yogaloveandlight:

Break the habit: hating on your divine temple Even typing out the words divine temple instead of “body” I scoffed to myself. There are plenty of choice words I could use to describe my body. But as part of #yogagirlchallenge I am committing to 21 days free of shaming my own body. No more body checking, no more guessing my weight, no more hiding on bad body image days. I am completely aware that thoughts are going to come up, but instead of ride the “I hate my body train” I’m going to choose, to see my body as it really is. Just some skin, muscles, bones, organs, tissues, cells. It just is. And maybe from there we can work up to beautiful temple or house of the soul or body of magic and rainbows and shit like that.  But today all I have to say is okay body, you’re okay.

yogaloveandlight:

Break the habit: hating on your divine temple
Even typing out the words divine temple instead of “body” I scoffed to myself. There are plenty of choice words I could use to describe my body. But as part of #yogagirlchallenge I am committing to 21 days free of shaming my own body. No more body checking, no more guessing my weight, no more hiding on bad body image days. I am completely aware that thoughts are going to come up, but instead of ride the “I hate my body train” I’m going to choose, to see my body as it really is. Just some skin, muscles, bones, organs, tissues, cells. It just is. And maybe from there we can work up to beautiful temple or house of the soul or body of magic and rainbows and shit like that.
But today all I have to say is okay body, you’re okay.

(via my-path-to-healthy)

Anonymous asked:

What's your height?

Body A Temple Answer:

5ft7 ish I think… Maybe… I don’t really know…

Anonymous asked:

My period is late and I'm so hungry:( like devouring so much junk for 3 days its ridiculous

Body A Temple Answer:

Everyone’s been there. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Tomorrow’s a new day. You’re beautiful and wonderful and you should smile. Smiling makes everyone instantly 10x more beautiful

Me snapchatting my friends Vs me snapchatting guys 😂

My recovery: 

I know that talking about recovery is hard. Talking about mental illness is hard. But I do it anyway, because I know that it could help and if my experiences can help just one person suffering then that makes it all worth while right? That means my struggle wasn’t for nothing, right? It means my story is more than just my emotional baggage, I’m not damaged, I’m a survivor. 

So I guess I’ll start at the beginning of my recovery…. I was underweight. Very underweight, I was starving, I was restricting, lying to those I loved, purging, harming my body, punching my skin, hating myself, abusing laxatives… I was bad. Very bad. But I didn’t think so. I thought I was fat, I thought I was ugly, useless and worthless. I thought I was being lied to by my friends and family. I thought they hated me, I thought this was because I was fat. I did not want to recover. I did not choose to. I was forced. 

This takes a lot of courage to say… I wish I’d seen what was happening to me. I wish I’d stopped it. I wish if trusted my loved ones. I wish I’d made my parents proud in choosing recovery.

Instead I was taken to a doctors appointment after my school called home concerned with my sudden and drastic weight loss. I was diagnosed with anorexia Nervosa and I was told I’d have months to live unless I gained weight and got better. I still wanted to choose death over weight gain. I cried and screamed and kicked and punched. I wasn’t me. That wasn’t me. 

So I began on the long tedious road to recovery. It wasn’t a straight path, it wasn’t easy. I faced many hurdles, chances to relapse. I didn’t stick to my meal plan at first. I hid things and lied about eating at school. I wasn’t getting any better. This went on for weeks. Eventually. I don’t know why or how. But eventually I saw the truth. Just a glimpse every now and then, just for a few seconds…. I could see what I’d become. And I hated that girl. I hated the bones and the frail face, I hated the lies, the shallow thoughts, the bitchy comments in my head, the judgement. I hated it. I wanted to change. Gradually I became more determined to get back to me. To fight the illness and recover. 

But saying you want to recover and actually doing the recovering are two very different things….

However. This new mentality was a breakthrough. It was a step forwards. A huge one. Deciding you WANT to recover is such an important part and one you should be proud of. If any of you reading this are at that point - I’m proud of you. You are amazing. 

