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its a long journey to erid

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if I don't weigh myself then I haven't gained weight
It's definitely some kind of fucked up indicator of our relationship that I'm worried about the 10lbs I managed to regain after we came back from Scotland the last time, because I know my mother is going to comment on it and make a remark about how it's a shame I'll be fat for my father's funeral.
She won't phrase it quite like that. But it'll be implied.
And yet some insane part of my brain is desperate to be there. What is wrong with me. (Don't answer that.)
TW: Body image talk and everything that comes with it. The difference between hot and sexy is that one looks good but is impractical, while the other can look rough but is practical. I’m gonna come back to this in a moment, but first, a story:
When I returned home from my mission, I had gone from being 6’2” and 145 lbs to being 6’2” and 220 lbs. It turns out that I loved Mexican food, and, without other healthier outlets for my feelings, I ate to console myself and destress after what was, essentially, a 14-hour workday. This was fine to me while in the field because my heft was useful - I could help people carry heavy things, I could protect myself from dangerous companions, and I had enough energy to work. In truth, even at my heaviest I could still walk for miles and miles and miles without stopping. I could still proselyte for hours without needing more than a few minutes to rest every now and then. But when I came home, I came home to a family of insanely passionate athletes with thyroid disorders. My dad used to run thousands of miles a year. He does Jiu Jitsu and boxing weekly and lifts weights often. My mom runs marathons. I had a cousin who could slow his heart rate to like 30 BPM while sitting because he ran so far and so much. And even though I had actually gained a bit more physical ability, I felt ashamed and uncomfortable. I kept saying I wanted to lose weight, I kept trying diets that I’d give up on after a week, or getting into some kind of sport, or even just the good ol’ fashioned “counting calories,” but I never seemed to be able to make it stick, and it bothered me. Or at least, I thought it did, until one day I was talking to my brother, @inbabylontheywept, and I told him the same thing I’d been saying for over a year: “I want to lose weight!” And despite typically having the emotional wherewithal of a recently microwaved guinea pig, I was met with the mind blowing response of “No you don’t. If you did, you’d have done it already. You just want to want to lose weight.”
And I sat on that for a bit, partially because I was not yet accustomed to my baby brother being so wise, but partially because it left me with the huge, lingering question: “What do I want?” At the time, I think what I wanted was to fit in with the familial norm, but when I actually thought about it I actually kinda already did. My parents are extremely body positive, and had never pressured me or asked me to lose weight. In fact, my dad even expressed some jealousy about how easy it was for me to bulk up. I wanted to fit in to an idea I had, but as soon as I let go of that idea, that image, I found I was actually pretty happy with where I was at, in part because it served me. And this is what lies at the core of sexy vs hot, at least in my definition of these terms: sexy is practical, it’s tangible, and it can be imperfect in appearance and still do what it needs to do. Hot, on the other hand, only requires that something look or sound good, nice, or appealing. Hot can get us approval from others, since we like to praise things that look good, but hot does not always serve us. In fact, sometimes hotness actually demands we serve it.
For example: a man who makes $50k/year and can do so every year is sexy. Not always fun to look at - there may be nights spent in the office, days where he comes home dirty or stinky, times where work is stressful, but he can DO something. A millionaire with no life skills is hot. Fun to look at, but not really fun to be a part of. A man with a huge penis, massive muscles, and no care for a partner’s sexual pleasure can be hot, but not sexy. You don’t get anything from it in practice, just in theory. A man with a small penis, weak muscles, and a tongue that can make you forget human speech is sexy. You can get something real from it, and you can get it reliably.
A political theory that seems idyllic, but which cannot be practically implemented, is hot but not sexy. Trickle down economics, for example, is hot. It sounds good - a handful of people pay fewer taxes and instead use that money to fulfill a civic duty to provide for their community. Practically, though, it means Jeff Bezos pays less in taxes than a nurse or a teacher. It’s hot, but useless.
Food stamps, on the other hand, are sexy. They provide people with a real tangible benefit. While someday, sometime, Zuckerberg may decide to spend his billions to buy farms that produce free food for everyone, or Musk may decide to end homelessness, in reality giving them this much control over societal resources is impractical. Worse still, it puts us at the mercy of someone who has, to date, never done more than cause a problem. Is it hot to think of being rescued by someone who puts all the work in on our behalf? Yes! Will it happen? Not anytime soon. Food stamps, however, are tangible. They put food on your table while your wife recovers from childbirth, they feed your neighbor while he looks for a new job, they feed the medical student who will one day save the life of someone you love and care about. But it requires acknowledging the ugly truth that we cannot simply trust people to act in the benefit of society, that we have to take steps to make it happen.
Is paying for food - a universal human need - fun to think about? No, obviously not. Is struggling through hard times on limited government assistance the goal? Not really, no. But does it have a tangible effect on people’s lives? Yeah, yeah duh. So it’s sexy.
Differentiating between hot and sexy is crucial to most people’s functioning. Putting a 12x magnification scope on a Ruger 10/22 is hot, but putting a red dot scope on it is better for such a short-range gun, so it’s sexy. The sports car that costs $100k and requires another $25k/year in maintenance may seem nice, but the ability to reliably drive a used $10k car is sexy. Picking a prestigious career path is hot, but if you fucking hate it then it is not sexy because it won’t work for you. Instead, you have to work for it.
People pleasing, compulsions, avoidance, procrastination, are all hot. They give you something in return for your effort, but they give you little in comparison to the effort. Setting boundaries, resisting a compulsion, and doing the thing now instead of later, is sexy. It’s dirty, it’s messy, it doesn’t always look clean and neat and effortless, but it gives you a practical, tangible benefit. The benefit of delaying homework is temporary and usually impractical - it’s hot. The benefit of doing homework is lasting and usually practical - it’s sexy.
