Build Your Own Chocolate Factory.

"You know what happened to the man who got everything he ever wanted...he lived happily ever after." -Willy Wonka

So you're probably wondering why I am quoting a fictional character at the beginning of this blog, right? 

As many of you who know, I am seldom out and about without my faithful journal close by. I have faithfully kept a record of my thoughts for the past sixteen years. I think it's the cheapest form of self realization one can possibly find. And I also think it helps keep you in check. Going back and reading your stream of consciousness as a third party makes you more aware of your progress and where to move next. 

I also believe that you create your own reality. I don't buy into excuses anyone may make. I just don't. I think that you can have everything you've ever dreamed and then some...your own chocolate factory. And the only one standing in the way is yourself.

"But, Payton. I grew up poor. My genetics are bad. My dad didn't love me enough. My boyfriend won't let me. I didn't go to college. I can't." And I'm here to tell you that you absolutely can. The job you want? You can have it. The body you desire? Within reach. The partner, the car, the home...you can have it. And the only one standing in between you and what you so crave is yourself.

The only reason I can tell you this with such confidence is that I have been there. I have had every excuse under the sun. I couldn't get the body I wanted because I was stressed, I didn't have enough money to eat properly, I was tired. I couldn't have the job I wanted because I was fat. I couldn't have the lifestyle I wanted because I couldn't get the job I wanted because I couldn't have the body I desired. I had terrible relationships because my stepmom beat me and I didn't trust men. I worked two jobs at one time that I both hated, I had a hormonal imbalance, blah blah blah, and I cried myself to sleep at night every single night without fail because I was so distraught at the thought of never accomplishing my dreams, but I wasn't willing to do anything to move in the direction of accomplishing them, because in my mind I was "stuck"

That Payton wouldn't pose for anyone in hot pants that were a size 6. She was too afraid of success, confidence, and spandex. 

Preview and photo by Nathan Cox.

About five years ago, I was introduced to the teachings of the Law of Attraction and the laws of the universe. When people scoffed at me, I reminded them that gravity was a law of the universe as well, and no one seemed to mind that. I created vision boards, and started to journal differently. When I was nineteen, I wrote out a day in what my dream life would be. I wrote about what my day consisted of in such detail that I even included smells and tastes. I wrote about my dream body, my partner, my home, my dog...I closed the last page of my journal and put it away.

The dog I so desperately wanted, my best friend, Arrow. 

Sitting in his chair at my job that seems to have been tailored just for me. I can only describe him entering into my life as predestined fate. My destiny dog.

I continued to journal, but if you read them in chronological order, about three years ago I start to slip. My language becomes more harsh, more criticism happens, I start to feel trapped, desperate, and afraid. The people I started to attract into my life had ulterior motives, and there's a giant plot twist in my narrative. I became depressed, I gained weight I had worked so hard to lose back, I got robbed on more than one occasion in nearly every sense of the word, I lost friends...It wasn't until I went back and read those passages that I realized it was time to get back on track. I took control of my life and started back on the path of creating the life I wanted. And when I did, all the wrong people and circumstances fell by the way side, I was given the urge to start yoga classes which has shaped my body into one I am proud of, a freak happening brought me my partner that treats me like a queen, a devestating loss brought me my dog, an internal rustling helped me find my jobs, I started meeting all the right people and being in the right places at the right times. Because I decided to. 

I woke up today in a house in the neighborhood I had picked out for myself when I was eighteen. The dog snoozing blissfully at my feet was just like the photo of one I had pinned up on a bulletin board in my cheap rented room five years ago. The person next to me is above and beyond what I could have written him to be like in his ways of treating me like a queen and being supportive and loving. I got to a job that I am happy to be at, while looking at a schedule full of stuff that I said I would always have (styling, modeling, acting, concerts) My muscles are blissfully aching from a yoga class surrounded by something else I wanted--a community of strong and beautiful women to support each other. And as I walked down the street today on a little break from work, my heels clacking on the brick sidewalk, I couldn't help but think of an entry from March of 2010.

