None of them are really believable – Aerie just uses young, blemish-free models and Special K’s point is still to get you to lose weight with their product.
But jeez, at least they’re trying.
Victoria’s Secret on the other hand appears to be completely stuck in the 90’s.
Vicky’s is blatantly sticking to their Photoshopped size 000 images of young women wearing elaborate hair extensions in every storefront across America, including their newest ad for their “Body by Victoria” line.
Now, look. The word body is in quotation marks. One could look at this ad and argue that they are not proclaiming these women have the perfect body.
But who are we kidding? Is that what you choose to see? Do you really stop and explain to your already confused brain that Vicky isn’t trying to body shame us, they’re just advertising a line they carry?
C’monnnnnn. Vicky. Join us in the 21st century, why don’t you?
Every body is perfect. Oh yea sister. Your body is like, so perfect. Every curve, every line, every scar, every crease, every layer, every roll, every freckle. The muscle that lies beneath and the skin that covers it all. It’s all perfecto. Do you believe me?
Whether you choose to shop at Victoria’s Secret or whether you choose to boycott it is not the real gamechanger here. The ultimate gamechanger here is truly accepting your body the way it is and actually believing that YOU have a perfect body.
The bodies in that modeled picture? Beautiful, right? If your body looks like this, beautiful. You are perfect. There’s nothing wrong with you. AND, if your body does not look like this, you’re also fucking beautiful. You are perfect. There’s nothing wrong with you. Your body is perfect.
So. Since Victoria’s Secret is advertising perfect bodies, I’m basically like, hey girl, add me to the list. My body is perfect, so let’s celebrate the perfectness together.
And I’m inviting you to join the celebration.
Join the perfect body celebration in three steps!
1) Click it! Get thee to a mall and take a picture with the “perfect” ladies in the Victoria’s Secret window.
OR if you’re not so lucky to have a mall nearby, (hey, in Hawai’i, we don’t have a Vicky’s on the Big Island – lucky I was visiting Pennsylvania this weekend for this photo!) just take a picture of your perfect body right where you’re standing right now!
ALL BODIES ARE WELCOME. YES. SERIOUSLY. ALL THE BODIES. ALL OF ‘EM.
2) Tag it! Check out this hashtag, are you ready? #addmetothelist
Whether you add the hashtag #addmetothelist to the actual picture (I mean, hello hours on picmonkey, amiright?) or you Tweet it*, be sure to tag your photo with #addmetothelist. Post it to my Facebook page for sharing purposes and follow me on Twitter to see tons of perfect bodies shared all week long. And of course, ALOHA INSTAGRAM! Get those perfect bodies up there!
*Dude, if you Tweet it, be sure to tag @VictoriasSecret in your tweet along with your picture and the #addmetothelist tag – that’s how we will grab their attention!
3) Embrace it! Sharing a picture on Facebook is one thing, but believing that your body really is perfect just the way it is, is really what this is all about. Embrace every inch of that perfect stature of yours and fall in love with the skin you’re in. Need a little help with that? Check out this right here for a boost that might change your life.
Invite your perfect-bodied friends to join the celebration as well, because their bodies and their friends’ bodies and their friends’ friends’ bodies should be on the list too!
I’ll be sharing and retweeting your perfection and your courage with my followers and if we all join up for this perfection celebration, maybe, just maybe, we’ll grab the attention of those Victoria’s Secret perfection-obsessors and let them know that the body love movement is happening and there’s more than one version of perfect.
Maybe we won’t see a size 22 (or I mean, hey, even a size 6 would be adding diversity at this point) models in the windows at a Vicky’s anytime soon, but I think it’s important for you to step up and own your perfection and let those guys know we are here and we are proud and body love isn’t going anywhere.
It’s 2014. There’s a whole new definition of perfect. Let’s show it. Are you with us?
#addmetothelist. Ready, set, GO!
I’ve contacted Geneen Roth and Kris Carr recently to help me raise awareness on emotional eating. Neither one was on board.
It seems to me we’re living in this world where other people’s problems are the money makers. If the problems are eliminated, there’s no more projects needed to fix them. And that’s when things go out of business.
Since I don’t make any money off other people’s problems, and I am an emotional eater myself, I decided to step up and say something.