And so I began the new chapter in my recovery: weight gain. 
Weight gain to a recovering anorexic is like a broken elevator to a person with  claustrophobia. It’s terrifying. 
To gain the 2.5 stone I had to gain I had to consume over 3200 calories a day when previously id been having less than 700. It was hard. I cried every meal time. I wasn’t always the brave soldier you’ve seen me be. I wasn’t always positive all the time. I was a mess! 
To do this I had to have 3 supplement drinks at 300 calories a bottle each day while following the exact plan of the doctors. I wasn’t in change of my own food. My mum made everything and watched me eat until I’d had it all. It felt like a prison watch. It sucked. 

Over time I got used to the excessive amount of food and I did start gaining weight. Slowly. Eventually I decided to embrace recovery. I decided to become a soldier! This was the next stage of my recovery. The determination I had was incredible. I’d push myself Every day and I was proud to see the scale go up. Yet I was still incredibly insecure and serif conscious. I still felt fat and the amount I had to eat wasn’t helping the matter. But I did it anyway. 

Skip forward a couple months of the same determination with the occasional relapse for a couple days and the weekly meltdown of tears and screams…. I’d gained nearly enough weight to be healthy BMI but I got stuck. A part of me didn’t want to let go of being underweight. A part didn’t want to let go of my eating disorder. I stayed stuck here for a while. Still hating myself only heavier than before and less risk of heart failure. But the risk was still there and it would be until I got better. For real. 

Finally I got better. 2 years after I started. But I got there. Even now 4 years on I’m a work in progress. I have bad days and I get self conscious but the majority of the time I love my body and more importantly, I love my life. 

Recovery was hard. It meant doing things I didn’t want to do. It meant relaying on friends and family. It meant pushing myself out of my comfort zone. It saw me up and down. Relapse after relapse. Through anorexia and then bulimia. I got back up again and kept going. That’s really all recovery is… It’s keeping going no matter how many times you fall. 

You’ve got this. Bad days are okay. Bad weeks are okay. Bad thoughts are okay. It’s all okay so long as you try again tomorrow.

My recovery:

I know that talking about recovery is hard. Talking about mental illness is hard. But I do it anyway, because I know that it could help and if my experiences can help just one person suffering then that makes it all worth while right? That means my struggle wasn’t for nothing, right? It means my story is more than just my emotional baggage, I’m not damaged, I’m a survivor.

So I guess I’ll start at the beginning of my recovery…. I was underweight. Very underweight, I was starving, I was restricting, lying to those I loved, purging, harming my body, punching my skin, hating myself, abusing laxatives… I was bad. Very bad. But I didn’t think so. I thought I was fat, I thought I was ugly, useless and worthless. I thought I was being lied to by my friends and family. I thought they hated me, I thought this was because I was fat. I did not want to recover. I did not choose to. I was forced.

This takes a lot of courage to say… I wish I’d seen what was happening to me. I wish I’d stopped it. I wish if trusted my loved ones. I wish I’d made my parents proud in choosing recovery.

Instead I was taken to a doctors appointment after my school called home concerned with my sudden and drastic weight loss. I was diagnosed with anorexia Nervosa and I was told I’d have months to live unless I gained weight and got better. I still wanted to choose death over weight gain. I cried and screamed and kicked and punched. I wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.

So I began on the long tedious road to recovery. It wasn’t a straight path, it wasn’t easy. I faced many hurdles, chances to relapse. I didn’t stick to my meal plan at first. I hid things and lied about eating at school. I wasn’t getting any better. This went on for weeks. Eventually. I don’t know why or how. But eventually I saw the truth. Just a glimpse every now and then, just for a few seconds…. I could see what I’d become. And I hated that girl. I hated the bones and the frail face, I hated the lies, the shallow thoughts, the bitchy comments in my head, the judgement. I hated it. I wanted to change. Gradually I became more determined to get back to me. To fight the illness and recover.

But saying you want to recover and actually doing the recovering are two very different things….

However. This new mentality was a breakthrough. It was a step forwards. A huge one. Deciding you WANT to recover is such an important part and one you should be proud of. If any of you reading this are at that point - I’m proud of you. You are amazing.