Behind the scenes of yesterday's photo shoot complete with glam squad. Two shoots booked in two days. Something I used to only dream of.

Left: size 14/16. Right: size 6

Taking care of rock royalty's wardrobe. In heels. 

March 5, 2010:

...one day I will be able to wear whatever the hell I want to to work. I'll wear my highest heels if I feel like it. And I'll have a little fluffy white dog that's part shihtzu like Hannah (my dog at the time)  is. And I'll walk my cute little dog down the streets of East Nashville and say hello to all of my artist neighbors. I'll have stacks of checks to take to the bank to do with all of my jobs--styling and modeling and writing. And I'll have a cute little house in Inglewood that I'll share with my cute boyfriend with curly hair who loves records as much as I do, treats me like a queen, and is an artistic genius. I also will have learned how to cook then and instead of a fourteen, I'll be a size six. I will travel so much that I'll be able to see two coasts in months of each other. I will feel fulfilled and happy, and I'll know that I created this for myself. 

Size 6 jeans. Long gone are the double digits. 

The cute boyfriend who is a brilliant photographer. And check out that curly hair!

I go on and on about my plans for my life by the time I turn this age and that age, and so on and so forth. (I do believe a ring that looks like Elizabeth Taylor's is mentioned along with a walk in closet are mentioned) and while I don't have these things now, I know they are on its way. There are so many things I have had to stop saying to myself to get here. I had to move out of my own way. I had to listen to my gut. But today, I could wake up and say to myself that I was on the right track. 

And if I can get there? You can too.

March 25, 2015:

Dear eighteen year old Payton: Mission Accomplished. You got this. 

Keep the faith, readers. You've got this too. The life you want is within your reach if you will just step out of your own way. Now go build your own damn chocolate factory. 

And do it in something fabulous. Top from People Like Art.

What Losing Two Friends In Six Months Did To Me

"Dr. Appt went well. All clear."

"Thank God."

These texts and calls have become commonplace in my life. My mom, a ten year breast cancer survivor will have to continue having these appointments for the rest of her life. Every year, I hold my breath and wait for the message to come through that she's in the clear...

The eleventh of March marked a month since I said goodbye to my friend Phil, and six months prior to that, we buried my friend/adopted mother figure Carla from the same disease. I currently have family members, friends, and their loved ones fighting with the same evil.

Mama Carla and her "Munchkin"

I think about a little over a month ago when I went to see Phil in the hospital. The boisterous laugh, the booming Australian accent that could carry across rooms, all of the life in him had already drained out. He was kept "comfortable" until his passing. I was at home when I heard the news...and I remember throwing my fists in the air and sobbing "Why did you take another one of my friends?!"

At the benefit for Phil. I played drums with some of our friends to raise money to cover his medical bills.

I know my story isn't that uncommon by today's standards. Nearly every single person in my life has been effected directly with this disease. But I know that my life has changed drastically over the last year alone because of it. 

 Three years ago, I started my extensive research on the modern medical industry, the food industry in this country, diet, nutrition, and exercise. This is an ongoing process, because there's always something new to learn about it. I learned that animal proteins feed cancer cells, and went ahead to make the choice to become vegan instead of a lacto-ovo vegetarian. I kicked my diet soda addiction. I attempt to be as perfect as possible in my dietary choices. It's forced me to meal plan around budget, nutritional value, and so much more. It was the wakeup call I needed. I learned that health starts with what your input into your body is. 

I move. I move because I can. After seeing Phil on his deathbed, unable to do anything but sleep, I came home and did four yoga classes in a row because I was physically able to. If I have a body that is fully capable of moving, it is a slap in everyone's face who can't. It's a slap in my Creator's face to not use the instruments he has given me.  I have witnessed  "Use it or lose it" first hand.

I crow because I can. A year ago, I couldn't touch my toes. 

I try my hardest to be present. I try to be in every moment as they are happening, experiencing the moments I will never get back instead of wishing for what tomorrow may hold. I breathe a little slower, chew my food a bit more, write in my journal to capture moments more...I try to put my phone down at home as much as possible (still working on that one) and swap that time out for snuggles with my dog or my partner. I try to wake up earlier to have a few moments to myself to breathe, to give thanks...thanks for waking me up again, thanks for getting me out of bed, thanks for the coffee I'm brewing. Thank you for this moment that I will never get back.

