SexYOUality: The Hardest Decision

Photo by Leigh Temple - Used Under a Creative Commons License

This story starts and ends typically: I began with the shocking revelation of an extremely unplanned pregnancy and I ended with an empty, scraped  uterus and plenty of emotional baggage to boot. The body of the story, too, oozes with the all-too-familiar bad, sad and torrid details of a seismically unsound and ultimately fractured relationship.

   Often I try to recall what I did earlier in the day before I found out I was pregnant. Had I brushed my teeth that morning or had I forgotten? Did I put lipstick on? Had I done anything out of the ordinary or had I woken up and done the same thing as every other morning, oblivious to the fact that in mere hours I would be crying, shaking, wracking my brain for ways in which to make one of the biggest decisions of my life. 

But here and there are bits and pieces scattered throughout my own story that have clung to my very being ever since December 27 2009. It has been difficult to understand why even with the end result, the loss of what I would ever so dearly call my child, my baby, I cannot seem to lay to rest all my dreams of what she or he was and would have been.

As women we are directly exposed to pregnancy, giving birth, miscarriage,  having an abortion. Our bodies in each and every one of theses scenarios  births something; be it a live child or the eternal memories of a lost one. No  matter how different each is there is confusion, suffering, happiness and  devastating loss embroiled in our womanhood. Regardless of which way any of these experiences end there is something that comes out of it that will be carried forever.

When confronted with pregnancy and the overwhelming discovery that there is a growing, living, twisting being beginning to grow inside of you, life changes. For me, almost immediately I began to instinctively touch my stomach which was still flat, hiding all signs of what had begun to live  beneath my skin. My breasts hurt and the image of latching my son or  daughter onto my own flesh constantly appeared in my head. I dreamt of naming my daughter but feared that if she ever discovered the roots of her name she would look down on her mother for her poor taste in '90s films. 

I imagined her rolling her eyes and snapping her gum at me, reaching the point where my touch would embarrass her in public. I dreamt of the moment she would yearn once again for that touch, as I did for my own mothers, and would come and collapse into me, reimagining the way I carried her as a baby. One morning I started bleeding heavily. I remember feeling guiltily relieved; my own body had taken the reigns and was making what felt to be an insurmountable decision on my behalf. I had considered abortion -- I was 21, broke, pregnant while taking birth control and six months in to a relationship with a long-haired stoner (who subsequently sat in the abortion clinic waiting room reading a graphic novel, hungry for Taco Bell). But the moment I peed on a cheap looking white stick and saw one too many blue lines appear I felt pregnant. I felt like a mother.

Many people told me that I would fail as a parent. Most often they warned me against parenthood without a degree, a reliable job, owning my own home or the precise assurance that my life would run smoothly. When I began bleeding, thinking I was starting to lose parts and pieces of my child, I decided I would need to go for an abortive procedure. I scheduled an appointment at a private clinic one week later.

I arrived at the clinic with my mother, my boyfriend and my best friend. My mother couldn't quite hide her relief; her 21 year old daughter wouldn't be having a baby unexpectedly, without every "I" dotted and "T" crossed. My best friend was there for me, and my boyfriend for obligation and the free food that would be purchased on the drive home after my 11 week old  fetus had been sucked out from inside of me. I made my way into the back and had a very nice anesthesiologist attempt to administer twilight sedation into veins in my dehydrated feet, legs, arm, neck and hands. His name was Steve, he told me. He put his hand on my forehead to ask me if I was okay. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. As I was waiting for Steve to get a vein the doctor, a brisk looking blonde woman who never introduced herself to me (perhaps there wasn't a good enough moment, seeing as I was strapped down to a table, tears streaming down my face) performed a vaginal ultrasound. I heard her say the pregnancy sac was "still" intact. Steve touched my forehead again.

I woke up some matter of minutes later. I stayed in a recovery room until the nurses felt I was ready to walk. I stumbled out into the office waiting room, wearing what I have since coined the "abortion robe". My mother, boyfriend and friend all stood at the same moment, sharing the same look of love/confusion/concern/discomfort and out we walked. People holding signs screamed, called me a murderer, asked me what it felt like to kill my baby so close to Christmas. We kept walking and made it to my mother's white luxury vehicle equipped with a beige, leather interior (I wondered and worried that I may leave parts of my dead child in between the seams). 

We started the car, pulled out of the abortion clinic parking lot. My mother asked if anyone was hungry. My boyfriend, the man who had impregnated me, touched my stomach, had told me he would love me, love us forever, offered that he was in the mood for tacos. We stopped at the drive through, my mother asked me if I wanted anything but I couldn't tell her that all I was wondering was where the pieces of my baby were. Was she or he in a trash can, wrapped in blue medical paper? I looked at the ultrasound the doctor had given me: my before and after. I saw a circular shape on the left hand side, my baby. On the right I saw nothing but a vast blackness; a terrifying night without a single star. I told my mother I was not hungry and 
we began our drive home.

