Hawaii Women's Journal

"Our Room Is the World."

Health & Fitness Columns

The Balancing Act

"Living in Tree Pose"

BY THERESA FALK

Every morning I pad to my living room in bare feet, lay out my yoga mat, and do three sun salutations. I finish with Vrksasana, tree pose, in the light of the rising sun.

Tree pose looks relatively simple: standing in Tadasana (mountain pose, from which allthe standing poses originate), one raises a foot and nestles it firmly against the other, as close to the top of the thigh as possible. One can either hold hands in prayer pose or reach them to the sky.

Vrksasana is, ultimately, about balance.

I have always felt that yoga is not about achieving complete stillness: it’s about a million little purposeful movements and adjustments, each an attempt to counter an opposing force. I have found this perspective useful in not only my yoga practice but also in my daily life. Everyone has heard the ubiquitous mantra: “Strive for balance.” We as women certainly make a brave attempt at it. We work all day and then come home to our families, nurturing who and when we can, all the while trying to fit in a workout, a manicure, a yoga session, or even just a trip to Longs. Sometimes you make it to the 4:30 p.m. Vinyasa class; sometimes you end up dozing on the couch in your Ganesha tee shirt. Sometimes you fall out of tree pose and land on your ass.

My right-legged tree pose is always firm and beautiful: I can get that left foot all the way up my right thigh. Switch to standing on my left leg, however, and no matter how many days a week I work to perfect it, my right foot slips down to my left knee like a wiggling fish. It drives me crazy. I have coated my right foot with baby powder and bought extra-sticky yoga socks, but that foot has a mind of its own.

This vexes me.

The other day one of my students—we’ll call her Zoe—came to confer with me about a paper she was writing. She brought in a complete, twice peer-reviewed, and edited draft four days before it was due. She laid the paper in front of me, smoothed it out, and proceeded to burst into tears.

After procuring a tissue box and gently pulling the tear-stained pages from her trembling fingers, I asked her what was wrong.

“It’s just not doing what I want it to, Ms. Falk! It’s—it’s like the words have a mind of their own!”

“What do the words want to say, Zoe?”

She proceeded to outline an entirely new essay, complete with thesis statement, main points, and possible support.

“Why don’t you just write that paper, Zoe?”

She sniffled, “Because I worked so hard on this one, and I feel like I failed it.”

That afternoon, with my legs up in shoulder stand, I thought about Zoe’s predicament. It was and is a very accurate mirror of the experiences we all have when trying to achieve a balanced life. We have huge expectations of ourselves as women, girlfriends, wives, mothers, daughters, and friends. We are expected (or expect ourselves) to do everything—and do it right. The first time. And when we fail to fight off the toppling influences of whatever life throws at us, we beat ourselves up. Big time.

My train of thought must have distracted me, though, because I felt my legs become heavy and collapse toward the wall behind me. I quickly tightened my core and pushed my heels toward the ceiling, finding my way back into the pose.

The extra blood to my brain then induced a moment of clarity. The root cause of Zoe’s frustration lay not in her writing, which was much better than she imagined, but in her inflexibility. She was so unwilling to let go of that first draft—that first enormous expectation—that she could not acknowledge the newer essay before her. The one she actually wanted to write.

Striving for perfection will always throw us off balance. I still hate the fact that my left-legged tree pose is not as strong as my right. I have to remind myself that part of living one’s yoga is to let go of perfectionism and unrealistic expectations. I must be flexible in body—as well as mind and spirit. I am human—I can only do so much, and if that right foot wants to kiss my knee instead of my upper thigh, then so be it.

We women tend to measure our lives against the ruler of perfection: we only consider our lives “balanced” if we are the perfect woman, daughter, wife, and friend. We are “balanced” if we have full bank accounts, schedules, and closets. We are “balanced” when we have way too much to carry—we try to do tree pose every day, all day, while holding a Coach bag, gym duffel, briefcase, laptop carrier, and mini cooler containing our homemade and nutritious lunch. While in three-inch heels. It’s no wonder we often drop it all and fall over. Maybe we need to be flexible enough to let ourselves carry only one bag at a time.