I've cut out booze. Watching your loved ones internal organs shut down before your very eyes will either do one of two things to you: drive you to drink, or encourage you to walk away from it cold turkey. Thich Nhat Hanh has a book about being present, in which he says that anyone who is drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes is not present, because they are looking for a distraction from now. If they were present in the moment on all levels, they would not put such toxins in their systems, knowing it will reak havoc on their body. This has stuck with me. The four vodka sodas I used to have a week are gone, and I feel so much better. But the best part is that I feel like not only am I respecting my body when I do so, but it gives me the energy to move, to function, and I'm not distracted and trying to escape. Being an introvert in an extroverted world is hard. Having a few drinks to loosen up in public situations was my way to not shut down. It was a crutch. But, without it, I am forced to be present. And that is actually a gift in itself!

I try to do my friends proud. Carla especially (Mama Carla as I called her) called me her "Munchkin" and adopted me almost right away. She and her partner, Jim, gave me a key to their home, and quickly became surrogate parents. After Carla passed, people came out of the woodwork to talk about how every time Carla was with them that she would pull out her phone and tell everyone about her Munchkin in Nashville, and how proud she was of me.  Her family members, hairdressers, and even waitresses at their favorite spots reached out to tell me after she passed that she would do this. I had no idea. I feel like now, it is my goal to live in such a way that she would be so proud of me, and is elbowing the other angels up there, saying "that's my munchkin!" 

Jim, Carla, and I before seeing Ringo. 

I am living more authentically. Phil touched so many people's lives and left such an impression as a member of his community. Carla decided to uproot her life and move away to pursue her dreams after her children were grown. She stayed true to herself...up to the very end. I try to emulate this about her in my everyday life. Because of them, I know that you leave the earth a better place or a worse place because of you, so you might as well make it better.

Phil and I definitely in the moment. Itchycoo Park's set on the Sunday from our last Abbey Road on the River...the last time I saw Carla alive. Phil had no idea he was sick. 

I pray that one day the real cure...and prevention of this awful disease will be as common knowledge as what's going on in the world of the Kardashian's, but for now, it's not. But, what I have learned from losing two friends in six months is not only to take care of myself, to follow my dreams, and to eat my vegetables...it's that shit will always happen. That's inevitable. It's how we choose to deal with it that is the true mark that we will leave on the world...and I intend to make them proud.

No, Facebook. I'll review my own year, thanks.

Well, readers. Here we are. New Year's Eve, 2014. Time for reflections, memories, and to figure out what we have learned. As I applied my makeup this morning to get ready for work, I looked back at myself in the mirror and thought: "Man, nowhere near where we were a year ago. And thank God." 

This time last year, I was walking on eggshells, desperately trying to keep the facade of a life I had created going. I wanted to crawl under the covers and never come back out. I ended up at some industry party, and was in bed before ten pm, thinking of all of the stuff I was going to have to overcome this year. 

And then January rolled around. An act of what can only be fate snapped me out of my haze of mediocrity. I had to do something about my life. And I had to do it fast. January 23,2014 was the day I took my freedom back. I walked away from my job that was slowly killing me, I ran away from a relationship that had taken two of my what would have been vivacious years away, one that was more fake than the ring I later found out was phony on my ring finger. January 28...the day I threw it out of the window of my car, and never looked back. My precious friend, Bud sent me down the street to get a cup of coffee while "he" collects his things from my home. After one latte, and the first side of Exile On Main Street, my home is safe again.

Celebrating the day I got my freedom back.

February rolled around and found me in Louisville with my Beatle family. I drank, I danced, I remembered that girl that was inside of me...the one whose sparkle I had dulled because it was blinding people who wanted me to burn out. I remember a moment where I sat back with one of my adopted mother figures, Carla, and recounted my last few months. She told me she was proud of me, and that this would be my year. A week later, my friend Heather and I took a road trip to Chicago...because we could. Having newfound freedom after being under a thumb for two long years was a breath of fresh (yet icy) air. We met up with old friends and spent a much needed weekend just being us. The weight lifted off of me on the way home with each wedding vendor I called to cancel. 