About the Author: 

Mikaela Jensen-Roseman came into this world in 20 minute flat. To this day, her mother claims that may indicate something about her personality. Jensen-Roseman was born and raised in Philadelphia but made from a heart and body constantly yearning for travel and impulsive adventure. She's known for her ability to scold dogs for misbehavior, roadtripping, injuries involving metal fencing and peeing quicker than at least 95% of the remaining female population. You can get in touch with her via e-mail, or of course here on I Feel Delicious! 

Groundhog Day: Do You Keep Doing the Same Thing Over and Over Again?

February 2 is Groundhog Day, a day to celebrate a garden pest that most people try to get rid of but look forward to seeing this one day a year. Funny? Not so much. *Actually* funny though is the 1993 movie of the same name starring Bill Murray, where he lives the same day over and over again. I've included a tribute to that movie from my favorite TV Show "Supernatural" to catch you guys up on the concept, just in case you need a refresher.

But really, it begs the question - are you doing the same thing over and over again? Making the same mistakes in life, love, at work, at school? Are you unhappy? Why do you keep doing it?

The only way to break out of that Groundhog Day mentality is to reexamine your life, your goals, your priorities and your actions. So what are you waiting for? Go forth and make sure you aren't living the same day over and over again out of the same bad habits you've had for a long time. Start loving yourself - poke your head out into the world, and don't be afraid if you see your own shadow. Spring will come eventually.

Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!

Happy Chocolate Cake Day! An Interview with Natalie of Flour Power Bakery

Eye Candy Girl Natalie, courtesy of Terri Jean Photography

Eye Candy Girl Natalie, Courtesy of Terri Jean Photography

January 27th is National Chocolate Cake Day, a day to celebrate your love for this rich, decadent dessert. In honor of this day, we're interviewing one of our own Eye Candy Girls, Betty Buttercream (aka: Natalie), the creator, owner and proprietor of Athens, Ohio's Flour Power Bakery.

Flour Power Bakery will be turning four years old in February, according to Natalie. "I couldn't find good desserts anywhere in town for parties and events so I did it myself! tells us. Offering everything from cupcakes to cream puffs to chocolate covered pretzels and more, Flour Power came about from a love of baking and a need for a good job in a flagging economy. "I really love what it has become and still enjoy baking," says Natalie.


Even though she bakes almost every day, Natalie still has time to devote to other pursuits, including modeling for Terri Jean Photography as one of our Eye Candy Girls. And just like all the flavors of women who read I Feel Delicious, Natalie is always on the lookout for new adventures in her baking life. "[I] am always on the lookout for new flavors or desserts to add."

Flour Power is a small, one woman operation but that doesn't mean they aren't going big places. "My biggest order so far has been 40 dozen cupcakes for the Dairy Barn's New Year's Eve party," says Natalie. She also attends the Athens Farmer's Market each and every Saturday, where you can find her under a pink tent. "The farmers market is stressful but so much fun that it's worth it!" Being "the cupcake lady" also allows her the chance to dress up in a fun and stylish way. "I could wear pearls and pink polka dots every day of my life."

Flour Power isn't just about cupcakes and sweets, though. Natalie is also an active volunteer for the community. Her heart is with the fuzzy things in life, as her own two dogs can attest to. "I love that [the] Flour Power Bakery allows me to give back to the community by providing desserts for
My Sister's Paws Sweet Tea Social and Friends of the Shelter Dogs fundraisers."

"I have met so many people and been a part of so many special events in their lives...weddings, birthdays, retirements, showers.....and it's only been 4 years!" says Natalie, and her pride is obvious and hard-won.

Natalie, Courtesy of Terri Jean Photography

Natalie adds:
"I love seeing photos of my desserts at weddings and parties and surprise deliveries are my favorite! Valentine's Day is my biggest single day, and also my favorite holiday. This year, I will have two days of Valentine's Day Orders!"

You can check out the Flour Power Bakery here on Facebook and place an order. I promise, they're worth it!

Bring On the Disabled Dolls!

The coveted Samantha Doll of my youth. 

I’m a self-confessed American Girl Doll lover. These dolls - and the American Girl books that came with them - were a large part of my childhood. I’d wait for the new catalog to arrive from the then-independently owned Pleasant Company and circle everything I’d ask Santa for. I was in love with Samantha - the Victorian brunette with big brown eyes and a penchant for shaking up socio-economic norms of the time. I scrimped and saved and wished for a doll - a doll that was like me, a doll that I could identify with. By the time I could afford one after socking away quarters from weeding gardens and doing chores, my interest had waned, but the American Girl brand and name has continued on.