Am I qualified to say anything about emotional eating? After all, I’m not a doctor. I’m not a nutritionist. I’m not a psychologist. But I did live it. And I think in this case, first hand experience is all the education I need to speak up about it.
Emotional eating and food addiction are often directly intertwined. An addiction is something most people use to fill a void. Where they feel lost, overwhelmed, depressed, angry, or confused, alcohol, drugs, and sex can temporarily erase those feelings. An addiction can numb us for a brief time, but the pain always comes back, and this is how addiction becomes a painstaking cycle of abuse.
Food addiction is much the same, only it’s the fuel for our bodies, and creates a gray area that no one is talking about. No one can give up food cold turkey, and this is where the problem lies when seeking therapy.
Emotional eating falls into that food addiction gray area for the same reasons. For me, emotional eating came through at any time I didn’t know what to do. If I was waiting for the next audition, or I had a day off, or I got cut from work early – I would eat. You know how they say in all the fitness magazines that most people eat out of boredom instead of hunger? Well for once, they’re right. But for me the boredom was an overwhelming feeling of not knowing what to do next. Eating was the catalyst that would get me from one event to another. I ate to fill the void of confusion inside.
Emotional eating is perpetuated by the media all the time. I remember watching Knocked Up and longing to break up with my boyfriend just so I had an excuse to sit in bed with my bestie and slurp up melted Ben & Jerry’s. We see it in movies, we see it on Friends. We see it in magazines. A recent ad for Lindor Truffles (in a fitness magazine, mind you) said: “Feel the day melt away. When you need to escape from a busy day, take a moment to relax and indulge in a delightfully delicious Lindor Truffle.”
Right there is the trigger. “Escape”. That’s what emotional eating is. It’s a temporary escape from the emotions wreaking havoc on our lives. It’s an escape from reality, from the issues we don’t want to touch today, from society’s pressures to be perfect.
Because in a way, emotional eating is a protective bubble. Both women and men have told me that they are terrified to address the emotional eating or their food addiction because they’d lose all their self-depricating humor. They’ve also expressed to me that something happened in their younger years that makes them want to protect themselves with “a layer of fat” or “an unhealthy look” so that no one feels the need to abuse or harrass them ever again. All of those things are natural for a traumatized person to feel. And using to food to comfort or protect is something that no one seems to want to diagnose. Obesity, unhealthy habits, and “lazy” are all diagnoses that seem to come a lot easier to doctors, nutritionists, and the average judgemental human being.
Because of those very popular diagnosies, seeking help for an eating disorder has an extra negative glow around it. For me, addressing my problem with professional help meant so many things. It was a bittersweet event where I could no longer hide behind my crazy little secret. It was sick and sad how much I wished I could go back to eating a jar of Nutella without being aware of why I was eating it. It was terrifying to enter into a recovery where I could no longer joke about my bingeing, my yo-yo dieting, my obsession with chocolate.
There are still days where I almost wish I could go back to that world of unawareness. Where food was comfort and it was always waiting at every bodega in New York City. My emotional eating habit gave me an excuse to leave parties, an excuse to skip auditions, an excuse to feel sorry for myself. Now that I’m in recovery, there are days that are so hard – so hard to accept my body the way it is because I’m not starving it every other day – that I just want to go back to bed cuddling my half gallon of mint chocolate chip.
But then there are the good days, where I can write about it. Raise awareness about it. Bring women out of the dark so that they know there’s nothing wrong with them. They didn’t mess up. They aren’t failures. They have an issue that no one has taken the time to talk to them about, because no one is talking about it.
So let’s talk about it. Let’s. Talk. About. It. Let’s talk about the money spent. Let’s talk about the possessed binges. Let’s talk about the depression. Let’s shed some bright ass light on emotional eating and speak up for those who don’t have any idea there is an answer.
As an emotional eater, I spent $40,000 on food in the past three years. I wouldn’t bring ice cream into the house because I was always on Weight Watchers or some heavily restrictive diet, so I would spend $9 on Pinkberry while I was out and about. I would eat two dinners, or three breakfasts, or order dessert twice. And of course as you and I both know, Nutella is very expensive.
