RSS Feed

Posts Tagged ‘positive body image’

  1. Birthday Girl

    June 12, 2016 by Heather Cole

    This birthday girl loves cake!

    This birthday girl loves cake!


    Last month I had a birthday. Not a big milestone in the chronological sense, but a huge one in a personal sense. I’ve been slowly renovating my life with small improvements, baby steps if you will. It has been a slow change, and many times challenging (like in this post), but I’m so happy to be here.

    To celebrate my birthday this year, I decided to focus on my body and celebrate this “earth suit” that I so often ignore or criticize. I don’t have a model-like bod. I have bulges, scars, and freckles in ridiculous places. This body, though, has treated me well.

    I have relied on it to see me through dark times, as well as the joyful, and it has taken me to far away places to explore. Without my body, I wouldn’t have the daughter I have today. Nor would I be able to run on the trails I love or type out the stories in my head. Sir wouldn’t have a fine ass to spank, and my dungeon friends would miss their willing demo bottom.

    I’m changing my relationship with my body to one of love and respect, but I still have to remind myself to say, “I love and deeply accept myself in this moment, exactly as I am.”

    A very talented friend of mine, who is also a professional photographer, took photos of my birthday celebration with the help of his yummy assistant. He didn’t even mind when Catsquatch climbed into his tripod bag to shed white fur all over the black interior. I could have splurged on a new dress or shoes as a birthday present, or a well-deserved manicure. Instead I got mostly naked in my bedroom on a very hot day and asked my dear friends to snap photos.

    I can’t say that I loved all the results. Not because of D’s skills with a lens but because of my struggle to accept that this is how I look. I have a tummy that sticks out and cellulite on my upper thighs. Do I want y’all to see that? Nope. *I* don’t want to see it either. But while I may see them as imperfections, I also acknowledge the strength there too. I love good food, and I love cooking. The evidence is in my tummy and my thighs. I could not eat and exercise every day and rid myself of those things, but I wouldn’t enjoy my life as much. Been there, done that, was miserable.


    Birthday cupcake and a fine ass

    Birthday cupcake and a fine ass

    I’m in my early forties now, and I’m finished trying to meet other’s expectations (or what I perceive as their expectations). That goes for the unattainable cultural idea of beauty that’s splashed across our media too. I no longer wish to feel bad about myself for not measuring up. I’m pretty kickass just as I am, and I think you are too.

    I want to celebrate now. Here. This moment today.

    I will never be in this exact place again, and I want to remember this birthday celebration. Happy birthday to me!

    Happy ____ day to YOU!

    Let’s celebrate all our bodies!

  2. Kick Ass – A guest post by Jillian Boyd

    January 11, 2013 by Heather Cole

    003 - kopie
    I like to think of myself as a pretty badass lady. I’m smart, a massive geek and I can probably trade witticisms with the best of them (except with Stephen Fry. I wouldn’t dare.)

    My brain is incredibly sexy. If you don’t believe me, I’m pretty sure that my other half will say something to that liking. He might also mention that he finds my body sexy.

    Which I’m not so sure about.

    My relationship with my body is a tumultuous one. I grew up as the token large broad in school, and therefore got to experience those childhood joys of being called fatty fat arse and getting shoved face down into a sandbox just because I had the audacity to look the way I looked.

    Kids can be dicks, that’s for sure.

    If you think I didn’t put any effort in to losing weight, guess again. I did. I’ve seen a ton of dietitians, psychiatrists and health professionals in my time. Mainly recommended to me by people who thought I’d gone a bit wrong with my life.

    I’ll never forget the P.E. classes, mostly spent sitting on the side, watching other people do a running test (a rite of passage for many a 13-year-old) and thinking that I was pretty damn lucky to have a teacher that understood I wasn’t capable of such feats of athleticism.

    I’ll also never forget the puns made on my name, the social assistant who called my mother a bad mother because she let her child go fat and just about every single painful minute of my childhood. Until the day I decided I’d had enough. And weirdly, that wasn’t the day I booked myself in for a gastric bypass.


    It was the first time I made love to my partner.

    We had been teasing and playing all night, until I found myself completely blocked by nerves. I couldn’t do it. What if he was repulsed? What if he suddenly went off me?

