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Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it.

Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it

Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it 610 469 Jason Stadtlander

Continuing my “Positive” posts, today I’d like to focus today on our bodies.

I can remember being in middle school and other kids making fun of me for the size of my feet. At around age ten, my feet were the same size as my age. Size ten at age ten, size eleven by age eleven… all the way up to age thirteen. It was my first experience with body shaming. There was no denying, I had big feet. I was awkward, nerdy and I was going through a very difficult time in my life with my parents divorcing and a few close family members dying.

For many years I felt like I had a skinny, wimpy look and even after I started to work out in my late twenties, I continued to feel dismayed when I looked in the mirror. And then, one day – I didn’t feel dismayed. Several things dawned on me all at once about fifteen years back:

  1. This is my body, the only one I have. Why have I spent so many years being ashamed of it? When I look in the mirror, why do I choose to look at the bad points, instead of the good?
  2. What right does anyone have to criticize the way my body is shaped

I cannot change the body I was born into, any more than anyone can change the body they were born into. Sure, we can have plastic surgery or dye our hair. But that is not really us. It is not what your DNA was programmed to create, it’s a mask, a façade that one chooses to pull over themselves because a particular element doesn’t look right to them.

It all boils down to society’s constant need to find balance, symmetry, and beauty. It is in our nature to look for beauty in others (and often do not see it) because we often cannot find beauty in ourselves.

What do I mean by balance and symmetry? We are programmed (from birth) to look for symmetry. If you look at a face and one side does not look even with the other side, it feels off, like something needs to be corrected. Symmetry and beauty are so interlinked, we don’t even realize we are looking for it when we look for something we consider beautiful.

Balance in society simply means balance as a whole. If someone feels bad about the way they look or their appearance, they will most likely try to balance themselves by looking for flaws in others. The same applies on a much larger scale. The beauty industry rarely shows you photos or videos (male or female) of people that are overweight or have acne or have a misbalanced body in one way or another. They work hard to make sure that only the perfectly balanced are portrayed, but real life is anything but perfectly balanced. We cannot relate to that perfect model in the Victoria’s Secret ad or the dark and mysterious man with large arms and chest in the GQ magazine, but we want to be like them. We want to have that physique, that look. When we look in the mirror, we look for what we would want to change in ourselves to look like that. The reality is that model that you see in the magazine or online looks way different without their makeup or touchups and in another twenty years, they will not look like that. I am not body shaming the model in the magazine, I can guarantee you that they get body shamed all the time (believe me, I know what that industry is like). What I am trying to point out is that they are as human as you and I. They are just wearing their own mask for you.

Do not get me wrong, I am not saying that we should not try to take the best care of our bodies we can. As I said earlier, it is the only body we get, so it is critical that we take care of it. What I am saying is, internal image and external appearance are almost always two different things.

From a beauty perspective, it does not matter if you are skinny or fat, old or young, unsymmetrical or misproportioned. You are you, and that is the single greatest thing you have to offer this world. From a physical perspective, I encourage you to work out, even if it is only going for a walk each day. Your body (regardless of its size or shape) is the greatest instrument you have and at the end of the day. It is the only thing you have to live with forever until the day you die so take care of it as best you can. But never equate your physical self with your beautiful self, because you already are beautiful, you just need to see it.

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Jack & Elaine – A Silent Call for Friendship

Jack & Elaine – A Silent Call for Friendship 1200 794 Jason Stadtlander

ABOUT THE SERIES: The next several posts will be part of a series I wrote a while back. It’s about two children named Jack and Elaine and some of the trials and tribulations they go through.


A Silent Call for Friendship

There was a cacophony of noise filling the air as children talked and laughed on the bus ride back from the science museum. Ten seats back on the driver’s side, a lone young boy named Jack sat staring out the window. He saw cars drive by, people walking and clouds floating listlessly through the sky. Trees lined the road and birds sat upon the wires as they drooped above the streets. A warm breeze blew in the window, tossing the hair of the six-year-old sitting on the green vinyl bus seat. The bus hit a bump and kids bounced and laughed, but the boy did not so much as smile. He just continued looking out the window.

The boy’s mind wasn’t in the bus at all. He was flying free outside alongside the bus, looking in at himself. That sad, solemn face peering back. He looked down to break the gaze of his mind’s eye, at which point the bullying words from within the bus were audible again. “Hey stupid! Hey ree-tard. Who dressed you? Huh?” a child said from across the aisle. There was a rise laughter from children nearby.

“Stupid. Can’t even hear me, can you dummy?”  The voice said, followed by an audience of laughter.

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes and a lone tear went down his soft cheek as he stared out the window. Jack always tried so hard not to listen to the other boys. Why do they always choose me to pick on? He asked himself. The truth was, he knew why. He was quiet, smaller than the other boys and preferred to read over playing.

“Lackey Jacky the stupid dummy.” The boy said again and staid “Lacky… Jacky.” the other boys started chanting “Lackey Jacky”.

Jack spent so much time in his own world, his own place where he could find solitude. He sat staring out the windows, playing alone in the playground or simply drawing pictures that brought him peace. Trapped here on the bus was like living through his own private hell and no one ever seemed to notice or care. There was a part of him inside that was screaming for them to stop but he had been put down and made fun of for so long that he couldn’t defend himself. Not anymore.

