I Remember

    You can't hate yourself into loving yourself. I wish someone would have emphasized this to me when I started having body image issues at the age of 8. This one goes out to all the mean girls--especially to the biggest mean girl of them all, myself.

    I remember being 8 years old with long brown hair in a blue floral bikini at the Chandler Park pool on a scorching summer day. I remember going up to my mom asking for a quarter for the pop machine, so I could get a can of Dr. Pepper. And I remember the lady she was talking with saying, "Oh, this is your daughter! She's so skinny and tan. She could be a little model." I was a normal, 8 year old girl in a bathing suit who had never given much thought to her weight or appearance and didn't quite know how to receive this "compliment." This moment. This exchange is what I feel all of the issues with my body image come back to. Where they're rooted. It's weird how one second the world is innocent. Then, all of a sudden you become self aware, hyper aware, critical, and insecure. It's funny; I don't even remember this woman--really remember her.  I can't even picture her face, but I remember her words. Words stick with you. Words have power and weight. As Maya Angelou once said, "Some day I think we will be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally in to you." The words got to me.

    The first person that I heard use negative language toward their own body, specifically, was my Momma. My Momma is tall and fair skinned. She has bouncy blonde hair that can often be found swept up out of her way. Nothing gets in my mom's way. Not even her hair. She is brown eyed and long nosed. She wears her jewelry like a badge of honor never going anywhere without it. She would look naked to me if I ever saw her without at least one set of earrings, a necklace, and two rings on. She likes jeans, white tennis shoes, hoodies, fuzzy socks, and flouncy blouses. She is my mother. She is strong and beautiful.

My beautiful Momma

    I idolized my mother growing up--I still do. For many girls, they learn self loathing from the women that raise them or just women in general. Whether it be consciously or unconsciously. My Momma is a beautiful strong woman who uses her body every day to work, move, and help people--to help herself, family, and customers. But, I can remember that strong woman being broken down in a dressing room staring at the number or letter(s) on the label of a piece of clothing. I remember. We have all been this woman.  Why do we, strong women, do this to ourselves? 

    I, of course, don't blame the women in my life for thinking of themselves negatively. I don't blame them for it rubbing off on me. I blame society's rigid ideals of women. I blame the magazines, tv shows, and movies. I blame the media. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't dislike all things to do with society and the media--though it may seem that way considering my constant outcry for change. But, the way women are discussed as fragile and delicate (which it is okay to be), and the way women's bodies are discussed and treated, particularly, are the issues that get me fired up. Females are strong as hell. We are so much more than our jean or shirt size. We are moms, teachers, helpers, doers, artists, coaches, lovers, fighters, and so much more. We are women. 

Art by me, Stacy Hall. Quote from the Unbreakable
Kimmy Schmidtt

    I can recall being about 10 or 11 sitting in my mom's beaten down maroon Nissan outside of the Dollar General gaping at the town's homecoming issue of the paper. Staring at the homecoming court and just crying. Crying my eyes out, and telling my mom, "I'll never be one of THOSE girls, will I Momma?" 

    I remember being in the bathroom in 8th grade and having a group of girls tell me, "I wish I could be as skinny as you, Stacy." While when I looked in the mirror, I saw a distorted image of myself.  What they didn't know was that I was too sad to eat. I could control my eating; I couldn't control my surroundings.  

    I can recall being in the 9th grade sitting by myself at lunch eating nothing, being a hundred pounds of skin and bones, writing in a journal while I tried to avoid the eye contact of everyone around me. I remember my Momma being so scared running into the bathroom when I choked on my toothbrush brushing my tongue thinking that I was throwing up what little food I ate. I never did throw up for the record. 

    I can remember sitting on the white and purple floral duvet cover of the extra long twin bed in my dorm room Sophomore year while two of my "friends" sat in the floor and discussed how they had both eaten two cookies today, and they couldn't believe how fat they felt. I also remember them making fun of the size XL shirts they found at Walmart that they said fit them like dresses. I was an XL.  They knew this.  I remember wanting to do nothing but eat a whole container of cookies after they left I was so angry. I remember eating the cookies.

    I have been thin. I have been fat. I remember under eating or eating nothing. I remember telling my parents I was practicing "portion control." I remember binge eating during finals week my Junior year of college, avoiding studying, watching Dawson's Creek, and crying about how messed up my idea of self was. How I didn't know who I was or how I'd ever be happy.

    I remember last summer at 24, having my husband take photos of me in my cute outfits, because I happened to one day come across a post of someone who looked like me with the hashtag "body positivity." I remember finally not being angry at my body anymore. I remember learning to stop hating myself. I remember my journey. It's important not to forget. I am so glad that I finally realized after more than half of my life that you can't hate yourself into loving yourself.