There’s a point you reach in yoga, after having practiced for a while, where you suddenly sink into a pose like a root into soil. Your body settles into its natural grace; it is a feeling of stillness, yet if you pay attention, you’ll notice your muscles adjusting, a millimeter here, a millimeter there. You’re not in control anymore—your body has learned how to right itself, how to regain its balance on its own. It’s an amazing feeling, but it comes only after consistent—and challenging—practice.

When teaching tree pose to kids in my summer yoga class, I include a variation: the “windy tree.” While standing firm in Vrksasana, I ask them to move their arms back and forth as if they are branches in the wind. We even make wind sounds. The students’ faces inevitably burst into joyous smiles as they sway back and forth, their fingers gliding in every direction; some are gentle breezes, others are trades.

And it’s funny—I’ve never seen a single one of those branches break.

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THERESA FALK
Theresa Falk is a writer, director, performer, and educator. She teaches English at Iolani School. e-mail: theresa.d.falk@gmail.com blog: www.msmanifest.typepad.com

The Dame Game

"Playing with the Boys"

BY ALI STEWART-ITO

“Why do I have to cover my top?”

“That’s just what girls have to do,” my mom replied as I pulled on the one-piece bathing suit and ran for the pool. It wasn’t fair; why could the boys run around wearing no shirt? It’s not like we looked any different.

When I was five, gender rules began to reveal themselves, and it became increasingly clear that being a boy was way cooler. I preferred wrestling or playing Masters of the Universe with my brother and his friends, hated dresses, and opted to wear my indestructible toughskins jeans nearly every day. I sported the androgynous bowl cut, and when puberty began to make an appearance in the form of what I deemed unfortunate protrusions, I proceeded to wrap my upper torso with an ace bandage to keep my chest looking flat and fabulous.

High school arrived and I began to don my femininity, though it was not in the form of makeup and mini-skirts. I no longer worried about masking my feminine attributes and did my best to emulate the fashion sense of my beloved Punky Brewster. I still hung out with the guys, but being “just friends” started to get a bit tricky. Crushes and butterflies shadowed all else, as gossip about who was “going” with who made it from one end of campus to the other in a matter of minutes. My crush developed into a serious boyfriend. We wrote love poems and made mix-tapes for each other, but more importantly, we engaged in fiery competition. A perfect date was pick-up basketball with the boys followed by a Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburger.

Blessed with a genetic makeup that granted me coordination and fine motor skills, I was a multi-sport athlete in high school participating in Volleyball, Basketball, and Track. Many girls on my teams shared my passion for hard-fought competition, but once practice or game time passed, the locker room resounded with birdlike chatter as my teammates fluttered and preened, applying fragrances and lipstick in preparation for watching the boys play. They moved as a flock, settled daintily on the bleachers, and cheered for the boys. The picture of societal norms was complete: males engaged in competition while females watched, demurely batting eyelashes and crossing legs, keeping their reproductive organs safe. Because it seemed so scripted, so contrived, I could never bring myself to bat my eyelashes without also expelling a hearty belly laugh, so I decided to forgo the cheerleader act and do what I love best: play.

In college, I continued to compete in competitive athletics on club soccer, basketball, and volleyball teams. Some teams were co-ed, some weren’t, but at University of Washington, it really felt like we were all on the same team. As students, we all were feeling our way in a newfound world and having fun was one of the top priorities. Once I stepped foot off-campus, however, the rules were different. But I was lucky enough to have a few of my male college friends introduce me to the world of pick-up soccer.

Let me take a moment to explain the difference between an official game and a pick-up game. A “pick-up game” is not about getting a date or a weekend fling—it’s about showing up at a park with the necessary gear and playing a game with whoever else shows up that day. There are no referees, generally no limitations on the number of players, and only the waning daylight determines when the final whistle blows. A spontaneous pick-up soccer game usually features players who are almost exclusively men. Women do come together to compete, don’t get me wrong; it is just rarely as spontaneous. We prefer carefully considered plans.