Now owned by Mattel, the American Girl franchise has moved on - some say they’ve cheapened their image, others are of no mind, keeping their eye on the joy they bring little girls. But there’s a limited selection to choose from - even the modern American Girl Dolls are leaning toward the blonde, pretty and able-bodied, active archetype that Mattel pushes.


One little girl is sick of the same old same old. 10-year-old Melissa Shang, from Paoli, Pennsylvania wants to see a disabled doll grace the pages of her American Girl Magazine. Shang, who lives in a suburb of my hometown Philadelphia, has Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome, a neurological disorder and form of muscular dystrophy. Melissa struggles with muscle weakness and numbness and does a stellar job of making it through each day despite her disability. 

Melissa Shang poses with her American Girl Doll.

And like all of us who were touched by the magic of these dolls, Melissa wants to see a doll that looks like her and shares a story like her. In her petition on Change.org, Melissa says “"For once, I don't want to be invisible or a side character that the main American Girl has to help: I want other girls to know what it's like to be me, through a disabled American Girl's story,"

Never mind that there are limited Asian American Girl Dolls - in fact, most American Girl Dolls use one of only a couple facial moulds in their manufacture - Melissa wants the world to know what it’s like to be differently abled. And I couldn’t be a bigger supporter of this idea.

I have a sibling who is disabled. He uses leg braces and is sometimes in a wheelchair. Growing up, it never factored into my mind that he was somehow different than the rest of us - he was, actually, the popular kid. But as I grow up and my eyes open to the rest of the world, it’s pretty clear: There’s a pretty distinct lack of toys that let other kids know what it’s like to be a disabled person in a typically abled world.

And isn’t the point of the American Girl Dolls and their stories to let our kids experience the life of someone else for a little while? I wanted to be a Victorian class warrior. Other girls wanted to be a colonial feminist or a headstrong immigrant pioneer. What would it hurt for Mattel to let a generation of girls understand what it’s like to be a strong, kick-ass girl in a wheelchair, one like Melissa Shang? 

We need a disabled American Girl Doll!

American Girl does offer a “Feel Better Kit” for their dolls that comes with crutches, a wheelchair and casts but this does little to bolster the spirits of girls who are permanently disabled. Not only is it patronizing to have to purchase a “Feel Better Kit” - as if slapping a few Band-Aids on the problem will make it go away - but it’s also a discredit to the original Pleasant Company vision - to provide girls with dolls that are just like them, but also different enough that they could experience an entirely new world. Relatable, but still able to teach something new.

Girls like Melissa should be able to log on to InnerStarU.com and play American Girl games featuring a protagonist that faces the same challenges - and share in the same triumphs - that they do. They deserve to walk, stroll or wheel into any of the American Girl stores across the country and see a doll that looks like they do, with a story like theirs, instead of having to purchase an afterthought, add-on accessory kit with none of the stellar and heartwarming storytelling the American Girl Dolls are known for.

As of December 31, Melissa’s petition has 10,000 supporters. I’d like to see enough people sign the petition to make Mattel take notice and create a character for Melissa and the thousands of other girls like her.

What do you think about the idea of a disabled American Girl Doll? Were you an American Girl Doll fan growing up? Let us know your thoughts in the comments below!

Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!

Inspiring Women of History: "Mad" Anne Bailey

By Kristi Waterworth

We all know the story of Paul Revere, who rode through New England screaming and waking a lot of folks up late at night because some guys in red coats were coming.  A story a lot fewer of us know is that of Anne Bailey, a frontier scout who served proudly in both the American Revolutionary War and the Northwest Indian War.  Anne was English, from Liverpool, same as my ancestors, and was orphaned by age 18.  

Since she had no one else and no where to be, she set sail for America in the late 1750s or early 1760s.  It's unclear if she paid her own way or if she entered into indentured servitude in exchange for passage, but if she did, the term was very short.  By 1765, she was married to an American named Richard Trotter and promptly took up residence in the Kanawha Valley area of Virginia.

The valley was turbulent, though, experiencing a great deal of violence between settlers and Native Americans (who were, by all rights, there first).  The governor raised a militia to help patrol the border and protect these settlers, Mr. Trotter enlisted gladly.  Unfortunately, he was killed at the Battle of Point Pleasant on October 10, 1774 – this battle is understood by some historians to be the first of the American Revolution.

Something in Anne snapped when she learned of her husband's death – she donned men's clothing (both illegal and scandalous at the time), learned to shoot a rifle and threw in with the Patriots.  Throughout the war, she served as a scout and messenger between Fort Savannah and Fort Randolph, a distance of about 160 miles.  During her travels, she recruited men for the militia from the towns she passed and was an adamant supporter of the American colonists in every way.