Thanks for reading,

Stacy

I Feel Sad for You, Mike

    Have you ever been asked if you speak Spanish? Have you ever been asked, what are you? Where are you really from? Have you ever been made to feel less than because of the color of your skin? If you answered no to most of these, then you may look or be white. It's okay to not have experienced these injustices, but it is not okay and never will it be okay for you to allow them to continue to happen to persons of color (POC). The racial divide in the United States is increasing by the day, the hour, the second. I am a POC and someone who has faced racist, discriminatory, and bigoted comments from people my entire life.

     Let's talk about something that happened recently. The racist incident in this video. If you have not watched the video, then I ask that you do. Everyone needs to see this. It is disgusting and horrible, but it NEEDS to be seen. The irate man in the video, Mike, spouts racial slurs at Mr. Torres for talking in Spanish to his mom on the phone. His mother is a Puerto Rican American, and her first language is Spanish (it isn't revealed if she herself speaks English like her son). Throughout the video, Mr.Torres attempts to have conversation with Mike. He attempts to appeal to him and relate to him, befriend him if you will. Instances like these fill me with anger and rage. I can say for certain that I wouldn't have handled this situation with as much grace and composure as he did. It makes me sad like Mr. Torres stated in the video. I feel sad for Mike. And people like him. And for people who don't see how wrong Mike is. We can't let people like Mike speak to others this way. We can't tolerate this in America or any part of the world.

Try to not push people away if you don't agree.
I beg of you. Try to understand them instead.
If you cant, investigate.

   
    I referred to the world as a collage in my last post, and the U.S. is commonly referred to as a melting pot. We are a diverse group of people made up of different skin tones, backgrounds, cultures, etc. When did we lose this identity? Why is our country so afraid to discuss race? Why do people say they don't see race or that it doesn't matter? Race matters. It is part of our identity as individuals, as a country. When you say it doesn't matter, you are stripping the identity of people away--of your country away.

    We have to keep talking, keep learning, keep striving for understanding, keep educating each other. We must practice tolerance, but we must meet intolerance with resistance. We MUST keep resisting racist and discriminatory ideals. We must unite as country.

    On a related note, my husband sent me a link to this page last night:

The homepage of a Neo-Nazi group on Facebook.

    This page spreads hate.  It is egregious. It is run by racist white people for white people. Their mission is to keep the white race alive. They believe that if white people have children with people outside of their race that they are infecting the purity of the white race. According to this page, my children would be considered "mud." How are we still allowing this type of hate speech to exist? If you feel so inclined, report this page as it violates Facebook's community guidelines (I have embedded the link into the caption). I hope that you would report it for its message and pure hatred first and foremost. 

    This video and this page have prompted reflection of my personal experiences. As I have stated before, I have benefited from white privilege, because I am a white person. But, I am also Hispanic. I have experienced several instances of discrimination because of my maiden name, Espinosa, and my appearance.

    Once during an interview, the principal of a school asked me if I spoke Spanish fluently. Not only is it illegal to ask this during an interview, but it is downright ignorant and discriminatory to assume so. I insisted to this man that I did not speak Spanish fluently and neither does anyone in my family. --I have taken many classes as I do wish to speak it fluently one day, but I digress.-- This principal kept insisting that someone in my family must speak it. He wouldn't give it up. Needless to say when he offered me the job three times over the course of the next week, I declined each time.

    Another instance that comes to mind happened on a typical morning drive to my first teaching job. I was driving through a tiny town that is notorious for being a speed trap in Oklahoma right as the sun started to peek over the horizon of the purply pink sky.

    As I was driving my tiny blue green Chevy Cobalt out of this speed trap of a town, I started to apply pressure to the gas peddle to get up to 50 mph. The speed was supposed to change from 40 mph to 50 mph in less than half of a mile. --Something you should know about me is that I always wear a seat belt, I never text and drive, and if I need to make a phone call I will pull over. In other words, I am typically very cautious while driving.-- As you have probably already guessed, I was soon pulled over by one of the town's officers for speeding.

    As the officer approached my window, my heart started to thump with ferocity. I had never been stopped before, and I was unsure of what was about to happen. What happened next was uncomfortable to say the least. The officer asked for my license and insurance verification which I promptly gave him. Then, he said he would run my plates back in his vehicle. Once he came back, he said, "So, your last name's Espinosa, huh?" I replied with, "Yes, sir." He then asked where I was from, and I told him the name of my hometown and where I currently lived at the time. He then said, "No, where are you REALLY from?" This made my skin shiver. What did he mean? I had never been asked this before. I was shocked. So, I repeated again the name of my hometown and added that I had lived there my entire life until college. He looked at me with a puzzled expression like he didn't quite believe me. He asked me where I was headed, and I told him that I was headed to my job in the next town at the high school to teach my 10th and 11th grade students. He said he would have to write me a ticket for speeding which was completely justified. However, the ticket ended up costing me $300. Why? Why was it so much when I had never had any other traffic violations, and I was only going 10 mph over the speed limit? You tell me.