I used to feel too intimidated to jump into a pick-up game, preferring to arrive flanked by male comrades who somehow managed to silently vouch for my ability. I couldn’t, however, always depend on their presence, pushing me to venture across that great gender barrier to enter that zone in which the day’s frustrations burn to smoke.

The first time I decided to join a pick-up game on my own, I was afraid. Many men in pick-up soccer communities have little to no experience playing with women—at least not as equals. How were they going to react to a woman joining the game? To further complicate the scenario, my inherent shyness made it almost impossible for me to simply step into a field of unfamiliar faces. But I had been here before. Playing sports with friends of either gender was such an integral part of my being. My desire to play outweighed my fears.

I warmed up on the fringes: dynamic stretches, some juggling, nothing too flashy. I periodically glance at the field, making intermittent eye contact, careful to avoid being misconstrued as coy. And, after a few minutes, the sought-after “join us” wave beckoned me. I was in.

The first ten minutes of playing as an “unknown” in a pick-up game is like being the new animal on display in the zoo or even a newbie in the workplace. People ooh and ahh, poke and test, and throw food scraps until the animal gets up and shows what it can do. Every move I make is carefully scrutinized. If I don’t prove my ability within the first few plays, I will be deemed obsolete, a pretty flower on the field—nice to look at, but otherwise superfluous.

I don’t want to be a pretty flower. I want to represent: to bust preconceptions into tiny irreconcilable shards, never to be reconstructed. I want to be respected as a player, treated like others on the field, and in no way protected, coddled, or belittled. Yes, I can play. Yes, I want to change preconceived notions some men may have about female athletes. One game at a time, I’m doing my best to prove we can play and compete with the boys.

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ALI STEWART-ITO
Ali Stewart-Ito currently teaches high school English and coaches at a private school in Honolulu. Despite a general state of rootlessness (she’s lived in three different countries and several different states), Hawai‘i gives her warmth in her belly. A lover of travel, sport, and creating, Ali writes to clear the utter mayhem that rocks her skull.
stewartito@gmail.com

Kitchen Medicine

"Traditional Remedies for Today, Part 2"

BY LORELLE SAXENA

This column is not intended to replace the advice of a medical doctor. If you are diabetic, have any type of metabolic disorder, or have a history of food allergies, consult a health professional before taking any of the remedies listed here.

In the last edition of “Kitchen Medicine,” we discussed several easily found household ingredients and their uses in treating common symptoms and minor illnesses. In this edition, we'll explain exactly how to use those ingredients in pleasant-tasting remedies based in the traditional Chinese medical canon. These remedies are so tasty, in fact, that you may find yourself enjoying them even when you're not sick. Because these are all mild, food-based formulas, it's perfectly safe to do so.

I've come down with a common cold or flu: A basic remedy requires a 3-inch piece of fresh ginger, a large orange peel, a handful of fresh mint, and a tablespoon of honey. Place the ginger and orange peel in a non-aluminum pot with about four cups of drinking water and bring to a boil. Once boiling, reduce to a simmer for about 15 minutes. Add in the mint and simmer for another 5 minutes, then strain. Mix in the honey and drink the tea while it’s still very hot. Then bundle yourself up warmly—the spicy heat of the tea should make you sweat, which according to traditional Chinese medical thought helps expel whatever pathogen is making you sick. Keep yourself covered up to encourage sweating throughout the night.

You can customize this tea based on your symptoms:

* If you're coughing or having lots of phlegm, especially if it feels stuck in your chest, increase the orange peel.

* If you have a sore throat, tender and swollen glands, or a lot of yellow or green mucus, increase the mint.

* If you have clear, runny mucus and/or chills, increase the ginger.

* If the worst symptom is fatigue and that run-over-by-a-truck feeling, increase the brown honey.

* If you have the blues along with your cold, add some dried Chinese red dates, which you can get at any Asian supermarket.

I had a cold last week, and now I have a lingering cough: For a dry, hacking cough, simmer a diced pear in two cups of water for 15 minutes. Strain out the pear, mix in 2 tablespoons of honey, and drink.

For a cough that brings up phlegm or is accompanied by a lot of chest congestion, simmer an orange peel or 2 tangerine peels with a thinly sliced 3-inch piece of ginger for 20 minutes. Strain, mix in a tablespoon of honey, and drink.