On top of that, I spent over $10,000 on personal trainers, fitness programs, gym memberships, Weight Watcher memberships, and fitness magazines just in the span of 2011 and 2012.
I was the diet and fitness industry’s wet dream. I had no idea what drove me to do all those things other than the fact that I was sure I was a failure, destined to yo-yo and struggle for the rest of my life, and I thought my life’s purpose was to master those things. My to-do lists read “get back to goal weight” and “just count your points Amanda, just do it”.
Weight Watchers, Women’s Health, Equinox Fitness personal trainers – not a single one ever talks about the possibility of eating disorders or body dysmorphia in all the hype they’re putting out. So how was I to know?
A friend finally called me out. Yep. A friend. My personal trainer never said a word, nor did the nutritionist I was working with. But my friend noticed right away after living with me for a month. She handed me When Food Is Love and said, “I think you need to read this when you have a chance and also I love you and you are worth more than you’re weight and your resume.”
Self-help books and therapy became my lifesaving devices for the next year, and still are to this day. My therapist works with me on overcoming the bittersweetness of recovery and the fact that I’m 180 pounds but healthy and sane and how to be thankful for that.
Let’s be honest. Seeking help for binge-eating and food addiction is scary and overwhelming. But you need to know a few things. You are not alone. You have done nothing wrong. You deserve a second chance at a life that isn’t run by guilt, calories, or compulsive eating. And although being patient sucks, it will pay off in the end.
If you feel lost and food makes you feel found, or if you know a friend who seeks comfort in food, help is out there. There are books (I recommend Mindful Recovery: A Spiritual Path to Healing From Addiction and When Food Is Love to start) and there are eating disorder hotlines (National Eating Disorder Association: 1-800-931-2237) and there are therapists and experts specifically for eating disorders and emotional eating. They are few, but they are mighty.
If you are in recovery, you can find some tips on dealing with friends, significant others, and your new healthy body in the mirror here.
Emotional eating has been sitting in a dark corner waiting to be introduced for far too long. I see the money making strategies, and I raise them awareness and power to the people who want their lives back. It’s time to talk about it. It’s time.
Aloha dear reader,
This morning I went to pick a ripe papaya off the tree that stands outside my front door. See, yesterday as I left for work, I noticed the beautiful orange hue of the fruit standing out against all the other unripened green buds on the tree and vowed to pick it this morning to have over my yogurt. Turns out, I waited too long and someone else had my breakfast first. The birds are munching on the pink flesh right outside my kitchen window as I type this to you, and I’m stuck with my plain yogurt sans the strawberry papaya I was so excited about when I woke up.
I’ve had this happen before, you know, only it wasn’t just a beautiful papaya. It was my life.
I’ve been letting life pass me by since I was nineteen years old. Some mornings, I would sleep in so long that I had breakfast at 6pm. Some days, I watched NCIS marathons for so many hours that I never put clothes on or left the house. Some days I was out the door by 6am, but bingeing on a pizza and a roll of peanut butter cookie dough by 2pm, after being cut from an audition. I was living a life based on events – if I didn’t have an event or a date that day, the day was wasted as I waited for the next big event to come along.
I never planned vacations. What if I missed something in my world of show business and networking?
I missed four weddings in the span of two years out of fear of missing out. What if I had a callback for a summer theatre production that would pay me $300 a week?
I left OkCupid dates hanging until the last minute to see if I had a dance class to attend with an important choreographer. I bailed on friends if an important workshop with an agent came up. I skipped birthday parties and goodbye parties just in case I had an event the next morning and needed beauty sleep.
But in the meantime? In the middle of the possible events that would arise? I would do nothing. Well, not nothing. I would alternate between sleeping, bingeing, and hating myself. So I mean, I was actually pretty busy.
Point being, I was never the girl that would pick up for the weekend and say, fuck this noise, I need a break in the Hamptons for a few days, much less would I ever book a flight to somewhere beautiful or tropical or relaxing. I was too afraid to miss a fart in New York City – land of the theatre district where life needed to be.
I would see Facebook posts about my friends going away to Europe for two weeks, or Hawaii for a week in primetime audition season and think, they must be crazy going off and living their life like that! They’re missing so many auditions! They won’t book anything for the summer and all they’ll have is their tan and their happiness and their photos with piña coladas and that’s no life!