    I went to sleep topless, wearing a pair of shorts and knickers and a ton of regret on my shoulder. But by dawn’s early light, I had decided something.

    Fuck this. I’ll be naked.

    I’m the fucking Barenaked Lady!

    I took the remainder of my clothes off and slid next to him in bed. And I had never been prouder of myself, because it was the first time that I felt no shame about my body.  And it’s a feeling that I have managed to hold on to. It was something that needed to happen to help me find that part of myself. That part that is able to get naked and flaunt her body without thinking “Shite, is he looking at my wobbles?”

    I like my wobbles.

    In fact, I think they’re quite sexy…

    It took me a very long time to get confident in this body. But knowing what I know now is helping me  get one step closer to becoming a kick ass lady.

    And that’s the way I like it.

    Jillian Boyd, Curvy Love Goddess (so sayeth my better half)

    Jillian Boyd is a writer, blogger and geekazoid, based in London. She had been published by the likes of Constable and Robinson and Cliterati. Her blog, called Lady Laid Bare, charts her sexual evolution and revolution. In her spare time, she likes crafting, reading, cooking and dancing like no-one’s watching.

    Twitter ~ @JillyBoyd

    Facebook ~

    Blog ~

  3. Body Image – A guest post by AmyBeth Inverness

    January 7, 2013 by Heather Cole

    Our talented guest authors this week are writing about body image, that thing that so many of us are pondering this time of year along with out New Year’s Resolutions. In fact, Nikki and I were discussing weight and exercise just this very morning. (While I made toast and jam and had a hot chocolate.) 

    AmyBeth Inverness is a writer by birth, a redhead by choice, and an outcast of Colorado by temporary necessity. She’s a prolific creator of Science Fiction and Romance and a contributor to FELT TIPS. She’s also a fantastic interviewer. I felt thoroughly researched when she interviewed me back in July. I think she’s the bees’ knees. Enjoy!


    When I first met my husband, he was too shy to talk to me. Something about cleavage and a little black dress, supposedly. He let his married best friend do all the talking for him. There was something endearing about that shyness. Knowing that he liked my body was a big turn-on for me.

    Physical beauty is also a turn-on for me, as it is for most people. Women friends, especially romance writers, love to share pictures of handsome men. Celebrities, models, there is no shortage of gorgeousness out there. The comments that accompany these pictures are things like “OMG he is so handsome!” or “I’d like to tap that.”

    For me, these two comments are not at all synonymous. I can discuss at length the desirable physical attributes of any of these males (or females.) What you won’t hear me say is “I want to do him!” and it has absolutely nothing to do with prudish morals or my commitment to my husband.

    It has everything to do with body image.

    If I was single and miraculously in a situation where I was alone with one of these men, contrary to the popular opinion that “men will screw anything” it is far more likely that seeing me strip down to my skivvies and give him a “come hither” look would inspire him to flee.

    Nothing kills a libido faster than having your prospective sexual partner look at you and say “ew!”

    Outside of the unlikely prospect of getting naked with a celebrity, I generally have no problems showing my body. We take our kids to the water park and I wear a mom-suit with a little skirt that helps me maintain some dignity. I don’t smother myself with a caftan or bath robe. I even go in the water, and let my hubby take pictures of us all being cute to plaster all over facebook. In the privacy of my own home, I’ll often wander from the bedroom to the bathroom or the kids’ rooms in my birthday suit.

    Prego AB 
    When I was pregnant I was much less self-conscious about my body. I felt like I finally had a good reason for being big and beautiful.

    So, with this lack of modesty, why do I never picture my true body’s image when I fantasize? Whether it’s in writing a sex scene or just idly dreaming for my own personal benefit, I never think of myself as I really am when I think about sex. I think about a less rounded, more streamlined version of me. Not necessarily a supermodel, but definitely a woman who doesn’t have thighs that chaff as she walks or stretch-marks and heat rashes in places where the fat rolls the wrong way. If an image of my real self does happen to worm its way into my mind during a fantasy, I’m the first to say “ew!” to myself.

    Sex is not just for the pretty people. There are plenty of overweight, blemished people who fall madly in love and boink each other’s brains out everywhere. These people aren’t saying “ew!” They’re saying “I love you” and “I want you” and “want to try it in the kitchen?”