After America won its freedom, Anne continued to serve as a messenger and scout in the area until she married John Bailey, an elite frontier ranger.  Together they moved to Fort Lee, near Charleston, West Virginia, and continued to carry messages, scout and protect settlers from Native American attacks.  This is where a rough, unusual women turned legendary.  

In 1791, the fort received word that a party of Native Americans was headed right for them and discovered they were short on gun powder.  With the Natives bearing down on them, the settlers were desperate, but when the militia asked for a volunteer to ride the 100 miles to Fort Savannah for emergency supplies, none of the men stepped forward.  But no worries, because Anne took the job.  

The road was perilous, running through unsettled wilderness, but Anne wasn't afraid – someone had to save the fort or everyone inside might be killed.  She mounted a horse and rode the 100 miles without stopping to sleep or eat; she lingered at Fort Savannah only long enough to change horses and load her freight.  Anne rode back to the fort with the same gusto she left it, refusing even an escort from Fort Savannah.  Her quick return (and subsequent saving of the fort) earned her a hero's welcome, whiskey and the horse she rode back in on.  

After that it was business as usual for Anne and John.  When he died in 1802, Anne moved out to the wilderness, sleeping outdoors or in caves, according to legend.  She continued to carry messages until 1817, retiring at age 75.  Her son built a cabin on his property for his mother; she died on the property in 1825.

Kristi Waterworth is a freelance journalist based in Springfield, Missouri with a wide range of interests; her work frequently appears on the web and in print. Waterworth developed a long love affair with the Westerning Experience while studying American history in college. Despite the lies, intrigue and mythology intertwined with fact, the American West was a place and time like no other – the extreme adventure required an extreme response. She now seamlessly integrates her journalism skill with her history background at an irregularly updated site called Fifteen Minutes. You can also catch up with her on Facebook and, of course, here on I Feel Delicious.

The Faces and Words of Domestic Violence

By Barbara Alvarez

You’re all about respect – self-respect, showing respect to others and expecting others show respect toward you. When it doesn't happen, you may feel disillusioned and wary about the person who disrespected you.


When it comes to someone treating you badly, however, do you know how to recognize it? When s/he tells you “You’re worthless. You’re a slut. You cheated on me,” do you recognize that as emotional and verbal abuse? Did you know that emotional/verbal abuse falls under the umbrella of domestic violence? Domestic violence isn't delivered at the end of a closed fist or a knife wielded in your partner’s hand.

Photo by Phoney Nickle. Used under Creative Commons License

Verbal and emotional abuse tear you down just as badly as that black eye, the bruises and the long cut on your arm will do. The difference is that, with one form of violence, nobody else sees the marks and scars. But you know they are there.

Eventually, you begin to doubt yourself. You begin to believe that you’re stupid, worthless and a slut. You may be nervous around your partner, trying to keep him or her from lashing out with hateful, confidence-destroying words.

Then there’s the physical violence. Did you know that it takes, on average, seven incidents of domestic violence before a victim leaves her abuser? And, when you don’t know how you’re going to survive financially, you may not believe you have any other choice but to go back. There’s another consideration: Victims undergo progressively worse attacks as time goes on – and one of these attacks could end in her death, or that of one of her children.

Sexual abuse – rape – also falls under the domestic violence umbrella. You may believe that, when s/he demands sex, you have no choice but to comply, even if you don’t feel like it. That is wrong. If you don’t feel like it, then being expected to “perform” is rape. It’s a crime, no matter whether you have bruises and cuts or not.

Photo by flickr.com/jesjon87. Used under a Creative Commons License

You deserve better. If you know someone experiencing one of these forms of relationship violence, she deserves better. You do have resources available in your community. Call the police or sheriff’s department when you are being assaulted. Find someone you know you can trust and tell them what’s happening to you. Eventually, you’ll need to escape. Find a close friend who will allow you to stay with her for a few days while you think about your future. Most communities have a domestic violence shelter. Law enforcement can give you the number and, if needed, take you there. Because of the high risk of danger to the residents, the location of this shelter is kept secret.


Call the National Domestic Violence hotline. That number is 1-800-799-7233. The TTY number is 1-800-787-3224. You’ll be able to get guidance to needed resources as well as learn just what domestic violence is, how it looks and how it affects you. You’ll also learn about the cycle of violence.

Remember, you are worthy of respect and love. If you are in the middle of an intimate relationship that has become violent, you deserve better. To take a quote from Kathryn Stockett’s “The Help,” You is smart, you is kind, you is important.