I'm--ahem--not very regular lately: Stir a tablespoon of honey into a cup of very hot water. Drink this first thing in the morning (on an empty stomach ideally) and again before bedtime. Do this every day for at least a week to see results.

I have nausea and/or vomiting (of any origin, including morning sickness, food poisoning, motion sickness or stomach flu):
The two critical objectives here are first to get your nausea and vomiting to stop and second to get some calories into your system to keep your blood sugar stable. Even if you haven't thrown up your last meal or two, while feeling nauseated you probably haven't been eating a lot.

When you're feeling too sick to eat, sip a simple ginger tea. Peel and thinly slice a 2- to 3-inch piece of ginger and place it in a non-aluminum pot. Cover with 2 cups of water, bring to a boil, and then reduce to a simmer for about 20 minutes. Strain, then mix in a tablespoon of honey. You can make a larger batch and sip it all day to keep nausea at bay; it’s fine to drink hot or cool. This is absolutely a safe remedy for pregnant women.

Once you feel like you can eat something, start with a rice congee. Adding ginger will help to manage any remaining nausea. Thinly slice a 3-inch piece of ginger and place it in a large, non-aluminum pot with a cup of short-grain rice. Add 9 cups of water and bring the pot to a boil. Stir, then reduce heat and allow the pot to simmer for 1.5 to 2 hours, stirring frequently, until the rice grains are no longer distinct and the congee is the texture of thick porridge. Eating the congee plain is best to settle the stomach, but if the blandness puts you off, try adding a little soy sauce and a couple drops of sesame oil.

I often suffer from motion sickness: When traveling, bring along a package of candied ginger. Nibbling this spicy-sweet confection before you start moving can often prevent an attack of nausea. Eating it during an attack can sometimes stop or at least significantly diminish your symptoms.

My sinuses are congested: Both the ginger tea and the ginger congee described above are effective short-term remedies for sinus congestion and pressure. If you are a chronic sufferer of stuffy sinuses, try adding 2 tablespoons of roasted barley to the ginger-tea recipe and drink daily. You can also make the ginger-congee recipe with barley instead of rice or with a combination of barley and rice.

I can't sleep: Simmer 2 heaping tablespoons of barley and a diced pear in 2 cups of water for 15 minutes. Strain through a sieve or cheesecloth, stir in a tablespoon of honey, and drink before bedtime.

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LORELLE SAXENA
Lorelle Saxena, M.S., L.Ac... is a licensed acupuncturist and practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine. Originally from Honolulu, Lorelle now lives in Santa Rosa, California, where she maintains a private practice. She welcomes any questions at lorelle@thesaxenaclinic.com.

Ms. deMeaners: von Hottie’s Guide to Navigating a Modern Life

"Kindness Isn’t Just For Other People"

BY VON HOTTIE
photo by Lucas Stoffel

Here’s the fantasy I have when I am about to receive houseguests: When I open the door, my lipstick is fresh, the refrigerator is fully stocked, the floors and toilet bowl sparkle, and nary a stray paper is on my desk. My guests will roll from plush towels onto satin sheets, where they’ll drift into a deep and cozy sleep and wake to Kona coffee and freshly baked muffins. I want my home to represent my heart: a large, warm space where my nearest and dearest are welcome to curl up and stay awhile, and where frozen Thin Mints are always on hand. It is a fantasy because it’s far from the dusty reality in which my trash is overflowing, where months after my Valentine’s party, sparkly heart detritus is still piled in three corners, and where clothing from the past two weeks makes a trail from my bedroom to my bathroom—which does a lot of things but sparkling is not one of them.

Hold up a second, von Hottie! Who lives here? von Hottie! Who pays the rent? von Hottie! Who deserves to live in a clean and tidy home? von Hottie! So why do I only take care of my personal space when it’s about to be shared by others?