My first photo shoot as a free woman. My photographer friend who shot this was trying to get the right shot..."You belong to no one." He said...right before he snapped this. I've never felt so powerful in my life.

On stage with my band family.

March...three weeks from the date that I had sat with Carla to discuss how this would be "my year" and I get the message. Carla is sick. Very sick. I spend the next two in various states of being drunk. Late March rolls around and finds me backstage at the Ryman to see Crosby, Stills, and Nash...due to having to miss them the previous year because of a jealous partner who didn't like me getting any attention. What did I wear? I wear what was supposed to be my wedding dress. Seriously. I catch the eye of a few people backstage for wearing such an unusual dress, start talking about music, get to meet everyone, and the next thing you know, I'm being invited to come to LA with them. 

The dress that got me halfway across the country.

April found me on a rooftop in Los Angeles, sipping vodka and listening to legends play. I clutch the backstage pass around my neck and wonder how this happened. My feet touched the sand on Venice Beach and I wanted to cry. People whose music I've admired for years are buying me dinner and drinks...people who made me feel like I was never alone. I fly home and spend what was supposed to be my wedding day in a Honky Tonk listening to my friends play "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better" and how right they were. 

A week after, I was at a show, singing along to Humble Pie songs when a guy with crazy hair and a terrible mustache catches my eye. He knows all of the words...just like me. Stop looking. Ignore it. I went home to log into Facebook, and mustache boy is in the corner on my "People You May Know" with his photo and his name---Nathan Cox... and the next thing you know, "I'm sitting across from him at a coffee shop, laughing and chattering on about nothing, and everything. We spoke of books, and records, and films, our friends, and how I was going to see my friend, Carla the next day to go take care of her after her surgery. Nathan and I spoke for six hours that night. And we haven't shut up since. 

I go back to Louisville to see Carla and her partner, Jim...my adopted parents. Carla has just had surgery, and is attached to machines. She still wants me to notice her new sparkly nails, and is more interested in my life, and about the date I just went on. We binge watched "Orange Is The New Black", I vacuumed the house, and slept on a pallet of pillows and blankets at the foot of their bed...just like a true kid coming to visit Mom and Dad would.

May was spent trying to find out what was wrong with my newfound knight in shining Levi's...and with him telling me that I was indeed loveable, worthy, and that he wasn't going to go anywhere. I will never be able to repay him for his patience. Once again, I ended up in Louisville for Abbey Road on the River, where my entire family that had adopted me celebrated my freedom. New and old friends welcomed me with open arms, and took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself. I went to visit Carla in the hospital. She was the color of a carrot, and stuck in bed, but she still wanted me to notice her sparkly slippers, and how she had blinged her own IV bag. That was the last time I saw her alive.

June. 

I come back from my music festival to move someone in to the other bedroom of my home. 

 Things are beginning to look up, when my car gets broken into, and I have to stop the robbery...and then someone I thought was a friend, took every single piece of furniture I had, appliances, and clothes, and left me with a house that looked like a tornado went through it. This leads me to Craigslist in search of a free couch...I found my Arrow instead. 

Our first day together. Me and my Arrow.

The friend who takes my furniture away just so happens to be the person who has the lease on my house. The house is tainted, and I am forced to cut my losses and run. I spend the next few nights on my friend Gary's couch...and then with Nathan who held me when I cried so hard I shook. I felt like I was drowning. He held me in his arms and said "Let me take care of you..." a statement no one has ever said to me before. It was always me taking care of others...And right after that, I get the news...

I met adopted family member Grace in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky for Carla's funeral. The night before I went to say goodbye, I watched the last episode of "Orange Is The New Black" since she would never be able to finish it...and painted a layer of glitter on my nails, because that's what she would have wanted. I said my final goodbye to the woman who took me on as a daughter in her heart, and bragged about me like I was hers...her "munchkin" she called me. And two weeks later, I was back in Louisville, behind a drum kit after a huge break from playing, jamming with our friends...for Carla. Giving her the goodbye that she would have wanted. 