And so I began the new chapter in my recovery: weight gain.
Weight gain to a recovering anorexic is like a broken elevator to a person with claustrophobia. It’s terrifying.
To gain the 2.5 stone I had to gain I had to consume over 3200 calories a day when previously id been having less than 700. It was hard. I cried every meal time. I wasn’t always the brave soldier you’ve seen me be. I wasn’t always positive all the time. I was a mess!
To do this I had to have 3 supplement drinks at 300 calories a bottle each day while following the exact plan of the doctors. I wasn’t in change of my own food. My mum made everything and watched me eat until I’d had it all. It felt like a prison watch. It sucked.

Over time I got used to the excessive amount of food and I did start gaining weight. Slowly. Eventually I decided to embrace recovery. I decided to become a soldier! This was the next stage of my recovery. The determination I had was incredible. I’d push myself Every day and I was proud to see the scale go up. Yet I was still incredibly insecure and serif conscious. I still felt fat and the amount I had to eat wasn’t helping the matter. But I did it anyway.

Skip forward a couple months of the same determination with the occasional relapse for a couple days and the weekly meltdown of tears and screams…. I’d gained nearly enough weight to be healthy BMI but I got stuck. A part of me didn’t want to let go of being underweight. A part didn’t want to let go of my eating disorder. I stayed stuck here for a while. Still hating myself only heavier than before and less risk of heart failure. But the risk was still there and it would be until I got better. For real.

Finally I got better. 2 years after I started. But I got there. Even now 4 years on I’m a work in progress. I have bad days and I get self conscious but the majority of the time I love my body and more importantly, I love my life.

Recovery was hard. It meant doing things I didn’t want to do. It meant relaying on friends and family. It meant pushing myself out of my comfort zone. It saw me up and down. Relapse after relapse. Through anorexia and then bulimia. I got back up again and kept going. That’s really all recovery is… It’s keeping going no matter how many times you fall.

You’ve got this. Bad days are okay. Bad weeks are okay. Bad thoughts are okay. It’s all okay so long as you try again tomorrow.

My recovery: 

I know that talking about recovery is hard. Talking about mental illness is hard. But I do it anyway, because I know that it could help and if my experiences can help just one person suffering then that makes it all worth while right? That means my struggle wasn’t for nothing, right? It means my story is more than just my emotional baggage, I’m not damaged, I’m a survivor. 

So I guess I’ll start at the beginning of my recovery…. I was underweight. Very underweight, I was starving, I was restricting, lying to those I loved, purging, harming my body, punching my skin, hating myself, abusing laxatives… I was bad. Very bad. But I didn’t think so. I thought I was fat, I thought I was ugly, useless and worthless. I thought I was being lied to by my friends and family. I thought they hated me, I thought this was because I was fat. I did not want to recover. I did not choose to. I was forced. 

This takes a lot of courage to say… I wish I’d seen what was happening to me. I wish I’d stopped it. I wish if trusted my loved ones. I wish I’d made my parents proud in choosing recovery.

Instead I was taken to a doctors appointment after my school called home concerned with my sudden and drastic weight loss. I was diagnosed with anorexia Nervosa and I was told I’d have months to live unless I gained weight and got better. I still wanted to choose death over weight gain. I cried and screamed and kicked and punched. I wasn’t me. That wasn’t me. 

So I began on the long tedious road to recovery. It wasn’t a straight path, it wasn’t easy. I faced many hurdles, chances to relapse. I didn’t stick to my meal plan at first. I hid things and lied about eating at school. I wasn’t getting any better. This went on for weeks. Eventually. I don’t know why or how. But eventually I saw the truth. Just a glimpse every now and then, just for a few seconds…. I could see what I’d become. And I hated that girl. I hated the bones and the frail face, I hated the lies, the shallow thoughts, the bitchy comments in my head, the judgement. I hated it. I wanted to change. Gradually I became more determined to get back to me. To fight the illness and recover. 

But saying you want to recover and actually doing the recovering are two very different things….

However. This new mentality was a breakthrough. It was a step forwards. A huge one. Deciding you WANT to recover is such an important part and one you should be proud of. If any of you reading this are at that point - I’m proud of you. You are amazing. 