Oh my God you guys, I was so deranged.
I didn’t know what living was until I fell hard, flat on my face, in this land called Rock Bottom. Most everyone’s been there, or feels like they’re on their way there at some point in their life. And what I wish for you, is to see that place someday. I wish it for everyone, I do. I don’t want you to stay or get comfortable there, but to see it, is a great privilege. To know that it’s there, is a blessing.
Why?! Because rock bottom can be, and has been, the foundation for which I built my life. And I know that it’s been a foundation for many others in this world as well. Knowing that it’s always there waiting to welcome me back with a bed of rock and a sky of gray, is sometimes all the jolt I need to get moving or take care of myself even when it feels like the hardest task.
Whatever I was doing prior to landing face first in the stank that is Rock Bottom, was not living. It was surviving. It was passing. It was skimming.
I didn’t know that my career, or men, or my weight, was not what my life’s purpose is, until I lost all of those things and didn’t have a one to distract me.
My days of living event to event were no longer – because there were no more events. There was just me, sitting on my couch, calling an eating disorder clinic, and reading self-help books, grasping at straws wondering where the hell I was supposed to go next.
And that’s when Kalani Oceanside Retreat showed up in my Google search.
You know how it goes. One minute you’re watching a kitten fall off a kitchen counter and the next minute you’re clicking on a Nikki Minaj video and the next minute you’re reading an article about UFO’s over New Zealand. Click after click after click of distracting internet braincell killers and the next thing you know you come across some yoga retreat in the middle of the jungle in Hawaii.
Holy shit it was beautiful. There were palm trees. There were smiling people in sarongs and sun hats. There was pineapple. The picture on the homepage was a fucking rainbow.
I felt drawn to keep clicking within the Kalani site. Workshops and hula classes and day trips and wait, what’s that….is that a…..volunteer link?
I’m not really the volunteer type. Like, I’ma need you to pay me for all that cat-sitting, sister.
Wait, you work on the campus and get all your housing, meals, pool, yoga, spa and geckos for free? I’m so overwhelmed.
I click on “apply”. Someone up above officially has control over my fingertips as I scroll through the application and start entering my information.
“Are you mentally stable?”, the application asks. “How would you benefit from three months at Kalani? Are you willing to contribute to your fellow ohana and spread the aloha spirit?”
Mmmmm so many questions that I don’t know if I can answer honestly right nowwwwwwww.
Plus, why do I deserve to go to Hawaii? I’ve always said I’ll wait for my honeymoon to go to Hawaii. It will be so romantic. And since I have a ring on my finger and I’m getting married in 67 days at Galapagos Space in Brooklyn to the love of my life, I’ll be in Hawaii sooner than I know it.
Oh wait. Oh, wait, right, I’m not even dating anyone right now because the last guy I dated ripped out my heart and tap danced on it on the corner of Thompson and West 3rd.
I guess it wouldn’t kill me to go to Hawaii a little sooner than planned. I mean, maybe I’ll meet a yoga daddy with big muscles at Kalani and we’ll get matching tattoos of sea turtles or something and I won’t even need a honeymoon.
Receive phone interview request.
Confirm phone interview.
Proceed with hour phone interview with an actor named Sam from London who is the volunteer coordinator who gets me so hard it’s like we were born of the same brain.
Congratulations, you’ve been accepted to the Kalani Volunteer program.
We will see you on August 1st. Bring bug spray.
That was 2013 y’all.
It’s now August 2014 and my life has taken these crazy, leopard print, masking taped, roaring turns that has landed me here – talking to you.
Inviting you to join me.
Just like the birds got the papaya before me because I didn’t take two minutes to pick it yesterday before speeding off to work, I don’t want a man, or a job, or an event, to get in the way of your Hawaii trip before it’s too late.
What if there never is a reason to come to Hawaii? What if there never is a honeymoon, or your spouse wants to go to Alaska instead? What if you never have the money for the flight? What if what if what if what if what if what if what if?
There will always be a what if. There will always be a reason not to say yes. There will always be a voice telling you that you do not deserve a trip to a beautiful place.
Until you shut it up.
I want to help you shut it up. I want to convince you that you deserve all the riches and all the papayas and all the body love and all the beauty in the world. I want to bring you to a safe and healing place where you can cultivate self-love, intuition, and your inner roar.