Carla's shoes were representing that night. 

July, another rock n roll family member had to have surgery, and needed help, and company. So, I headed to New Jersey to see Joe through a knee replacement. We spend a lot of time discussing our purpose in life, and he tells me to answer my calling when it comes. I ended up seeing both coasts of the country within three months because of my friend needing a new knee. 

I come home, and am scattered. What am I doing? Why aren't I as fulfilled as I want to be? I took my leap of faith, and no net had appeared. I had written out what I desired out of a job. Why hadn't I been and to manifest it yet?? Something inside of me tells me to go once again on Craigslist and look in the job section...

Doing wardrobe for Beck and hanging with Jason Falkner and Roger Manning Jr from Jellyfish.

August 1 was my first day at my dream job. It met all of the requirements on my checklist. Things begin to turn around. I am excited to wake up. I begin to get on a regular sleep, exercise, and diet routine. I am surrounded by creative and driven women that are beautiful inside and out. I finally feel like I know why everything else I ever tried for didn't work. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Laura, Owner of Tiffany's Boutique herself...Miss Tiffany, and Missus Manager (moi!) 

September, I turned 23 and breathed a sigh of relief that I managed to survive. I am reminded of my purpose, and am surrounded by people who love me. It was the first birthday since nine years old that didn't end in tears. It also is the month that I filmed with my boss, and my perfect little shop, an episode of Oprah. Seriously. Nine months prior, I was considering sleeping until I turned fifty, and now, Oprah's crew was clipping a microphone on me. Talk about a 180!

October, I managed to end up in a hotel with some of my closest friends/chosen family with Denny Laine from The Moody Blues and Wings. We spend a weekend listening to ridiculously talented people play the greatest music ever, and stay up to watch the sunrise. I see Paul Mccartney in concert, and end up backstage. I sit back and say "Thank You" under my breath at least a dozen times. Thank you for my crazy little life.

With Denny, and then Brian backstage.

November brings the first Thanksgiving that didn't bring on an anxiety attack since I was ten. Nathan's mom made a vegan thanksgiving feast, and I felt truly loved, and wanted by a family that wasn't one I had made for the first time. It was beautiful. I cried, but only out of gratitude and happiness.

Our first family Thanksgiving

And here we are, December. I'm in nowhere near the same place I was in this time last year. I wake up in a home that's filled with love, instead of one where I sleep on the couch, and mutter under my breath. I wake up with the sweetest little dog under my legs, and the formerly mustached Mr. Cox next to me, who manages to still look cute that early, and who every morning,without fail, rolls over, puts his arm around me, kisses me on the cheek, and says "Good morning, gorgeous. I love you." The man who saved me, and the dog who rescued me snuggle me into a love sandwich. Every. Single. Day. I get up at an hour in which I used to just now be getting to bed. I actually eat breakfast instead of drinking two pots of coffee alone. I do my makeup in a bathroom that is always crowded with two people attempting to get ready to start their day, but I will take that over the cold and damp bathroom that I used to hide in to avoid the happenings in my old house. I get to go to the most fun, rewarding, and creatively inspiring environment for me in which I get to help women who felt like I did in January feel like they are good enough, pretty enough...I get to go to my glorious yoga house and let my body know how much I appreciate it in rooms full of like minded individuals. I now have fantastic friends at the push of a button that could not be more perfect. (New friends, Daisy and Amanda!! How did I ever live without you??) I get to go home, and live my life.  How incredibly lucky I am! 

Wardrobe for Brian Setzer. After three weeks of Vince Gill! 

