#WaywardAF

One of the things I love about the Wayward Daughters, and Kim and Briana who inspired the fans to make the Wayward Academy, and allowed us hope for it to be a real spin off of Supernatural one day, is that it is a very rare movement that empowers women. Way beyond the world of TV shows.

No, this is not another Supernatural post. Promise. But it is a post about women and their bodies.

I always despised when people commented on my body. I grew up being called “stick thin” and “anorectic” in a snide voice, by those who were supposed to be my friends. It did not go away as I got older. My friends would still, openly, shake their heads at how thin I was. I mean, right to my face. And as much as I am sure they did not mean anything mean by it, it always got to me, because metabolism is not exactly something you can change. Also, I worked at a stable, (over the years, different stables, but always the same hard work every day of the week, no weekends off, no vacations,) for 15 years. No doubt about it, I was wearing myself down, and my friends did not notice. Or, if they did, they chose to be slightly jealous of my weight, rather than help me out. (Not all of you, but most, really.)

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As much as no one in my circle of friends tried to help me out, any doctor I saw, did, in their own awkward way. Even when I broke my hand and had to have it screwed back together, they kept me for evaluation, quite clearly suspecting that I had an eating disorder.

I am sensitive about my weight. Because I have been eating as much as I possibly could, all my life and I have been scorned for being thin. Every time I see one of those “we love curvy girls, because no one wants to cuddle a stick” posts on Face Book, I feel my blood boil. Somehow, body shaming thin people is completely acceptable.

I am not thin anymore. My friends has finally stopped with their snide remarks. I can go see a doctor with a broken bone now, and not fear for having to stay for psychiatric evaluations.

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Funnily enough, I gained weight because I did, finally, crack up. Sort of.

Last year, I stopped everything. I changed from being a stable boy, to working for Dark Mare Pictures. I stopped riding my own horses, as the four old ones died on me within a very short period of time, leaving me with the young. Not to mention, leaving me utterly heartbroken.

So, I gained 20 kilo, walked away from the equestrian world and everything I used to be. Everything I used to care about. I just stopped.

I have heard a lot of Supernatural fans talk about how they don’t understand that Sam quit when Dean got sucked into purgatory at the end of season 7. I get it. I thought it was beautiful, how he just stopped being who he used to be. I went through that. I guess it’s called, “reaching your breaking point.” And finding a way to survive it.

The Wayward Daughters, though, they don’t do body shaming. In any way. I have to say, that is refreshing. I have loved watching this latest campaign, especially on twitter. How one innocent selfie turned into everybody doing pantsless pictures of themselves. And how no one has said anything to anyone, that wasn’t encouraging, no matter what you look like.

I am actually okay with my new body. Even when my mom called me chubby. Oh yeah, in my family, all our women looks like I used to, and those who don’t get by it naturally, by working too hard, make sure to starve themselves. I was always lousy at that…

But it does bother me, the right people think they have, to comment on what I look like. No matter if it is to say that I’m too thin, or too fat.

So, I instantly jumped on the WaywardAF pantless bandwagon. I think its brilliant, actually.  Encouraging women (and men) all over the world to not be ashamed to show their bodies. I had ordered my Tshirt in a small though, which meant that it was short. Too short to actually cover me if I did a pantsless shot. So, I had to be creative.

Which was why I started training Tardis, sitting sideways on her, about a month ago. She was not a huge fan of that, but she learned quickly.

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Yes, being creative still includes my horses. Even if I don’t ride much anymore and they are hardly broken in. But here is my girl and me, Wayward as Fuck and pantsless;

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Sorta. Well, creating the illusion there off, anyway.

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I cannot work with a still frame camera if there is someone behind it, so these are selfies. Taken on a ten seconds timer. Which meant that I had ten seconds to set the camera, run to Tardis, jump onto her back, swing my legs over to the same side, not lose balance and fall off, make sure I covered the shorts I was wearing, check that the writing on the shirt was readable, (that it did not wrinkle,) and look like I was not out of breath.

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The amount of times I did this, where she turned her head and covered the writing on the t shirt, almost made me wish I could work with a cameraman. Its funny. I don’t mind when we are on set with Dark Mare. The RED camera is much less daunting than the Canon Eos… I know, I’m crazy that way.