Why do we so often neglect to treat ourselves as well as we treat others? If we’d never let our friends sleep on our unfolded laundry, why are we cuddling up to our clean gym shorts? We’ll cook wholesome and delicious meals for our loved ones, so why are we eating dinners of cold cereal when we’re alone? Our friends could have just swum in mud puddles and we’d still greet them with an enthusiastic “Hello, gorgeous!” but in the mirror we make monster faces at ourselves over a mere cowlick. Enough! Basta cosí! The End, dahling!

People of Earth, it is time to throw a little TLC in our own direction. It is time to wink flirtatiously at our reflections after we apply lipstick. It is time to buy ourselves the good brand of coffee just because it makes our whole day better. It is time to take the bigger slice, the sparkly Band-Aid, the higher thread-count, and the first, hottest shower. Even if you pressed snooze three times, go ahead and congratulate yourself for getting out of bed at all. Before you begin that eighteen-millionth task for someone else, book that appointment you’ve been meaning to make for you. Or simply start with this new rule: every time you do a favor for someone else, you must first do one for yourself.

Aircraft safety cards instruct us to put on our own oxygen masks before helping others for a very good reason: if we neglect to take care of ourselves, we will soon be incapable of helping others. Yes, we are all busy living big and important lives, but let’s remember to take a deep breath for ourselves first. We’re worth it—and the people who love us would agree.

FIVE QUICK WAYS TO TAKE CARE OF NUMERO UNO

1) Look in the mirror. Catcall that sexy beast.

2) Make your bed first thing in the morning. Look—you haven’t even left the house and you’ve accomplished so much!

3) Eat your vegetables. Super foods are for super people.

4) Make bold and new choices, especially when they concern the color of your pedicure.

5) Forget Daylight Savings. Set your clock to “me time.”

If you have pressing etiquette concerns or questions on how to best navigate this modern life, please email vonhottie@vonhottie.com.

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VON HOTTIE
... is a performer, pinup, and guru living in New York. You can follow her many adventures at vonhottie.com as well as on Twitter @askvonhottie and Facebook.
blogs: vonoracle.blogspot.com, vonhottie.tumblr.com

The Wellness Manifesto

"Diet, Interrupted, Part Two: My Body Is a Temple… Sometimes"

BY IVY CASTELLANOS
photo by Archana Hass

Self-hate is a succubus. Just when we think the fetishization of thinness and perfection is waning, we’re smacked with an evolved beauty bias. “Real beauty” has become corporate America’s new It Girl, as contemporary commercials now nobly feature an ensemble of “regular” women varying in age, shape, size, race, and ethnicity. They are certainly more representative of our population than Heidi and Gisele, but each heralded nontraditional model is still, at the end of the day, retouched to mask “minor imperfections.” We all struggle with a less-than-favorite body part (or two), but with every media and corporate retouch, realness itself becomes redefined. Buy our product because we campaign for real beauty. Is the “real woman” marketing approach simply the evolution of the “waif with porcelain skin” archetype? Now that “real” has become relative and is subject to corporate modification, you bet it is.

For the past few decades, we’ve challenged the assumption of the homogenized, unattainable female form to which all women should aspire. But challenging one’s own perceptions and distortions about our own bodies—ingrained and reinforced over a lifetime—can be another matter entirely.

Last issue, we resolved that self-disparagement and conforming to rigid standards of beauty are outdated scripts. Armed with nothing more than truth goggles, she-love, and a dash of defiance, this issue’s Wellness Manifesto explores three things: self-care, self-appreciation, and positing a wider, more inclusive definition of beauty. Wellness—of which positive self-image and healthy self-esteem are integral components—is about physical invigoration, nutrition that nourishes and satisfies, and an outlook that is affirming. We’ve adopted a quid pro quo relationship with our bodies—appreciating them only after they’ve satisfied the list of conditions and mandates we’ve set for them. It’s time, however, to flip the script. Starting from a place of gratitude and reverence for your body allows you to build on your strengths and assets rather than minimize and abandon them every time you flip through a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

Life Is a Catwalk
Ours is a society governed by a Media/Entertainment/Advertising Triarchy, a nefarious triple threat that lures us into their web of products, illusions, and fantasies. We’ve come to view life as a pageant, and this notion is firmly supported by our electro-addicted, perpetually plugged-in way of life. Reality television reinforces the belief that stardom is just a sex tape and a few Tweets away. Celebrity adulation and its corollary, celebrity scrutinization, have become national pastimes. Websites, television shows, and magazines magnify every celebrity blemish, dissect every fashion faux pas, and monitor the slightest weight gain (baby bump!) or weight loss (her lifelong battle with addiction). We are offered ample opportunity to vote, rate, and judge our cultural icons, and anyone on MySpace or Facebook is subject to the same scorecard system.