Barbara Alvarez earned her journalism and mass communications degree in December, 2006 and has been writing professionally since that time.

Alvarez has written and self-published two books, one non-fiction and one fiction. The non-fiction is intended for a military spouse niche. This book is written under a pen name: Diana M. Lopez.

The fiction is intended for anyone who loves to read about strong men and stronger women who
confront conflict even as they learn to adjust their beliefs about relationships and love.

Alvarez plans to write until she is very old – it is in her blood, along with crochet and cross stitch. She
is the mother of two grown sons.

You can keep up with Barbara at her website, or follow her on Facebook.  Of course you can also keep an eye out here for more of her work on I Feel Delicious!

Apparently I'm a Role Model - And I Don't Know Why!

When I wrote about my unflattering viral picture, I never expected an outpouring of support. I didn't expect people to write to me to tell me bits of their own story, and I certainly never expected to be branded a role model - but I was.

 I was told over and over again that I was inspiring and that people looked up to me for the way I accept my body and fought back against my cyberbullies.

To me, a role-model is someone who does BIG THINGS and changes the world. So maybe I'm not there yet, but I'm honored people think of me as such. I've stepped up my game to become the role model they think I am.

So I did the natural thing and wrote an article about it....You can read the entire thing here, at Salon.com.



We want to hear from you - who is your role model? What do you think makes a person a role model?

Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!

Graves Disease: An Interview with Rayanne Forbes

By Caitlin Seida

If you're like most of the public, you've probably never heard of Graves Disease. As Rayanne Forbes, 25, of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada puts it: "Graves Disease is an autoimmune disorder, it's basically a thyroid imbalance, heart condition and immune disorder all wrapped into one." Like so many health problems that affect us, each patient develops different symptoms. Some only have minor signs of the disease and are able to live their lives without much trouble. Others, like Rayanne, walk through hell and back.

"A person who has Graves Disease develops a misdirected immune system that attacks all the healthy cells in your body instead of protecting them like a regular person and affects nearly every organ over time." She tells us.  "It begins with a severely over active thyroid level and you stay extremely hyperthyroid for many months or even years if pills don't correct it. In my case; 19 pills a day could not control my elevated heart rate and they had to remove my thyroid.  Graves disease plus the abundance of pills that I took destroyed all my red and white blood cells and I nearly died when I caught a simple cold I couldn't fight off." Rayanne ended up in a hospital for almost a month before she could go home.

Rayanne found out she had Graves Disease at 22 years old, when she was busy working at a doctor's office, spending her day taking care of other people. Out of the blue, her heart rate elevated to 220 beats per minute and she developed extreme hot flashes. Availing herself of her work facilities, she visited a doctor and was diagnosed the very next day. But Graves is sneaky, Rayanne tells us. "Some people go months without a diagnosis because Graves Disease mimics the symptoms of so many other illnesses."


In Rayanne's case, the symptoms were very severe. "I was very shaky, and weak throughout the day. My hair fell out in clumps, I couldn't sleep for days then then want to spend 16 hours in bed the next. I was constantly out of breath and had to stop half way up the stairs just to make it. At first, they tried to melt my thyroid away with radioactive iodine, which is like drinking pure acid and burns the whole way down. Shortly after they removed my thyroid, my eyes started to very painfully bulge out from my body attacking the healthy cells behind my eyes, causing inflammation. The eye symptoms have an active cycle of 16 months so you are left to wait to see how bad they get, and then you are offered surgery to fix them afterwards. They also tried an in-hospital 5 day IV steroid treatment to help with the swelling behind my eyes. In that time, I developed gallstones, also a common Graves complication,although never proven to be officially linked because they don't know a lot about Graves Disease yet."

"I went on to get my gallbladder removed two months later. Next, they finally fixed my eyes and did a tricky and dangerous orbital decompression surgery. It's a highly invasive surgery that goes behind your eyes to remove fat and tissues that are pushing your eyes forward. If left untreated, some people go blind. The surgery fixed one problem but created another and gave me eyelid retraction - basically, I look surprised all the time. The eye surgeon tried to fix it with another surgery a few months after I was fully healed but had to cancel it halfway through because I wouldn't freeze properly and could feel the blood cauterizer burning through my skin, the scalpel, sewing through my eyelids and the 6 needles in each eye. It was absolutely terrifying."

Like so many illnesses that affect your appearance, Rayanne has been on the recieving end of some very cruel comments. "It started when my eyes started bulging out, leaving me bug-eyed looking. Perfect strangers would tell me to 'stop staring at them', ask me 'why I look so surprised' and use their fingers to widen their eyes to mimic the way I looked and I even got asked what drugs I was on to look that way."