But Tardis was amazing. She was so patient and she did not spook once, no matter how fast I ran up to her and jumped onto her back. That sure is my wayward girl ❤

And her son, well…

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Ablaze has never carried a rider, but he is always ready to upstage his mom anyway. Yes, we still do this. He loves it when I sit with him while he sleeps.

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I know, not exactly pantsless, but hay is the worst, I swear… Also, I’m allergic…

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That foal is so precious… And I am so happy that he has never been wayward, the way his mother has. If I have any say, he never will be.

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Before this turns into another one of my worshiping my horses posts, lets get back to women and their bodies. Yes, this is me, 20 kg heavier than I have ever been.

I was driving to the stable the other day, (as always,) and it was 5 am, I think. We had an X Wing tournament at Dragons Lair, so I had to take care of the babies early, because I’d be gone all day. The roads was deserted. Except for this one car.

He drove up to me, and stayed at my side until I looked up, thinking what the fuck is that guy doing? Then he rolled down his window and shouted “nice ass!” at me, smiling all over his face. I was so stunned I nearly fell off my scooter.

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I mean, that was so random, so unprovoked, so… I swear, I am glad I live in a country where everybody don’t carry guns. If I had had one there, I might have done something I’d regret later.

I know. It was a compliment. But I was driving my scooter, at 5 am on a Sunday, minding my own business, what the fuck gave him the right to comment on my body like that?

I know, he probably thought he made my day, by that compliment. His smile was so honest, I didn’t even flip him off, although resisting the urge to do so was almost too hard to fight.

What is wrong with a culture that has strangers commenting on women’s bodies like that, and expecting us to just… smile and be happy about it?

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I mean, he would have never rolled down his window and shouted at a dude with a nice ass, would he?

That really is one of my crusades. Don’t treat me like a woman. Treat me like an equal. Don’t say anything to me, you would not say to another man. Ever. It will piss me off.

Don’t call me cute. That goes for other women too. I posted this picture on instagram lately, and a girl wrote “cutie” on it.

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I mean, really? Would you have written that, if I had been a man? Nooo, then it would have been cool, that I have written 9 fucking books. But I’m a woman. I’m cute.

I can’t even….

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Oh, that filter was a mistake. I love photo shop. I have a new favorite thing to work with now that I found that Grey Scale button…

Its kind of a huge problem in the gaming world as well, so after having run into that dude and his “nice ass” remark in the morning, I was more than ready to murder the first X Wing player to treat me like a woman, but somehow, that day, no one did. And it was AWESOME!

Last regional I played, one of the guys that hosted the event instantly told me that the shop was closed, when I showed up. It took me a moment before I realized that he had spotted a girl, who had wondered into a geek Star Wars tournament, and he was trying to usher her out the door before the rest of the boys showed up.

I had one of the other players call me “sweetie” as well, all the way through our game, until I asked him if he called the other boys that too?

This tournament was great, though. No one flinched at the girl among them. I even ended up making dirty gay jokes about Darth Vader with the other players, and none of them batted an eye at me. (I know, it was a long day…Tastefully though, sorta. I have a thing for gay men… Aaaaaanyway…) I cannot begin to describe how awesome it is to just be… equal. And how rare that is. Sadly.

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Of course, you always have the lesbian card, if you want to be equal to men. If they think you are gay, then they are very different towards you.

That is kind of sad too. The only way for women to not be treated as some kind of sex object, or to be judged and evaluated sexually, is to be utterly unavailable.

So, yes. I love the Wayward Daughters. I sure know what it is like to be wayward, at least emotionally. I was a bit skeptic about the “As Fuck” part when I first heard it, but I’ll admit it is brilliant.

Empowering women, for sure. Yeah, that works for me. I can be anything I want to be. Even if I’m unable to accept a compliment from a stranger, if it in anyway relates to the way I look.

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Oh, and one last thing. These pictures are not about me. I am a photographer. I love the PICTURE for the picture. I love working the colors, the motive, the framing… I love telling the story. I am a WRITER, that means that I tell stories. It is what I do. I am not looking for anyone to tell me that I look cute. Or that I look ugly. Or whatever. But I do love taking pictures. And telling stories.

And being Wayward AF 😉 With, or without pants.

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Because what I look like is not the point. It is never the point. Of anything.

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About Starstone

-Owned by horses. Writer, Photographer, Director, Musician.
This entry was posted in Horses, Reviews and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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