And I want that place to be Hawaii. Because it’s where I found my Roar, and it’s where you will find yours.
I have no doubt in my mind that you belong here with me picking papayas before the pesky birds step on your breakfast. All I need you to do, is believe that you belong here too.
Believe that it’s meant to be, and the flight will come. The money will come. The time off work will come. The trip can happen.
Everything you need for this dream to become a reality is inside you. You manifest what you need when you are fully committed to needing and wanting it, and not taking no for an answer.
I promise you, we will be shaking and sweating and sharing in the jungle together at some point in your life.
Whether it’s at the upcoming retreat in January 2015 or it’s in August 2018 – five years after I found my inner roar at Kalani – we will toast with a coconut water and thank ourselves for giving ourselves the gift of peace, nature, and dancing in the jungle – possibly naked and even more possibly in the cleanest rain on earth.
I invite you to open your heart and check out some itinerary, some pictures, and some answers at www.restoreyourroar.com where Olivia and I are waiting for your loud and proud “YES I WANT SOME OF THIS” whenever you are ready.
And go ahead and tell me below in the comments, what have YOU been waiting to do all your life that (hopefully) you now realize you can totally do by yourself, right now, without a honeymoon or a reason to do it? I want to hear about YOUR dreams so that I can keep them in my prayers and remind you in six weeks to get a flight-checkin’ and a bag-packin’.
Aloha from Hawaii, and see you soon,
I’ve been writing pretty honestly for the past year, but rarely do I get to actually speak to y’all. I’ve thooooooought about video blogging… but I know that I’m a writer before I’m a speaker. It’s always seemed more important for me to get every thought down in writing so that none of it ever goes unsaid.
When Robin Rice and Lisa Meade reached out to me about my participating in the Stop The Beauty Madness campaign, I totally agreed to play, knowing that Roar has such a strong message and I always need to take advantage of opportunities to spread it far and wide.
I had no idea that these two women would also give me a chance to speak up on behalf of performers – which is what my goal has been this entire time.
Long before Roar, I’ve been striving to be a voice for actresses and dancers who have been told what size they need to be to book a role. Long before my participation in the body love movement, I set out to raise awareness on the body issues and eating disorders so many of us face in show business.
And my deepest gratitude today goes to Robin Rice, for allowing me to open up about ALL THE FREAKING THINGS.
So this post is me speaking to you, about you, for you, because you and I are not that different. Your story and my story have different beginnings and different endings but at some point, I feel as though we have overlapping chapters… or you wouldn’t be here with me in the first place. This post is this very honest and raw interview that I did for me, for you, for the future generation. This post is one to be listened to with you coffee or a glass of red wine or on a walk down a very peaceful road. This post is meant to be heard, not read, because nothing can ever replace voice inflection and emotion. This, is my interview, on behalf of performers and women, for the one million strong #StopTheBeautyMadness movement.
Dear everyone who has ever read this blog,
I started writing because I needed someone out there in the world to understand me. I needed someone to write about what it’s like to be cut from dance calls because of body type. I needed someone to write about the frustrations of auditioning and the stresses of eating and the confusion over nutrition and the heartbreak of failing at another diet and the reality that every diet failure directly affected my career.
There was no one writing about this shit. And I think it’s really important to have a space where anyone who deals with these issues can relate. I really needed that, but I couldn’t find it.
So I started writing about it. Because I figured that someone has to.
Binge-eating disorder, a move to Hawaii, and my sarcastic sense of humor only added character to the blog, but I still made an effort to stay true to it’s original mission statement of shedding some bright ass light on what it’s like to live in a body controlled by the entertainment biz.
Then Roar happened.
Roar was not planned. It was a performance piece for a small but mighty gay pride burlesque fundraiser in the middle of Puna on the Big Island of Hawaii. I was having trouble coming up with any sort of fun choreography for the burlesque show because I was in such a pensive state in my life – I wasn’t in party mode, so my choreography wasn’t very flirtacious. I was stuck, I was lost, and I was over it. So I went to the director of the fundraiser who is a knock-out burlesque performer herself, and I presented this crazy idea about ripping words off my body as part of the burlesque piece. I mumbled my way through the idea at about a thousand words a minute because I thought she would think I was so dumb. Instead, she told me that she was obsessed with the idea and art is a reflection of life. There was no reason that my burlesque piece couldn’t be a reflection of my personal journey.