One moment, in particular, sticks out in her mind. "I was out one evening and I told a girl I thought her hair was pretty. Her response was 'you can stop staring at me you $%&#@&% freak'. After they gave me my first surgery, and my eye lids were left looking wonky.. the comments got worse. Everywhere I went, people stared, and made mean comments they probably thought only their friend could hear. My eyes were suddenly "F--ked up", I looked like a freak show, the list goes on. I even caught a former co-worker telling another one that I had 'bug eye disease.'"

The harassment took a toll on Rayanne's self esteem. "I think when people imitated how I looked, it hurt the worse because there was nothing I could do about it. I was honestly just thankful I wasn't blind but still struggled with public acceptance. I started hiding in my room a lot however. Every night, weekends included, I sat at home alone in my dark room and kept to my self for about a year. I missed birthdays, dinners out, and a lot of really fun things because I was so scared of what people said about me." She wears contacts to make her eyes look more average, but they're highly uncomfortable. To me, it's hard to understand why Rayanne gets made fun of. She's a very beautiful woman with very striking features.

In fact, I asked Rayanne about her makeup routine and was told she gets requests from all over the world for makeup tutorials on a regular basis. She plans to create a video soon. Aside from her contact lenses, she wears false eyelashes every day. As you all know, I Feel Delicious isn't just about looking fantastic, though. It's about feeling fantastic. Despite looking amazing, Graves Disease has taken a toll on Rayanne's health.  "Sadly, there is no 'keeping healthy' or a 'normal' anymore. I deal with constant chest pain, I'm weak, tired, shaky and still attend numerous hospital and specialist appointments each month. My heart rate still skyrockets (it shouldn't with the thyroid removal) but it does so I see a cardiologist. Since diagnoses, I have had to get blood taken around 300+ times."

Rayanne's next words hit me, like it will hit many others: "Dealing with an invisible illness is tough because I don't want to look like the 'sick girl' and I hide it well but that means everyone around you assumes your fine. I have been called a 'faker', an exaggerator and even told that i "deserved this" from an ex-friend more times that i can count. I'm blessed to now work at a place that understand my illness but I still feel guilty letting them know that I need to go home early to rest and I have a hard time asking for help. It's scary because you want to plan your life and a future and you cant because this illness controls you." Whether it's depression, polycystic ovarian syndrome, diabetes or anything else, it's hard for people to understand unless they've "been there," a fate you really wouldn't wish on most people.

Is it possible you could be at risk? Rayanne tells us that "Graves Disease is 9:1 females in their twenties. If you suspect you have it, its best to get to a doctor as soon as possible because the longer you wait, the worse it gets. A simple blood test will show if you have Graves and they can treat appropriately. Less than 1% of the world will be diagnosed with Graves Disease, and even less than that will ever develop the eye symptoms associated with the disease."

Even with less than 1% of the world getting a diagnosis, it's important to spread awareness, which is exactly why I interviewed Rayanne. "People don't go up to someone with an evident cancer diagnosis and 'ask why they're bald' because they know the implications of the illness," she tells us. It's true, too. So why is it acceptable to ask someone with an "invisible illness" as Rayanne puts it, why they're "so fat" or "so skinny" or "have bug eyes"?

"It has since become my mission to raise awareness so that no one else has to deal with what I have. All I ask of people is to realize that everyone has a story, and to be accepting of those of us who may look a little different. Every scar tells a story and we are more than happy to share it with you if you just ask nicely. We'd rather share what happened with you than have you judge us and make fun of us behind our backs." A message a heartily concur with.

"I never set out to be the 'Graves Disease girl'," says Rayanne, "but its a title I fully embrace because I know my blog and media appearances have brought awareness to this mystery illness. Some of the photos are shocking, most unflattering, but I keep them up because I have a hope that it's helping someone out there. I have since founded The Graves Disease Foundation of Edmonton and it will launch officially in early 2014. My foundation will raise awareness and money for those in my town battling the disease to help cover the costs associated with the illness...I was born to help others and it just took one hell of a medical journey to discover that. I always knew I had two choices, to get bitter or get better and I will fight every day to beat this disease with a smile on my face."

True to the I Feel Delicious motto, Rayanne tells us: "I never once felt 'sorry' for myself and I never will. Even though people tell me all the time that they think I had a rough go at it, I never felt that way because I had a great family by my side and I kept a positive attitude every day because I was just thankful to even be alive. I am a big believer to never,ever take a day for granted. "

When Rayanne told her story by starting her blog in late 2011, the response was overwhelming and overwhelmingly positive, despite some ridicule from former friends and acquaintances. "To date, I have received over 200+ e-mails from other sufferers world wide sharing their story with me and asking for advice. I cry almost every time I read their stories because you meet them at all different times throughout the diagnosis and you know it's going to get worse, but you don't want to tell them. Some even had worse symptoms than I did and shared their stories about being almost homeless, jobless, and 100% friendless because of how they looked. The emotional baggage they leave with me is so tough to handle sometimes but I feel so relieved that they feel comfortable enough to share it with me because they had likely not shared it with anyone else before."