It’s also important to remember that some things can be both. Being able to bench 300 lbs and run 5 miles makes it easier to carry groceries, lift heavy objects at work, and fuck the bad thoughts out of your partner’s head? That can be hot and sexy. Being able to make a nice, hot meal that gives you energy and nutrition? That can be hot and sexy. But never let it be forgotten that sexy does not have to be hot - only functional. Is keeping your meds on the counter for guests to see hot? Not to most people. But if it helps you remember to take them, then it’s sexy, and that’s what matters most.
This is, at face level, a bizarre rant, but hear me out: So many people judge themselves for not being hot, and don’t give themselves credit for being sexy. If you feel that your body isn’t *hot,* please ask yourself what it can do. The thin lips that kiss your lover good morning? Sexy. The patchy beard that absorbs your friend’s tears? Sexy. The hairy legs that carry you through life? Sexy. The belly that digests the food that gives you energy? Sexy.
This works for other things about the body too. The wheelchair that gets you to your friend’s house? Sexy. The headphones that let you go to the mall without having a sensory meltdown? Sexy. The CPAP machine that lets you sleep through the night so you have energy in the morning? Sexy.
Even in a more abstract sense, it still works. The stigmatized job that pays your bills? Sexy. The extra semester you take to make it easier to pass a challenging class? Sexy. The cheap beat-up car you use to go from your job to your home? Sexy. The decision to change your major to something more enjoyable and sustainable for you? Sexy. Asking a friend for help? Sexy. Telling your neighbor to turn down the TV volume that’s been keeping you up at night? Sexy. Proposing with a ring you can afford instead of paying for the expensive (and hot) diamonds? That’s sexy too.
I’m not trying to convince anyone to love something they hate. And I certainly don’t want anyone to walk away from this with the idea that some simple platitudes can take away the entire crushing weight of judgement and mockery from others. I’m only asking that you ask yourself what you gain by changing your life for the benefit of looking better to someone who will never spend a day in your skin. I’m asking you to consider if the cost of making your appearance more appealing is worth the opportunity cost. If it is, fine, great, you’ve done a full analysis of things and still know what you want, but if it doesn’t, then ask yourself: WTF? What’s the function? If the function is insufficient to compensate for the cost, then do you ever really want to do it? Or do you just wish you wanted to do it? If you let go of the belief that you have to do things in a way that looks good, aesthetic, or clean, what are you left with? And is it worth it? Terry Pratchett said it well when he wrote that style is what people remember. We want things to look hot. But he also put it well when he said society is just two missed meals and a bad night’s sleep away from falling apart. We NEED things to be practical, to be reliable, to be sexy.
I know there has to be a better way for me to have said this. I’m even reasonably certain that someone, somewhere, has already said it better. But I also wanted to share ideas, questions, and skills that could make a real impact in your own lives. I wanted to invite people to reflect on what they really want to have, to possess, to sink their fingers into. Because when the lights are off and the crowds are gone, you’re left with what you have, what you really, tangibly, practically have, not just what it looks like you have to someone else. That is the difference between an ugly truth and a pretty lie. It’s the difference between a savior and a whited sepulcher. It’s the difference between an empty mansion and a full home. I wish this post was hotter, I really do, but if it gets the point across now then it’s sexy and I am OK with that. For those reading this, I hope that, if nothing else, this gives you something to think about, and if I’m being honest with myself I hope it helps you give yourself permission to let your life work for you instead of having to work for it.
Be gayer, be kinder - to yourselves and each other, pay attention to how you feel about yourself, not just how you feel about the reactions of others, read more Terry Pratchett, say hello to your neighbors, and remember that you have value beyond appearance.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I think disabled people should be allowed to shoot one doctor a year. Like hey this is an appointment about me not being able to walk. No need to be like “have you tried working out” oh I’d love to but fun fact BECAUSE I CANT DO ANYTHING BECAUSE MY JOINTS SUCK ASS FUCK YOU
tw weight gain
"I think my pants shrunk in the dryer," Tomura's voice, thick with annoyance, floated from your shared bedroom to the living room.
"Let me take a look." Standing from the couch, you padded over to him, circling him like a bird to their prey, shirtless and struggling to button and zip his black jeans. "Are they tight anywhere?"
"They're tight everywhere," he sighed, fingers still on the front button as he gave up, his face tinged pink. "But mostly around my ass."
Your eyes raked over his form. His ribs, which used to be visible under his skin, were slowly disappearing under healthy fat and tissue. The same happened to his spine—you could no longer count the individual vertebrae, harsh hills and valleys now filled in. Lifting your hand, you ran your fingers down his back. They definitely didn't feel as prominent either.
"What the fuck are you doing," Tomura hissed, shivering at the sensation.
You smiled, a soft, almost sad sort of smile, one you reserved for remembering how far Tomura had come from when you first met him. What he had been through. "I think you've gained weight."
"Oh," his red eyes traced the softened planes of his stomach, your arms coming to wrap around his waist.
"It's a good thing, Tomura," you kissed his cheek. "We'll buy you new jeans tomorrow."
extremely vulnerable post but I just wanted to show my fitness progress from starting this journey 3 years ago ive lost 70 pounds since then & my goal used to be just “skinny” but im trying my best to love myself & accept that im a big tall (5’-11”) woman 🧍🏽♀️My goal is to build muscle & be strong, don’t beat urself up over loose skin & enjoy eating delicious meals 💓💓