And so I began the new chapter in my recovery: weight gain. 
Weight gain to a recovering anorexic is like a broken elevator to a person with  claustrophobia. It’s terrifying. 
To gain the 2.5 stone I had to gain I had to consume over 3200 calories a day when previously id been having less than 700. It was hard. I cried every meal time. I wasn’t always the brave soldier you’ve seen me be. I wasn’t always positive all the time. I was a mess! 
To do this I had to have 3 supplement drinks at 300 calories a bottle each day while following the exact plan of the doctors. I wasn’t in change of my own food. My mum made everything and watched me eat until I’d had it all. It felt like a prison watch. It sucked. 

Over time I got used to the excessive amount of food and I did start gaining weight. Slowly. Eventually I decided to embrace recovery. I decided to become a soldier! This was the next stage of my recovery. The determination I had was incredible. I’d push myself Every day and I was proud to see the scale go up. Yet I was still incredibly insecure and serif conscious. I still felt fat and the amount I had to eat wasn’t helping the matter. But I did it anyway. 

Skip forward a couple months of the same determination with the occasional relapse for a couple days and the weekly meltdown of tears and screams…. I’d gained nearly enough weight to be healthy BMI but I got stuck. A part of me didn’t want to let go of being underweight. A part didn’t want to let go of my eating disorder. I stayed stuck here for a while. Still hating myself only heavier than before and less risk of heart failure. But the risk was still there and it would be until I got better. For real. 

Finally I got better. 2 years after I started. But I got there. Even now 4 years on I’m a work in progress. I have bad days and I get self conscious but the majority of the time I love my body and more importantly, I love my life. 

Recovery was hard. It meant doing things I didn’t want to do. It meant relaying on friends and family. It meant pushing myself out of my comfort zone. It saw me up and down. Relapse after relapse. Through anorexia and then bulimia. I got back up again and kept going. That’s really all recovery is… It’s keeping going no matter how many times you fall. 

You’ve got this. Bad days are okay. Bad weeks are okay. Bad thoughts are okay. It’s all okay so long as you try again tomorrow.

My recovery:

I know that talking about recovery is hard. Talking about mental illness is hard. But I do it anyway, because I know that it could help and if my experiences can help just one person suffering then that makes it all worth while right? That means my struggle wasn’t for nothing, right? It means my story is more than just my emotional baggage, I’m not damaged, I’m a survivor.

So I guess I’ll start at the beginning of my recovery…. I was underweight. Very underweight, I was starving, I was restricting, lying to those I loved, purging, harming my body, punching my skin, hating myself, abusing laxatives… I was bad. Very bad. But I didn’t think so. I thought I was fat, I thought I was ugly, useless and worthless. I thought I was being lied to by my friends and family. I thought they hated me, I thought this was because I was fat. I did not want to recover. I did not choose to. I was forced.

This takes a lot of courage to say… I wish I’d seen what was happening to me. I wish I’d stopped it. I wish if trusted my loved ones. I wish I’d made my parents proud in choosing recovery.

Instead I was taken to a doctors appointment after my school called home concerned with my sudden and drastic weight loss. I was diagnosed with anorexia Nervosa and I was told I’d have months to live unless I gained weight and got better. I still wanted to choose death over weight gain. I cried and screamed and kicked and punched. I wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.

So I began on the long tedious road to recovery. It wasn’t a straight path, it wasn’t easy. I faced many hurdles, chances to relapse. I didn’t stick to my meal plan at first. I hid things and lied about eating at school. I wasn’t getting any better. This went on for weeks. Eventually. I don’t know why or how. But eventually I saw the truth. Just a glimpse every now and then, just for a few seconds…. I could see what I’d become. And I hated that girl. I hated the bones and the frail face, I hated the lies, the shallow thoughts, the bitchy comments in my head, the judgement. I hated it. I wanted to change. Gradually I became more determined to get back to me. To fight the illness and recover.

But saying you want to recover and actually doing the recovering are two very different things….

However. This new mentality was a breakthrough. It was a step forwards. A huge one. Deciding you WANT to recover is such an important part and one you should be proud of. If any of you reading this are at that point - I’m proud of you. You are amazing.