Our first Christmas 

My life is not at all like I had imagined it would be in 2014. It's so so much more better than I ever could have dreamed. I am constantly reminded of how everything happens for a reason, and that I am never wrong in following my gut. I know now, more than ever, that a life filled with gratitude will do more for you than one filled with resentment. Oprah has this thing she writes in every issue of her magazine..."What I Know For Sure" and what I know for sure is that 2014 was easily the most difficult year so far that I have experienced. I also know that these experiences were lessons, and I can't be thankful enough for all of those lessons. And if I had to do it all over again? I would. Just to end up here. I would gladly go through hell and high water to get to where I am now. 2014, thank you for your challenges, your obstacles, your struggle you threw at me.

Because in return, I also got your blessings, your memories I will cherish for life, and the knowledge that I was stronger than I ever thought imaginable.

That is truly what I thank you for.

I would like to dedicate my 2015 to Mama Carla, who lived her life unapologetically as herself. She never worried what anyone else thought, and never met a stranger. This year, my resolution is to live my life more like her, and to always try and make her proud of the woman I have become. Because I know she still watches.

Bring it on, 2015. I'm ready.

Stop Being Poor

I'm rich, readers.  No, really. And I'm here to give you one piece of advice on how you can find your riches. Are you ready? Here it is:

Stop. Being. Poor.

You read correctly. Stop being poor. Guess what? If you're reading this, you're rich! If you're sitting under a roof with heat, wifi, and some sort of electronic device at your fingertips, you are already there. Did you eat today? You're loaded!

I think where we really get it wrong is we use the term "poor" incorrectly. Technically, according to America's standards, I live below poverty level. However, by America's standard BMI scale, I am underweight, yet a "plus size" in their modeling industry...so where has technicality gotten me? Nowhere.

I woke up in a warm bed in a home with heat, with food in the fridge, and between four walls where love lives. I was able to get dressed in nice clothes, eat a healthy breakfast, and even have the luxury of watching Netflix with the world's greatest dog curled up next to me. I drove to a job that I love in a car that runs.  I had ears to hear my favorite songs on the radio. I had my health! If anything, I am rich.


As the Fab Four once said "money can't buy me love." and gosh darn it, those boys were right. There are a lot of other things it can't buy--health being one of them. I know several people suffering with life altering diagnosises right now. If they could buy their way out of them, they would. The fact that I woke up at all...was able to go do this in my yoga class the other day, and have a fully healthy and functioning body? That makes me royalty, practically!

I hear a lot of people around me say they can't do things because they are "poor" Most are employed, have some source of income, have never been hungry a day in their lives, drive cars (even a subpar one is a luxury to most places in the world) and yet they still complain. They don't know what poor is.

Am I perfect? No. Do I get fed up with not wanting to be in the exact financial position I want to be in? Of course. However, I do know where a wealthy attitude gets you. You know those Facebook challenges for the month of November? The Gratitude list is a challenge in which that person posts three things they are grateful for each day, and why they are thankful for them. I know the laws of the universe, I know that you get back what you put out. However, when you aren't forced to focus on all of the beautiful things in your life, it's really east to get caught up in what you don't have. We live in a society that thrives on comparison and dying to fit in...I don't have the designer bag I want, my house isn't as big as my neighbor's, she's thinner than I am, they make more money. These things are what prevent us from moving forward and growing. Comparison is the thief of joy. Poverty mindset only furthers poverty lifestyle. So, I decided to be rich.

The second I started to focus on my abundance I already had instead of lack, my phone started to blow up. I have been booking jobs more now than I have ever in the last six months. I've had experiences that people who live in poverty certianly don't get to have. When I decided I was rich, and going to live my life as a wealthy individual, the universe has lined up in accordance and shown me just that.

I wish that people realized more that you choose your thoughts. Even in my deepest, darkest, don't want to get out of bed depression, I knew it. I knew that I was only going to perpetuate my life of average.  I was only going to stay on subpar health, in mediocre relationships with others and myself, and would always be struggling. And then one day, I found my journal from when I was eighteen. In my scribbled handwriting, I had written every detail of my life...what sort of house I wanted to be in, what sort of relationship I wanted, what kind of job I required in order to feel fulfilled, what I wanted to look like...down to my jean size, and as I got to the part about wanting a little white dog, I looked over at my precious Arrow, and realized that I had it all. So what was I complaining about? I started a new page in my latest journal and wrote a continuation of that entry.

