"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." -e. e. cummings
Welcome to a community that aims to help women come together to heal spiritually from eating disorders.
Hello. My name is Joanna. I am a recovering anorexic. I became ill during my junior year of college in 2000, and didn't start recovering until several years after school, in 2004. Once the breakthrough began, I began looking for something more than a simple ED recovery community. I wanted to incorporate the whole essence of what it means to be a spiritual, healing human. I was deeply inspired by a book called Eating In The Light Of The Moon by Dr. Anita Johnston. And so I created my own community. I decided that women recovering from eating disorders needed a place where they wouldn't be scolded for talking about "taboo" things like their weight and size. I believe that being unable to talk about your measurements is not a step forward in recovery.
This is a community geared toward helping women recover from eating disorders as well as body insecurities of any kind. Specifically, it is a community that focuses on the natural, spiritual side of healing the body, soul and mind. It is about reclaiming yourself as a woman who deserves everything you think you don't. It is about touching the goddess in you.
I am pagan, but I welcome anyone of all faiths and religions. There must be tolerance and acceptance. This is the only big rule here. No fighting, no bashing, no preaching.
Anyone can join, whether you are in recovery or still fighting a disorder. If you don't have a disorder but have a friend or loved one who has an eating disorder and want to help them, or if you are just insecure about your body and want to talk about it, also feel free to join.
We will talk about whatever you want. You can discuss numbers, of course; however, because some members might still be triggered, it would be best to put numbers behind a cut, or give a warning. I still want this to be a free and open, non-restrictive place, but I want to make sure that everyone is comfortable. You can discuss your bad days, your good days, what you did today. You can discuss your fears and nightmares and hopes and dreams. You can ramble, vent, cry, laugh. Talk about your spiritual side. Talk about how your faith gets you through the tough times. Say hi from your deities, or deity, or spirits, or guardians, or spirit guides. Ask questions. Offer advice. This is a place to talk about natural remedies of all kinds, and spiritual guidance from all walks of life.
It is important that you feel relaxed and safe here. Please don't hesitate to ask anything.
We are strong, and we will fight. Together we can make a difference in the lives and minds of women.
Another community you might like: Our sister community, curvygirls, a wonderful place where women of all sizes can embrace their curves, their bodies, their feminine essences. A community where curves mean health and true beauty. If you love your curves, this is the place for you!
What Are Big Girls Made Of? -Marge Piercy
The construction of a woman: a woman is not made of flesh of bone and sinew belly and breasts, elbows and liver and toe. She is manufactured like a sports sedan. She is retooled, refitted and redesigned every decade. Cecile had been seduction itself in college. She wriggled through bars like a satin eel, her hips and ass promising, her mouth pursed in the dark red lipstick of desire.
She visited in '68 still wearing skirts tight to the knees, dark red lipstick, while I danced through Manhattan in mini skirt, lipstick pale as apricot milk, hair loose as a horse's mane. Oh dear, I thought in my superiority of the moment, whatever has happened to poor Cecile? She was out of fashion, out of the game, disqualified, disdained, dis- membered from the club of desire.
Look at pictures in French fashion magazines of the 18th century: century of the ultimate lady fantasy wrought of silk and corseting. Paniers bring her hips out three feet each way, while the waist is pinched and the belly flattened under wood. The breasts are stuffed up and out offered like apples in a bowl. The tiny foot is encased in a slipper never meant for walking. On top is a grandiose headache: hair like a museum piece, daily ornamented with ribbons, vases, grottoes, mountains, frigates in full sail, balloons, baboons, the fancy of a hairdresser turned loose. The hats were rococo wedding cakes that would dim the Las Vegas strip. Here is a woman forced into shape rigid exoskeleton torturing flesh: a woman made of pain.
How superior we are now: see the modern woman thin as a blade of scissors. She runs on a treadmill every morning, fits herself into machines of weights and pulleys to heave and grunt, an image in her mind she can never approximate, a body of rosy glass that never wrinkles, never grows, never fades. She sits at the table closing her eyes to food hungry, always hungry: a woman made of pain.
A cat or dog approaches another, they sniff noses. They sniff asses. They bristle or lick. They fall in love as often as we do, as passionately. But they fall in love or lust with furry flesh, not hoop skirts or push up bras rib removal or liposuction. It is not for male or female dogs that poodles are clipped to topiary hedges.
If only we could like each other raw. If only we could love ourselves like healthy babies burbling in our arms. If only we were not programmed and reprogrammed to need what is sold us. Why should we want to live inside ads? Why should we want to scourge our softness to straight lines like a Mondrian painting? Why should we punish each other with scorn as if to have a large ass were worse than being greedy or mean?
When will women not be compelled to view their bodies as science projects, gardens to be weeded, dogs to be trained? When will a woman cease to be made of pain?
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