for about 6 months because I wasn’t confident enough to publicize it? Yeah, J.Cole is my favorite artist of all time… Actually, there’s no revelation for this point, haha. I fuck with J.Cole and I don’t care if you get annoyed of my J.Cole posts J . Yeah, I’m from the Bay Area and proud! But did you know that I constantly beat myself up over the fact that I probably have to live and settle down somewhere else because of how ridiculously expensive it is here? Did you know that I see the neighborhoods that I grew up in changing, and that it makes me really sad? Yeah, I identify as a body positive advocate and feminist. But did you know that I still have those days where I struggle to accept my body? Were you aware that I am so passionate about this topic that I cried in front of my whole class when pitching a body positive podcast idea to a well-known podcaster? Probably not. And that’s my point.

There is so much more to you that your audience will never know. You are the only person that can figure out your why. I’m putting this out there in hopes that someone views it and it changes them, or impacts them in a positive way. I hope that if anyone decides to analyze their own social media, and they realize they’re posting for toxic behaviors, that they reflect on it and find peace within themselves.