I plan on continuing my life remembering every day that there is always something to be grateful for...that even if the bank account is in the negative, there is always more on it's way. Even if I'm eating at home every night, at least I'm eating. Even though I would like new clothes, the ones I have now are beautiful. Even if I don't have everything I want right now, I am still richer than most people in the world.

So, readers. I'm telling you now.

Stop being poor.

False Humility, War Paint, Bellies, Nude Selfies, and More: My Self Acceptance Journey (So Far)

Hey, readers.

I had another blog in mind...one that was written almost in its entirety when I decided to scrap it completely and share what was on my mind. After all, my bedtime tea told me to...

As a few of you may know, I have joined a Body-Positive yoga studio here in Nashville called Curvy Yoga.  Being relatively new to my practice, I was relieved to be in an environment with women who all wanted to get in touch with, and appreciate our bodies.  This is a completely foreign concept to me.

Our mission statement over the fireplace.  I am forced (not in a bad way) to look at this through my entire practice. 

I have talked about the journey I have been on to accept "what is" my entire life.  As long as I can remember, my world has been surrounded by women who hate themselves.  I say this including myself.   Maybe it's being conditioned by the world around me, and listening to the women in my life that were supposed to show me what being a woman means, complain about their bodies that did it.  Who knows? A combination of the two perhaps...This lead me down the path of eating disorders, and a case of Body Dysmorphic Disorder at the tender age of thirteen.

Around thirteen is when the era of MySpace was really starting to take off.  Long before the word "selfie" was ever a thing, people took self portraits to use for their profile photos.  Remember those days? Where a bathroom photo usually involved an actual camera? I created a profile to keep up with my friends, and had the horrible realization that I actually had to take a photo of myself. The horror! I faced my fears and set up the self timer in front of my wall full of Beatles posters and posed. The cheap Kodak camera flashed three times and I rushed back over, prepared to see the monster that I saw in my mirror every morning.  To my absolute shock, the girl staring back at me in the camera screen  wasn't a mutant! Sure, her hair was big, and she had braces, but she wasn't half bad! Thus began my self portrait  journey.  I lived for getting dolled up and staging photos for my online friends all over the world.  I received praise, compliments, and felt my heart skip a beat every time I had a new Photo Comment. Remember those feelings? For the first time in my life, I felt like it was okay to celebrate and not be ashamed of myself.  A family member walked in on me taking photos of myself.  "You're so vain, Payton.  You're obsessed with yourself." This is the same family member that told me I was a "Child of God" and "Should be proud of his creation."

So, let me get this straight. I'm supposed to value, treasure, and love myself as a "divine creation" but when I celebrate it, I am "vain" You can see the dilemma that lies within being thirteen and terribly impressionable. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

That's why my hair's so big...it's full of contradictory statements other people have told me. 

This way of thinking attracted a lot of real winners.  My last serious relationship's number one argument involved the rest of the world getting to see "The Payton that everybody wants to believe is real" vs. what he "had" to see. "The real Payton." Apparently, it was somewhat insulting that he had to see me not in six inch heels, full makeup, the whole nine yards. This created intense amounts of insecurity within myself (how could it not?)  to the point where whenever I would have to take my make-up off in front of someone else, I felt the need to give them a warning...as if it were the Elephant Man about to enter the room where I once stood...where most people either couldn't tell a difference, or thought I was being neurotic. I am only just now at the point where I know that I am wearing make-up because I like to feel more put together when I leave the house, not because I am hiding.  I usually won't wear it to yoga, or around the house, whereas I used to put on a full face at the beginning of each day, even if I had only planned to be alone...just so I could look at myself in the mirror and not feel ashamed.

Without, and with the war paint. 