So Roar was born. Kind of. I borrowed a tutu, knowing that I had these pointe shoe tap shoes and I tried to work on it in my spare time and just didn’t have the energy or inspiration. I literally considered dropping out of the fundraiser up until two days before it, but instead had a beer at dinner and showed up at the dress rehearsal with only a vague idea of what I was going to do. I told myself that this wasn’t Broadway, it wasn’t NYC, and it was a show for fun for a good cause – what was the worst that could happen.
Most of Roar was improvised. It was how I felt in the moment. My friend Rachel practiced writing “cellulite” all up and down my ass and thighs until she could step back and still read it from far away. It brought me great joy to perform the piece, and I was so thankful that someone happened to catch it on tape. I thought it would be great for my blog readers to see the piece so that they could feel a sense of pride after following my journey for so many months – and that it would inspire them to celebrate their journeys as well.
950, 891 YouTube views, a HuffPost article, a magazine interview, and a second Roar video later, I find myself covered in excema from stress, pale as fuck from staying inside to research the body love movement instead of taking beach days with my boyfriend, and too burnt out to dance with my kiddies at work.
Instead of a feeling of pride and gratitude, I merely feel exhausted and overwhelmed.
And when a doctor handed me a prescription a week ago for an excema cream with side effects that include lymphoma, cancer, vision problems, and unknown long term affects due to lack of FDA study, I had to really step back and take a look at this whole monster.
Which is why I’m writing you this letter today.
Since the beginning of Roar’s journey, people from all sides have advised me to monetize my blog, make it a “thing”, brand it, promote it, get it out there, make it something. Take advantage of this opportunity NOW. Don’t let the exposure pass me up. Use this to my advantage. A friend advised me to change the domain name from “www.trustmeivebeenthere.wordpress.com” to something more simple, assuring me that “amandatrustysays” would only be a professional domain but it wouldn’t show up in the address bar. That didn’t work out the way it was supposed to – and all of a sudden every media publication that shared Roar was directing people to my blog, amandatrustysays.com.
And here you are today, at the end of April 2014, nearly a year after the birth of Trust Me, I’ve Been There, reading a blog in the middle of a website with seven different menu options, a domain name I despise, and a slew of blog posts that were constructed to please my entire audience who I don’t know.
Excema comes out from the nervous system. It can be stress or allergy induced, and it’s probably both for me.
I have excema on my eyelids and my face is literally shedding. I feel hideous. I look like Quasimodo.
So I’m going to be 100% honest with you right now.
I am not an expert. I am 27. I have ups and I have downs and I do not even have a college degree. Even though I hate the way I have to be a size 6 to be a Broadway showgirl, I still think about trying to get back to that weight every day. I have mixed feelings about some of the things that are happening in the body love movement. I love tap dancing more than I love anything in this world. I am really interested in the benefits of chia seeds. And I do not want to mix writing with money.
I love to write. It helps me, it may help you, and I think some of the things I’m shedding light on are important.
I do believe in body love. I believe in self-acceptance. But I don’t always believe in myself.
I am too large, too heavy I should say, right now, to show my dance students how to leap, and jump, and even roll around on the floor. I developed disordered eating over the years, yet I still try to live my life as though food is not an addiction or a comfort to me. I sometimes live in denial and I throw pity-parties and I live in a jumble of emotions that involve daily tears. Every morning I attempt a gluten-free life. It doesn’t always work out, and I cramp and I bloat and I feel foggy because of it. I also have a complex that eats at me, whispering to me “if you get your shit together, or if you lose weight, or if you aren’t depressed, or if you get over your bingeing, you’ll lose the blog.”
Truth: I’m driving myself crazy.
Truth: I am interested in nutrition, but my addiction gets the best of me sometimes.
Truth: I am interested in a healthy, energetic life where I don’t feel like I need six cups of coffee to get through three hours of teaching.
Truth: I sometimes look at the body love movement and wonder if I lose weight, if I won’t be included in the body love party anymore. That I’ll be a sell out. Another health blog.