And so I began the new chapter in my recovery: weight gain.
Weight gain to a recovering anorexic is like a broken elevator to a person with claustrophobia. It’s terrifying.
To gain the 2.5 stone I had to gain I had to consume over 3200 calories a day when previously id been having less than 700. It was hard. I cried every meal time. I wasn’t always the brave soldier you’ve seen me be. I wasn’t always positive all the time. I was a mess!
To do this I had to have 3 supplement drinks at 300 calories a bottle each day while following the exact plan of the doctors. I wasn’t in change of my own food. My mum made everything and watched me eat until I’d had it all. It felt like a prison watch. It sucked.

Over time I got used to the excessive amount of food and I did start gaining weight. Slowly. Eventually I decided to embrace recovery. I decided to become a soldier! This was the next stage of my recovery. The determination I had was incredible. I’d push myself Every day and I was proud to see the scale go up. Yet I was still incredibly insecure and serif conscious. I still felt fat and the amount I had to eat wasn’t helping the matter. But I did it anyway.

Skip forward a couple months of the same determination with the occasional relapse for a couple days and the weekly meltdown of tears and screams…. I’d gained nearly enough weight to be healthy BMI but I got stuck. A part of me didn’t want to let go of being underweight. A part didn’t want to let go of my eating disorder. I stayed stuck here for a while. Still hating myself only heavier than before and less risk of heart failure. But the risk was still there and it would be until I got better. For real.

Finally I got better. 2 years after I started. But I got there. Even now 4 years on I’m a work in progress. I have bad days and I get self conscious but the majority of the time I love my body and more importantly, I love my life.

Recovery was hard. It meant doing things I didn’t want to do. It meant relaying on friends and family. It meant pushing myself out of my comfort zone. It saw me up and down. Relapse after relapse. Through anorexia and then bulimia. I got back up again and kept going. That’s really all recovery is… It’s keeping going no matter how many times you fall.

You’ve got this. Bad days are okay. Bad weeks are okay. Bad thoughts are okay. It’s all okay so long as you try again tomorrow.

lexliftlove:

cardiocutie:

curvybex:

lifeweightsandpavement:

Way too powerful an image here…
This speaks volume about the standards expected in society on how one should look. And how young we begin to be bombarded with these standards…

This nearly made me cry I think of my daughter when I see this and is exactly why I ban girly magazines in my house

This reminds me of me so much.


This actually makes me really upset because growing up I was always chubby and my mom would say things like “I just wanna cut it all off of you” and it gave me that mentality. She made me believe that if I could remove all my fat she would love and accept me more, which is why I’m so bad at letting people in. I feel like because I can’t “cut” my fat off I am not worthy of being loved.

This picture speaks a thousand words. Looking at it brought a tear to my eye as it caught me off guard on my dash. This girl was me once, it’s been so many of us, it will be so many more. This has to stop.

lexliftlove:

cardiocutie:

curvybex:

lifeweightsandpavement:

Way too powerful an image here…

This speaks volume about the standards expected in society on how one should look. And how young we begin to be bombarded with these standards…

This nearly made me cry I think of my daughter when I see this and is exactly why I ban girly magazines in my house

This reminds me of me so much.

This actually makes me really upset because growing up I was always chubby and my mom would say things like “I just wanna cut it all off of you” and it gave me that mentality. She made me believe that if I could remove all my fat she would love and accept me more, which is why I’m so bad at letting people in. I feel like because I can’t “cut” my fat off I am not worthy of being loved.

This picture speaks a thousand words.

Looking at it brought a tear to my eye as it caught me off guard on my dash.
This girl was me once, it’s been so many of us, it will be so many more. This has to stop.

(via hard-workpaysoff)

GUYS I’m going to tell you about a discount for (the most delicious) protein powder. 
10% OFF using discount code PROTEINCHEF 
Blueberry muffin diet whey. It’s amazing

GUYS I’m going to tell you about a discount for (the most delicious) protein powder.
10% OFF using discount code PROTEINCHEF
Blueberry muffin diet whey. It’s amazing

Anonymous asked:

How do you get up so early in the morning? I just can't do it! 😫 x

Body A Temple Answer:

My body clock has just bricks accustomed to it after years of having to wake up early. At first I needed an alarm and now I don’t new one I just wake up around 6-7 every day…. Most times

tepidchocolate asked:

You are stunning and inspiring never forget that

Body A Temple Answer:

Aww 🙈 thank you so much. I love people who send these sweet random messages they just make my entire day!