Balance for Better


Today we celebrate the woman in her entirety. How do we do this? by revelling in your true self. The real you. How can we, as women, find ways to juggle work, kids and live if we haven’t found a way to enjoy our own selves.
What do I mean? Loving yourself. If we cannot love the skin we are in, we cannot balance or manage the life we are in. Our reality.
I speak as a woman who battled self-esteem issues. Issues that I have conquered. No more am I a slave to conforming to societal rules and what they consider ‘normal’. In becoming a confident #thick10z I can constructively create a space at work and home that I love. I am no longer fearful of what others may think. What I will be judged by.
Now that I can walk in my truth that I will never have a #thighgap, but I do have #thickthighs, I can embrace what others may seem negative as them reflecting or projecting. We don’t need to always have a cooked meal, or folded laundry. We can be happy with the career we choose even if it may take us away from our children. It all starts by finding out true selves, our own reality and embracing it.
Today let’s love our true selves. I am a Caribbean, Trinbagonian woman. I’ve got #naturalhair and #melinatedskin. I love my #curvybody. I love my #rollsandfolds. I #lovetheskinimin.
This is me. This is #BodyUpTT. Balancing myself, so I can be better for my children and those around me.
Balance starts by truly loving yourself.

*Crop that photo”

I started speaking about my battle with words and body acceptance late last year. About being bullied to silence myself and show my thickness to the masses. Why? Because ‘You’ do not understand. 

I can apologise for words spoken that was not in alignment, or maybe doing something I should not have, but to apologise for my ‘flat’ tummy (the L is silent), I won’t. I won’t be silent anymore. I shall speak up for those who are a size 10 and over. 

We continue to pressure others into living a truth that isn’t theirs. Your idea of a sexy body isn’t mine. Your toned, defined, ripped abs aren’t what I sport daily. Why impart that reality to my own? Why insist that I should look the same as you or the women in magazines?

I used to live with being subjected to hurtful words for years, being told that the extra fluff is only enough to be bedded. “With that size no man will want you.” I say, “No More! !” Just to clarify, I want ‘myself’, big hips and thunder thighs. 

Keep your biased opinion, your brainwashed thoughts and enjoy it’s comfort. I will sport my flabby, fleshy, fatty tummy-with-no-tuck the way I want.

I am not a size zero, nor a size 5. I’m a woman who loves every extra crease, fold and crumpled up stomach because it’s mine. Mine to love. Mine to admire. Mine to adore. If it’s not your cup of koolaid, then go drink your Coke to the back. I’m enjoying the view from my mirror and it says ‘Fabulous’.

I’m sorry (not sorry) if my #BodyUp seem to be dimming your perception of beauty. I’m here to change those thoughts, because huntay ‘I am beautiful. Period.’
📸 Cred @faculty.films (instagram)

Good morning beautiful


She felt the stir. She was once an early riser. One who did not await the dawn, but since you came into her life, she slept a little later. It wasn’t a laziness that kept her eyes shut. No. Nothing of the sort. It was the thought of you awakening her.
She knew that special way you woke her up, and it became an addiction. Every morning when she felt you stir, she would squeeze her eyes closer, feigning sleep, just to be awakened by that special way you do.
She felt the stir and wiggled her buttocks closer to you. It was not for warmth, but pleasure. Your hand played an erotic song on her arms. From shoulder, to finger tips. Her eyes were still closed. Maybe you knew it was her game, her way. Maybe. Every morning, known or unknown, you would start with reconnecting your palm with her curves.
Reliving vivid dreams of the night, and finding new depths to discover. When your hand did the relearning phase your lips followed the trail. Each hand, each leg. When the coldness of lips, reached the inner thighs, feigning anything was an unwelcome fiat. She could not continue the lie. Her eyes fluttered open, mirroring surprise and that other glint you knew was seen only through your own world. Her hunger.
She was hungry. Every interval you took to caress her, then seek out the confirmation through her soul, you saw raw hunger. Right then you wanted to satiate but it was morning. She had to be awaken with a positive mind. It was the only way you knew to begin new choices. You wanted her to always choose you.
As you gazed upon her hunger, your tongue stretched forth to taste the centre of her woman. The core space that may have been tarnished, and shattered, but now healed. You looked up as her eyes closed and her hand slipped up to her breast. Your tongue dancing to her melody, her hands playing its own beat. You watched and smelt the shift. It first smelt musky, now, it took the scent of her. A pungent, sexy smell. The scent any man would never want to lose. The scent that kept you coming home each night just to know. Understand. She opened up her life flower and you got lost. Raising yourself to be parallel her body, you took your shaft, now hard and ready, and eased yourself slowly into her. Every second meant another bit entering. With all inside, and her both hands now near the middle of your back, you leaned down on her while thrusting in.
“Good morning beautiful”