Truth: Enough is enough.
Truth: A blog is a forum where you can write about anything you want even if it doesn’t flow, doesn’t connect, doesn’t reach millions, and doesn’t make you famous.
So I’ma go back to basics here, and blog the hell out of my non-flowing, semi-connected, curse word run-on sentence thoughts.
I want to shed light on the things that I didn’t understand a year ago. And I don’t want to charge for it. I’ll leave that to Geneen Roth, who won’t even return my emails most of the time, and who charges for each and every webinar.
I want to talk about how to use chia seeds, now that I understand it, because no one was explaining that to me a year ago.
I want to shed light on emotional eating since I think this country suffers from it more than we realize, yet no one’s talking about it, because then all the fitness magazines, emotional eating authors, and diet creators would go out of business.
I want to promote self-love, but also be completely honest and say, I don’t always love the way my clothes fit and I would like to do something about it.
I want for you, what I am always too busy to make happen for myself. I want to inspire self-care, not from a book I’ve read, but from what I’ve found actually works for me.
I want to make my health nut nutrition friends understand that posting a picture of salmon and broccoli on Facebook and multiple articles about the horrific chemicals in our food gets old after a while. I want to explain to my dear holistic health coach friends that emotional eating IS a thing and it’s not something to “just get over” for the sake of living a dairy-free, corn-free, gluten-free life.
I want to do so many things, yet I don’t know where to start. I have grand ideas every day and then I forget them because I get distracted. I have the brain of an old woman and an attention span of a child. I have a body that has been through the ringer and desperately needs me to care for it, yet still stands strong underneath me when I binge on foods that inflame and torture it.
I really desire a rich, healthy, fantastic life in Hawaii, where I energetically teach kids how to dance, write daily, swim often, paddleboard more, and occasionally enjoy a Law & Order: SVU marathon while eating mushroom pizza.
And the reality is, if I just calm the fuck down and stop comparing myself to The Militant Baker and everyone else’s highlight reel on Facebook, I could live my desires fully, with an open heart and an open mind.
I have no problem sharing all of that with you. As long as it’s okay that I curse, and I don’t use enough punctuation, and I jump around on my topics. And you know what? I don’t want your money. I just want to write.
I want to let you know that my journey is unique to me, and it might be totally different than yours, and sometimes none of what I write about may help you, but I still appreciate you visiting this amandatrustysays.com domain that I am still trying to accept.
So, thank you for your amazing support. Thank you to the one person to actually submitted a picture for Roar 3.0, and I’m sorry if I never take the hours to make that project happen because I’m trying to keep my stress-induced excema at bay. Thank you for spreading Roar, and loving me even if you don’t know me at all.
Thank you in advance for enjoying the blog posts that are to come that pertain to you. If you don’t perform, or have never been scrutinized by just headshot and resume for a Broadway dance call, then you might not relate to every post. If you don’t have disordered eating or a food addiction, then you might not relate to every post. But I beg of you, if you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend that could relate to one of those posts, spread the wealth and pay it forward to them. That’s why I started writing in the first place. Because I needed someone out there to pay this knowledge forward to me. And when there was no such thing to be shared with me, I just sucked it up and created it myself.
I believe in the power of Roar. I do. I believe in the aloha spirit. I believe in the power of hot coffee, neck pillows, dark chocolate, and child artwork. I think these things can change the world just as much as recycling, GMO-banning, and those ASPCA commercials that make me bawl.
But I also believe in self-care, and enjoying life, and learning something new every day, and maybe not always altering my life, or my writing, or even my wardrobe choices, to what the world needs at every moment. Sometimes, as my excema has taught me, it’s okay to make a choice that only benefits me, and me alone. In the end, I think my happiness is way more effective in any world peace movement than my depression, and so I don’t feel guilty about this.
Thank you for listening to my stream of conciousness. Thank you for joining me in Hawaii next January for the first “Restore Your Roar” workshop. (What? Did I just slip that secret out by accident?) Thank you for sharing your happiness with the world. Thank you for taking care of yourself. Thank you for inspiring me. And welcome, to the new, real, true, amandatrustysays.com. (Oh God, I will just never get over how that sounds.).
Much love and aloha,