The result of this “hot or not” mentality is the dichotomization of women. Essentially, we are either Megan Fox or Susan Boyle—pre-Britain’s Got Talent. We’ve become masters of picking apart the female body, not realizing the sum of these parts is, gasp, a whole person. Aspiring starlets plead with their plastic surgeons: Doc, please make me hot. Give me ScarJo’s lips, Tyra’s boobs, Cameron’s legs, and a Kardashian ass. In the context of pre-party Master Cleansing, drive-through lap-band, and a life-as-a-photo-shoot mindset, what’s a girl to do? Is any degree of self-love achievable?

Create Opportunities That Allow You to Appreciate Your Body
Summer is on its way, and we all know what that means: It’s time for the “Get Beach-Body Ready” media blitz, reminding us that dimples belong on our faces, not our thighs. Rather than resolve to diet or lose weight, why not devote your attention to living in greater harmony with your body?

Many people equate accepting your body with throwing fitness and health to the wind. Unconditional body acceptance does not condone being a Burger King habitué or living life from your sofa under the guise of my pot belly is cute, thank you very much. Instead, accepting your body is about building a positive self-image, upon which other healthy behaviors may be developed.

For millennia, women have been taught to value their bodies as purely ornamental. Changing the focus, however, from what our bodies look like to what our bodies can do—and how powerful we feel in them—is an empowering first step.

Exercise to improve overall athleticism. Find value in physical fitness and fun over absolute weight and appearance. Once you shift your focus from how your body looks to what it can accomplish, you’ll begin experiencing your body in terms of more legitimate markers of health and fitness, including strength, endurance, energy level, and skill.

Enjoy the process. If you’re an outdoorsy girl who loves surfing, getting into the water will be far more rewarding than going to the gym. If you’re a sports enthusiast and enjoy the thrill of competition, why not join a league? If you think sweating is more repulsive than Jesse James’s mistresses, consider swimming or water sports instead of jogging. Physical activity must be a part of your lifestyle, so it has to be fun and stimulating.

Identify barriers. What’s really stopping you? Be honest and devise a plan that’s doable and realistic. Time will always be an issue, so it’s a matter of weaving activities you love into your daily schedule. For example, if you’re a stay-at-home mom without access to a sitter, exergames such as Wii Fit or Dancetown may be plausible solutions. If it’s motivation you lack, why not buddy up, hire a personal trainer, or join an online support group?

Consider the physiological benefits. Exercise is an excellent stress management tool, and instantly improves mood and libido by releasing endorphins into your bloodstream. Less bitchy and more sexually charged? I’m on it!

Have you ever been held hostage by a bag of Cheetos? Rather than eat for health and pleasure, we often become prisoners to food. Focus on eating to support the health of your body. In other words, eat for optimum nutrition and don’t cheat yourself out of enjoyment.

Rather than focus on reducing and restricting, which can often provoke feelings of deprivation, try adding whole, nutritious foods to your diet.

Before you eat, ask yourself whether the food will nurture and sustain your health or potentially compromise it.

Healthy eating is about variety and balance, therefore cookies are not inherently evil. In fact, a good-versus-bad mentality encourages moral judgment, which then often extends to the person doing the eating. I ate well today, therefore I’m a good person. I ate badly today, therefore I’m a bad person and must substantiate this by polishing off another package of Oreos.

Certain highly palatable foods are considered gateway foods: having a little often leads to consuming enormous amounts, so be wary. For example, I bite into one salsa-doused tortilla chip, and three baskets later, I realize I’ve just exceeded the daily caloric intake of a Clydesdale.