If you are a POC, speak and give yourself a voice. If you are
not, then I urge you to be an ally and offer support in any
way you can.  

    Now, I know that these experiences are not the worst instances of prejudice and discrimination--not that this is a competition. The last one is debatable. You could read through my encounter and think that it's not completely prejudice if at all, and that I was in the wrong. I was in the wrong. I should not have been speeding and should have received a ticket for doing so. The officer was also in the wrong. The way that the question about my place of origin was inflected and insisted upon as if I was lying about where I am from leads me to believe there was more to his question. That he was insinuating something else.

    Whether people are outright discriminatory, racist, or prejudice, are one of these without meaning to be, or they idly stand by when someone else is acting in one of these ways, it's wrong. This must stop. We have to keep actively pursuing justice by writing, by talking, by protesting, by reaching out to one another --by taking action.

Thanks for reading,

Stacy

Recognition for the So-Called "Average" Student

    I have spent a chunk of my time in the past five years surrounded by teenagers whether that be in unpaid internships or in my very own classroom. One issue with our education system in general--not just in Oklahoma-- is the lack of recognition for students who do not exceed our system's demanding and trivializing expectations. Our students and children are so much more than percentages, grade letters, demographics, and standardized test results. Categorizing our students this way is easy, but it's far from fair (i.e. School A-F Report Cards). We need to start treating our average students like they matter! Award season recognizes the exceptional, the students who have the ability to go above and beyond. But what about the rest of the students? What about the majority of learners in our schools?

    I am not a person who believes in "participation" awards or trophies given for the sake of trophies. But let's be honest for a second, the children that make up school populations are not just the "best and the brightest" as determined by society's arbitrary standards of excellence. More commonly, our society is made up of kids with real world problems who struggle every day and are rarely recognized for the effort and courage it takes to just wake up, get dressed, and go to school all the while persevering through the million other challenges they face. Academics and sports are not the be all end all. Successful lives are not made or broken based on what someone was like in high school. We are raising and teaching humans, and the common student deserves recognition too for facing their personal challenges and navigating through their academic careers.

    With this being said, just think about the "average" life of these teens for a minute. They have to get up and typically be to school by 7:30 a.m., they have jobs, they have after school activities, they have homework, and that is just the basics. Now, throw social media into the mix, cell phones, bullying, sexuality, friendships, world issues, etc.The list goes on and on.  Their lives are overwhelming, and they are still developing the cognitive abilities to deal with these very adult challenges. They all deserve to be recognized. Honestly, I do not know how teens manage to navigate young adulthood today. If social media had been apart of my young life as much as it has been ingrained into theirs, then I know for a fact that I would have had a much tougher go of it all.

    If you are a young person in school, keep persevering. Keep persisting. Keep going to school. Just because you may not fit into the cookie cutter mold of the "best and brightest" does not mean you are not worthy of recognition. If you're someone who has decided to not finish school or pursue higher education, but you are supporting yourself, then you still deserve recognition. You all do. You're doing a great job. 👍💖👍💖  I applaud you.

Thanks for reading,

Stacy

An Introduction and Labels

    Throughout my young adult life, I have encountered people from all walks of life. As Malala Yousafazi affirmed in an interview, "There should be no discrimination against the languages people speak, skin color, or religion." My takeaway from this quote and my belief above all else: there should be no discrimination. I, myself, am a minority. I am a person of color (POC), a teacher, a mother, a woman, an Oklahoman, an artist, a body positivity advocate, a feminist, and so much more than these labels. But society defines us, so I might as well OWN my labels.

    Despite all of these labels that have somewhat of a positive connotation that make up my person, I have been labeled much more harshly lately, or rather I should say ignorantly. Have you heard the terms "snowflake" or "lib 'tard" being used recently? That's me in a nutshell. This is how many members of my community would choose to define me. These labels do not bother me. If this is what it means to believe in a world that can one day be more inclusive, then yes, I am by definition a "snowflake."

    I hope I have not scared too many of you off by using terms like "lib 'tard" and "feminist." So many people find these terms offensive or threatening in some way.  I want to use this platform to help you examine why you feel this way.  I want to have a discussion.  But let me make this clear, I want to have a discussion free of belittlement and harassment.  Once the discussion becomes unproductive, I am done with whomever makes it so. My goal is for this to be a safe space, and I will NOT let people make me feel unsafe.

    This is me. I will be sharing my thoughts on Oklahoma's educational system, healthcare, equality, feminism, motherhood, and a variety of other topics. I implore you to join in on this discussion with me.

Thanks for reading,

Stacy