-homemade cheese

-homesteading skills 

-cliff jumping accidents (What?!)

-ghost towns

-the Zombies, Run! app

-how to make harem pants

(photo via)

I don't really follow much in the fashion world, but this story caught my eye. 

It's New York Fashion Week, and one of the models is catching the attention of people everywhere, not because of her outfit, but because she is the first woman with Down Syndrome to model on the NYFW catwalk. 

(Photo: Brian Ach, Getty Images)

I was so stoked for my doctor's appointment this morning. 

It was nothing major- just a general checkup. I sat in the examination room. I answered all the questions. I told her my concerns. The doctor listened to my heart and poked my body and checked my limbs. She looked over the results of my blood test from the previous week. 

Then came my report card.

Blood pressure: excellent

Heartbeat: strong

Lungs: strong

Iron: normal

Thyroid: great

Sugar levels: normal

Excellent. Excellent. Excellent.

My heart sank lower and lower with each positive review. 

I had been hoping, praying that there would be something, ANYTHING, that they would find abnormal. I know that sounds ungrateful, maybe even selfish. But I wanted something I could blame my weight on. I wanted to be able to take some pills and magically look like all my friends. I wanted answers. 

Despite passing my physical with flying colours, despite eating healthier than most people I know, and despite exercising, I still look exactly the same. And I'm tired. A lifetime of struggles with weight has trained me to look down when I walk into a store or the gym, because I know people are staring. I wish they knew the whole story. I wish they knew the abuse I endured during my early school years. I wish they knew that I had an eating disorder at one point, and still struggle sometimes. I wish they knew that I'm actually pretty flexible, that my body is strong, and I have the immune system of a champ. I wish they knew that I might not have a beautiful face or a thigh gap, but I'm healthy. 

I recently went with some friends to look at bridesmaid dresses. The other two girls tried on dress after beautiful dress. Every time one of them came out of the dressing room to model the dresses, the room filled with congratulations on how skinny they looked. None of the dresses came in my size, so I literally did not move from my seat the entire appointment. I just sat there, quiet and ashamed, wondering why I was even there. I bolted to my car when we finished and cried the whole way home. I felt bad that my friend was going to have a fat bridesmaid. I felt like I was going to ruin her wedding.

I know that I shouldn't complain, because so many people I know are sick or struggle with much worse things. Physical health is a blessing I've been given; it's just not always the blessing I want. It helps to remind myself that bodies are really just homes for our spirits. I know that it might not be perfect now, but in the next life, my size won't matter. I will be perfect and perfected.  

The challenge is just remembering that.