"I want to show the world that its not about getting knocked down.. It's about getting back up and showing your strength. After all, life is exactly what you make of it." And Rayanne couldn't be more right. This fierce and fearsome chick is exemplifying this for all of us and showing the world just how strong she is, and educating us all one person at a time.

Check out Rayanne's Blog and show her some love and thanks for sharing her story here with us at I Feel Delicious.

Caitlin Seida has been writing since 2006, with her work appearing on various websites including Livestrong.com, TypeF.com, Salon.com, Dogster.com and The Daily Puppy. A Jill-of-All-Trades, she splits her workday as a writer, humane society advocate and on-call vet tech. What little free time she has goes into pinup modeling, advocating for self-acceptance, knitting and trying to maintain her haunted house (really!). You can find her on Facebook, on Twitter, and of course here on I Feel Delicious!

Be Your Own Hero: How I Became an Athlete in My Twenties

By Hardkore Lena

How many times have you wanted to try a new hobby or activity, but were too paralyzed by fear of failure or embarrassing yourself to even give it a second thought? How many times have you then quashed that fear, thrown caution to the wind, and tried it anyway?

Photo Courtesy of Hardkore Lena's Facebook Page

For much of my life, my answers to those questions were "all the time" and "almost never". I watched my friends decide to take up swing dancing, debate, ice skating and go at it wholeheartedly--even if they were terrible at their chosen activity. I was both fascinated and horrified by it. How could they so nonchalantly embrace something new, and the very real chance that they might not succeed? To me, the possibility of finding a new passion never outweighed the terror I felt at the thought of failing.

Like many girls, I grew up with a seemingly firm "knowledge" of what I was good at--and what I wasn't. It wasn't that anyone told me I couldn't do the things I wanted to; it was that I knew from a young age that I am a perfectionist, and I have an inherent fear of failure, of disappointing others, of never being good enough. Figuring out what I was good at and sticking to those things seemed like the best way to never seem incompetent or risk humiliating myself. By the time I was a young adult, I knew that I was good at creativity-based things--writing, art, singing, crafts--as well as "being smart", giving advice, helping others. On the other hand, I also knew that I wasn't good at math, science, video games, or anything requiring athleticism, coordination, or any amount of grace. I felt secure in that knowledge, and didn't feel much shame in telling people the things I was bad at, because then I knew that they would have much lower expectations of me if they asked me to, say, mentally calculate sales tax or play a pickup game of sand volleyball.


Everything I thought I knew about being good at things and bad at things changed in March 2012. A close friend, who would soon come to be known as Pimp MaLady, had told me she wanted to get into skateboarding, which I thought was neat; then she changed her mind.

"I want to play roller derby," she said one afternoon. "I saw a poster in the bathroom at Tony's [Tavern] and I want to try it." I asked if she thought it was a good idea, considering the only knowledge either of us had about roller derby was from watching the movie Whip It. "Look," she said, "everyone else I've told has said that, or made bets on how long it'll be before I get seriously hurt. Can you just come check out a practice with me, and be supportive?"

Photo courtesy of the Appalachian Hell Betties Facebook Page

A few weeks later, Pimp & I headed to the skating rink on a Sunday evening to watch the Appalachian Hell Betties, the local roller derby team. I didn't mind going along for moral support, as I was curious what it would be like in real life. Pimp wasn't planning to actually skate that day, but when we arrived, several girls told her she was welcome to participate. That was all it took. She laced up a pair of rental skates, strapped on borrowed pads & a helmet, and did everything she physically could for the whole two hour practice. I was in awe of her moxie. She wasn't great, but she was determined, and more importantly, she was having fun. It got me thinking: Could I try this, too, even though I would probably be awful at it? I decided I could at least try skating again and see how it went.

Later that week, I went to an open skate session and met with Dame Reffin' Pain, the Hell Betties' head referee, who had offered to help me learn some of the rudimentary skills I'd need. I hadn't been on skates in the better part of ten years; she had to tow me to the wall, and there I stayed for most of the evening. The following Sunday, I drove to practice by myself, as Pimp had to work. This was something so far outside my comfort zone, and I could think of a million excuses I could make to not even try--I wasn't athletic enough, I didn't know anyone there, I was horribly uncoordinated, I couldn't even stay upright on skates for very long, et cetera. I did it anyway. I rented skates. Borrowed gear from the team supply. Felt like I was going to die from sheer terror every time one of the veteran skaters zoomed past me with barely any room to spare. Fell directly on my tailbone more times than I could count.