A food journal is an excellent tool for providing feedback on nutrition, identifying pitfalls and areas of improvement. Try this: Over a two-week period, record what you eat, being as specific as possible. Note quantities and include beverages and condiments (yes, that glob of mayo counts). Record the time of each meal and snack, and be aware of situational cues that correspond with hunger/mealtimes: Were you vegging in front of the television? Arguing with your boyfriend? (Note: driving past Leonard’s Bakery on the way home may explain why you were compelled to empty the contents of your fridge directly into your mouth.) Record your mood: How were you feeling? Were you worried, stressed, bored, happy, or anxious? Journaling can give great insight into how emotional triggers and food cues affect eating habits. When you reflect on your entries, you may notice you’re consuming too many or too few calories, or you may realize you crave chocolate every day at exactly 4:00 pm. Armed with this information, you can make more informed food choices and set yourself up for success. Instead of grabbing the Twix bar from your desk drawer, why not have a piece of fruit handy, substitute dark chocolate, or take a brisk walk?

Meditate on This
On a minute-by-minute basis, our bodies perform a multitude of functions that ensure our survival and well-being. Remember that nasty hangover last month? Your body adeptly metabolized all that Riesling right out of your system. Those cigarettes you puffed on in college? Your body restored your lung capacity and skillfully regenerated damaged cilia. Our bodies are remarkable, efficient machines, capable of extraordinary tasks, yet we rarely celebrate them for their labor and dedication.

In your lifetime, it’s likely that your body has fought off infections, healed cuts and bruises, and repaired broken bones. It may have even mended a broken heart or two. Your body has probably allowed you to see magnificent sunrises, taste delectable treats, and hold a child in your arms. Perhaps it has allowed you to laugh with friends, experience physical pleasure, and conceive new life. Your body enables you to run, climb, jump, dance, and embrace. You were born with the power to give, nurture, protect, love, and forgive. In the context of such richness, who gives a shit about stretch marks and bad hair?

Take note of the amount of time, energy, and money you spend agonizing over your appearance. Ask yourself if it’s really worth it. Try seeking beauty and joy in every moment and bringing an awareness to everything you do. Life is a celebration, not a competition.

Experiment with a weight that feels right for you, aiming to find your body’s set point—the weight at which you feel most comfortable, energetic, and strong. Interestingly, your body will fight to maintain your natural weight, which is likely to fall within a range rather than on an absolute number.

Find your personal style. Whether you rock a head full of dreads, a nifty pair of throwback librarian glasses, or a mansuit a la Annie Hall, find a style that allows you to express your individuality. After all, you are inherently unique: there is no one else on earth like you.

Rebel Yell
According to the National Eating Disorders Association, young girls are more afraid of becoming fat than they are of nuclear war, cancer, or losing their parents. Our socially mandated fear of fatness and imperfection has severe ramifications for the next generation. What kind of legacy are we leaving for our nieces, daughters, and younger sisters? We must increase our awareness of the rich and varied experiences of women of all sizes, ages, ethnic and racial groups, abilities, and sexual orientations. When we do, the narrow, often masochistic, ideas about beauty and bodies will inevitably seem laughable and confining.

We do not have to passively accept the Triarchy’s negative messages and blatant misrepresentation of the female body. Practice independent thinking and reject imposed ideals. If you’re a Perez Hilton junkie and reading trashy tabloid magazines is your one guilty pleasure in life, don’t fret—you won’t be reproached by the feminist police. Understand, however, that the media’s view of beauty has no authority. Remove the blinders issued to you by the Triarchy and learn to be critical of what society proposes as female measures of worth.

Summing up the value of a woman by her waist to hip ratio? Please, this ain’t Stepford. Free yourself from the burden of perfection, honey. It’s an illusion.

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IVY CASTELLANOS
Ivy Castellanos is a freelance writer, currently shopping her first screenplay and finishing two unruly, very insubordinate novels. She has worked in the health and wellness field for over ten years and holds a master’s degree from the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health in health education and behavioral health, and health communications. She lives in Los Angeles with Randy, her husband and muse, and their rambunctious rescue pup, Mick. e-mail: ikcastellanos@gmail.com