With this insecurity came copious amounts of anger.  Anger at myself ended up being directed towards other people. If I hated somebody's band? I really hated them.  If someone smiled at me the wrong way, I was in a bad mood for days.  I am only now realizing this.  My hatred of myself was turned outward to hatred of others. This was terribly confusing for me.  So, I'm supposed to love myself, but not love myself too much because that made me vain, but only love myself with make-up on, love me in the mirror, but not in photos...all the factors that played into my already unhealthy internal monologue: "I will  be happy when I weigh this much.  I will be happy when I am in this size jeans..." NO WONDER I was so screwed up. No wonder I still have a conversation with myself that requires time to re-focus nearly every thought I have about myself.  Deprogramming is hard.

My current partner has honestly been a great help when it comes to my self confidence.  When he tells me I don't need make-up for him to find me beautiful, I believe him.  He likes that silly little birthmark under my eye I have been trying to hide for the last ten years.  He likes my bed head.  And he likes what's inside. And when you see someone else that can love you in spite of all of your flaws, it's much easier to accept them for yourself.  My partner is very intelligent, and I don't want to insult his intelligence by telling him he is wrong anymore.

Yesterday in yoga class, I had on a pair of leggings with an oversized t-shirt cut "Flashdance" style and a really tight tank top underneath.  As we went into forward fold, I could see down my shirt, all the way to my scrunched up belly. And for the the first time in my entire life, I thought my belly was sexy. It wasn't flat. (No one's is in that position), but it looked like the beautiful women of the 40's and 50's in bathing suits, it looked like classical paintings, it looked like a grown woman's belly.  Maybe it was the hip openers, maybe it was the fact I was surrounded by women much larger and yet still better at yoga than I that I still found to be gorgeous, maybe it was the positive atmosphere, or the fact I was having a great hair day, but I looked down at my belly and thought "Now that's sexy."

This is my belly.  I am usually too chicken to show it off. Sometimes it's flat.  Sometimes it rolls when I am in forward fold. Sometimes, it sticks out a little over the waistband of my jeans..But that's OK. I;m in good company.

I'm about to recommend something that sounds crazy here.  A friend of mine wrote a blog a while back about her weight loss journey (she makes my 50 lbs look like a sneeze compared to how amazing of a feat she overcame) and spoke about those "Damn, girl" photos.  You know the ones...you see them on your feeds...they make you say "Damn, girl!" or maybe you send them to your boyfriend, or husband while he is at work...I took the ultimate self portrait...a full on, standing nude.  I wasn't posed provocatively, I wasn't trying to be sexual.  I was doing the same thing that I did when I was thirteen and thought I had a mutated face.  I was trying to see what I really was.  I locked the door, set the self timer, and stood straight on. No angles, no fancy lighting, no filters...raw.  I held my breath and waited for the 5...4...3...2...1 Snap. Unlike I used to rush over to see my handiwork, I walked slow and heavy footed....almost afraid to see the result.  As I looked in the view finder, I started to cry.  My mirror had been lying to me yet again.  As I brushed a tear away from my eye, I said out loud, "Damn, girl." The girl in the photo had no make-up, she had a few stretch marks, a few odd freckles, and some scars from being terribly clumsy...but she was beautiful.  There was the masterpiece that has taken years to create.  There was the woman I had worked so hard to become.  I took a mental snapshot and deleted the image.

I eat insecurities (and glitter) for breakfast. Most days...

Is accepting my body as it is an overnight process? Not in the slightest.  I am still reprogramming my brain every day. I am having to remind myself that "Comparison is the thief of joy." and I am supposed to be in my body, not someone else's.  If I were supposed to be smaller, I would be.  If I were supposed to be taller, I would be.  The fact of the matter is that I'm healthy, I'm alive, and I've got just a little bit of extra love in my belly sometimes.  But the camera doesn't lie.  If being able to look back at myself in the reflection of a view finder and not beat myself up, not cut down every inch of my body, not belittle myself, and not absolutely despise myself makes me vain, then start singing the Carly Simon song to me...because being able to feel like I am not a failure, like I haven't let myself down, and that not only am I adequate, but I am beautiful? I'll take that over false humility any day of the week.

And let's get real, I probably do think that song was about me. :)

Because sometimes, you just gotta ask the mirror if your outfit works for you that day or not. 

(Damn, girl.)