But I survived that first practice. And then I went to another one, and survived that. And then another. Two weeks after my first practice, I committed myself fully and ordered a pair of skates even though I was terrible at even the most basic skills. I then spent as much time wearing them as I could, at two or three practices a week, open skate sessions at the rink, at the outdoor hockey rink behind the community center, and on the bike path. I sweat more than I thought was possible and had sore muscles that I'd never known existed. My progress as a skater was slow; in fact, I'd never struggled so hard to understand and execute anything in my life. For the first time, I was actually sticking with something I wasn't immediately good at, and instead of feeling bad about my inabilities, I simply let them drive me to work even harder.


I began to realize that I had spent much of my life in fear--fear of failure, judgment, feeling stupid, looking stupid. I didn't fully understand yet why I was suddenly able to shrug off those fears that had owned me and dictated all of my actions for so long. It wasn't until I happened upon a Huffington Post article entitled "The Trouble with Bright Girls" that things started to make sense.


You can read the full article here, but the point that motivational psychologist Heidi Grant Halvorson makes is that "More often than not, Bright Girls believe that their abilities are innate and unchangeable, while bright boys believe that they can develop ability through effort and practice." There it was, then: I had finally challenged that fact I thought I knew about myself, that I was not athletic and never would be. It was the single most liberating thought I'd ever experienced.

Realizing that my abilities were not static radically changed the way I saw myself. Rather than regarding myself as an awkward, gangly chick who lacked grace but was giving roller derby a valiant effort, I started to view myself as an athlete--something I had never done during years of soccer, basketball, volleyball, and cross country. Once that mindset took over, I found myself treating myself like one, too: eating better, staying hydrated, sleeping more. (Most of the time, at least...sometimes I still need to eat an inappropriate amount of chocolate or stay up too late. Hey, I'm only human!) My confidence in my abilities skyrocketed; I found new determination and drive. Along the way, I chose my derby name: HardKore Lena. It was both a play on my real name and a statement about who I was trying to become.

I had initially thought that I didn't much care whether I was ever rostered for a bout (game), because I was so focused on simply improving my skills, and more importantly, enjoying the hell out of what I was doing. But as I gained that confidence and improved more and more over the course of my first season with the team, I realized that I did care. I wanted more than anything to wear a Hell Betties jersey for more than just photos and public appearances, to take the track with my teammates and play competitively. By the start of the 2013 season, I felt ready, and more importantly, confident that I had earned a place on the roster.

Less than a week before we began our minimum skills testing in February--which I had to pass in order to become roster-eligible--I suffered my first major derby-related injury, badly spraining my right ankle during a drill at practice. I was devastated, terrified that I was about to lose everything for which I had worked so hard and be forced to watch my dream slip through my fingers. I experienced a lot of doubt during those first days spent on the couch with my foot elevated, encircled by multiple ice packs. Had I just been fooling myself into thinking I was really talented enough, strong enough, good enough to play roller derby? What if this injury rendered me physically incapable of continuing, or worse still, what if I was still physically able to play, but couldn't overcome the fear of injury?

After a short but seemingly interminable five and a half weeks, I found my doubts to be unwarranted. While I had indeed lost some strength and stamina, and found that I did have some limitations in what my ankle could handle, I completed my skills testing the same week. I asked to not play in our first bout in mid-April, just to give myself a little longer to heal, but I was rostered for the remainder of the season. In just under a year, I went from barely able to stand on skates to finally feeling like a "real" derby girl, like I'd really embraced my name and become HardKore.

As I prepare for the start of my third season with the Hell Betties, I am still amazed at the ways in which my life has changed because of roller derby. I am stronger physically, mentally, and emotionally. I take bruises and the occasional busted lip in stride. While I accept that I will most likely never play at a highly competitive level, I am confident in most of my skills, and know that hard work & dedication will improve the skills that are lacking. It's not all fishnets & glitter, sunshine & rainbows, though. Being involved in derby is much like being in a relationship. It takes up most of the time I used to spend on other hobbies. Non-derby friends have accepted that they don't get to see me as much; a few have quietly drifted out of my life. I demand more of myself than ever before!

Playing roller derby is great. Having a sense of community is wonderful. Finally feeling like an athlete is amazing. But coming to that realization that I truly can do anything I put my mind to? That's the best part of it all.

HardKore Lena plays roller derby for the Appalachian Hell Betties of Athens Ohio Roller Derby, and is a crafty nerd girl in what little spare time she has. You can follow her adventures on Facebook , Twitter, and the team's website. And of course you can find her here on I Feel Delicious!