    I think fantasizing is just that… fantasy. We can idealize all we want in fiction. It doesn’t matter if he’d strain his back if he tried to lift her up and press her against the wall. It doesn’t matter if the reality is that sand can be rather abrasive when it gets stuck in an intimate place, sex on the beach is exciting. We can fantasize that our lover has the stamina of an Olympic athlete, or breasts the size of beach balls, or extra hands….

    OK that last one was a little weird, but I do write Science Fiction. Anything is possible.

    I think I’ll keep the idealized body in my fantasies. As long as I have a loving partner who still, after seventeen years of marriage, still loves to see me naked, I can accept and enjoy my real body when the fantasies end and the really good stuff begins.


     With short stories coming out in two different anthologies in 2012, AmyBeth can usually be found tapping away at her laptop, writing the next novel or procrastinating by posting a SciFi Question of the Day on Facebook. When she’s not writing, she’s kept very busy making aluminum foil hats and raising two energetic kids and many pets with her husband in their New England home.

    @USNessie on Twitter

  4. Photos of My Bum

    August 29, 2012 by Heather Cole

    It was during a visit with my mother that Master Cecil, the Dom who topped me in my first rope scene, challenged me with “pics or it didn’t happen!” The bruises from our scene were just beginning to turn a beautiful shade of bluish-purple, and my ass and thighs looked like a twisted version of connect-the-dots. Being the good girl that I am, not to mention a proud masochist, I waited until my mama took a trip to the farm stand then I locked myself in her bedroom to take some photos with my phone. I felt giddy and scandalous to be in mama’s bedroom. Twelve blurry photos later (I fell over several times in various contortions) I posted three of the best results. Naturally I was tweeting the entire process in its hilarity, because who else am I going to share my ridiculousness with but a thousand of my dear internet friends.

    The following morning as I peeled peaches with mama for peach cobbler, she asked, “why on earth would you take photos of your bum?” For several moments all I could do was stare at her, dumbfounded. Turns out that mama had been stalking my Twitter timeline after I had gone to bed. I carefully sliced through a peach and tried to formulate a coherent response through my brain paralysis. I replied that Master Cecil wanted to see his handiwork. While that was true, the unspoken part was that I enjoyed showing off the results. After years of disliking my body, I’m finally finding it beautiful.

    A year and a half ago, I refused to have my picture taken. I was ashamed of my weight and felt completely undesirable. When my ex-Dom asked for a picture of me, an innocuous headshot, I had a panic attack. My self-esteem had been slowly pulverized through the course of my marriage to the point where I thought any sane man would take one look at me and keep walking. I felt lumpy, bumpy and forgettable. I sent the photo and held my breath. When he told me that I was gorgeous and sexy and demanded more pics, I thought that maybe I was being too harsh. Maybe.

    Early on in my marriage when my ex-husband expressed that he found me unattractive, I lost forty pounds and was surviving on cucumbers and yogurt. I was miserable, and he didn’t suddenly find me desirable because there was less of me. Fitting into that size 8 didn’t miraculously improve my life or solve my problems. I now wish that I had been kinder to myself instead of obsessing about a flatter stomach. I needed to address the issues at the “unattractive” core of the conflict between us, and my ex needed to be married to someone else.

    The truth of the matter is that I’m still working at shedding the last of my baby weight. I have stretch marks on my lower abdomen and cellulite on the back of my thighs. My breasts aren’t perky either, and sometimes I still cringe at a photo that catches me in an unflattering angle. However, when I finally accepted that I was kinky, I also began accepting my body. Having lovers tell me they desired me helped a lot, but even more importantly, becoming whole in my sexuality cemented the fractured relationship I had with my body. I know who I am, and I accept who I am. That confidence is more attractive than thousands of dollars of plastic surgery. And I won every ounce of it through emotional work and life experience. Therapy helped too.

    When I look at my body I still see the flaws, but I also see the beauty of its strength. I fell in love the curve of my waist where it dips down to my hips, and my full ass is perfect for spanking and caning and all sorts of things. My pale skin shows every mark, and my height gives a Dom a lot of canvas to work with. I tweeted once, “I bake. I sew. I’ll fuck your brains out.” Yes, my body enables me to do it all very well. And so much more.