He began to cry softly sitting there alone in his bus seat, as the boy led on the other boys in the chant of “Lackey Jacky the stupid dummy.” Then the boy from across the aisle said in a pouting face, “You crying baby Jacky? Boo hoo. It’s so sad, that he’s so stupid. Cry baby Jack, where’s your Mommy? Hmm?”  the boy called.

Jack glanced over at them and then turned and looked out the window, feeling complete and utter shame for not being able to defend himself and yet there was also an anger, deep within him that he couldn’t quite grasp. Just as Jack was contemplating why he couldn’t defend himself and why people always chose him to pick on, there was a loud smack. The sound of skin on skin caused Jack to turn quickly and look at the boy that had been tormenting him from across the aisle. The left side of his face was beat red and tears were welling up in his own eyes. Standing in the aisle was a girl that Jack had seen at the playground. She was tall for a six-year-old, had red hair and freckles and was smiling right at him. She turned and looked at the boy that was bullying him.

“You gonna cry?” she mocked towards the boy, then she sat down beside Jack, his heart leaped. He had never had someone stick up for him before and felt an alien emotion creeping in. Respect? Elation?

“Hi, I’m Elaine.” She said, holding out her hand. He shook it and smiled through eyes that were drying. “I’m new to the school and it looks you need a friend. Just so happens, I need one too.” She said smiling.

“I’ll be your friend. Thank you.” He said smiling.


Checkout Jack and Elaine’s other adventures


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The Boy – Concluded

The Boy – Concluded 1484 770 Jason Stadtlander

WARNING: The following story deals with strong topics such as depression, suicide, and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.


NOTE: This is a conclusion of the story published last week: https://jasonstadtlander.com/the-boy/


George ran hard, tears streaming from his face. The cool fall day chilled his skin as he ran, over wet branches, through fallen leaves, over two logs that lay on the ground. He was eager to escape the pain and internal torture he was feeling. He wasn’t afraid of getting caught, he had already been caught. All four of the other children had seen him attack Tommy. Is he dead? Does it matter? Of course, it matters! “I want to be dead!” he screamed out loud.

He came to an embankment and stumbled down the bank to the dried-out stream at the bottom. Climbing back up the other side, he came to a large patch of moss on the ground below a tree, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists down into the moss, wetness splattering up, he screamed at the top of his lungs and he collapsed. He could feel the damp forest floor soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t care. George turned onto his back and looked up, the pale blue sky showed through the almost naked trees above him. Puffy white clouds floated past a few branches and George’s heart raced. He had brutally hurt Tommy. He knew what he did was wrong, he had never hurt anyone before. George was always the good kid, the kid that helped anyone that was in need. He tried to help the underdogs because they underdogs were… well because they were like him. “I’m sorry Tommy,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears rolled down the boy’s face. He sat up when he heard something. In the distance, he couldn’t see them, but he could hear his Mom calling out and Officer Swartz. “George! Where are you? Please come back!” his mother called.

“George, you’re not in trouble. Come here, son! We just want to talk to you!” the police officer said. George had known Officer Swartz his whole life, his kids went to school with him in Canal Fulton.

George got up and ran the other direction. He knew in his heart his life was over. There were more kids like Tommy. He would hurt more people. He wasn’t the same. Not like he was two hours ago. Now, he was different. Now things would never be the same. So George ran and kept on running.

Eventually, he came to the edge of the woods and saw the two-lane road of State Route 93 that stretched out over Route 21. He ran to the concrete bridge and looked out over the four-lane road below. A semi blasted his horn for the boy, believing that perhaps that’s what he wanted. No doubt a father behind the wheel, wanting to make a boy smile. George did not smile. There was nothing to smile about. He had killed that boy. Killed him with his own hands.

George looked down at his hands, as they rested on the concrete divider. There was no blood on them now, at least none that he could see. He climbed up onto the concrete divider in the now bright sunlit day and stood on the narrow edge. He trembled, feeling cold and scared. Too scared. Staring at the cars below, his heart pounded, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, afraid or just exhausted. He moved two inches toward the edge, his feet now hanging over the edge a few inches. A car horn honked below. The cars were speeding by, traveling at least sixty miles per hour. George wasn’t thinking about how fast the cars were going. He was thinking about Tommy. How he had made George so angry. How he had caused George to lose control. “I don’t ever want to hurt anyone again. I don’t want to hurt,” he said under his breath.

The twelve-year-old boy could hear sirens in the distance as he closed his eyes and took one last step.


If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal, you can get help by contacting the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

the-boy-jason-stadtlander-bullying

The Boy

The Boy 1125 750 Jason Stadtlander

WARNING: The following story deals with strong topics such as depression and bullying. Reader discretion is advised.


The boy sat staring at the ridiculous frog wearing the baseball hat, holding his hand up high on the box of Kellogg’s Sugar Smacks cereal. He took long, slow crunch after crunch, still struggling to shake the deep lethargy, yearning to return to his bed and drift off to sleep again.

Whitney Houston belted out ‘All at once’ on the small plastic radio on top of the refrigerator “Ever since I met you, you’re the only love I’ve known…”. Spoon into mouth, sweet milk on his tongue, the cereal crunched some more. The room was filled with the smell of fried eggs in bacon fat and wet dog, as Ben had just been let back in from the rain through the patio door in the kitchen. The wet dog stood in the corner drinking water.

“George, dry him off, will you please?” his mother stated. “I need to finish making breakfast.”

The boy dropped his spoon in the bowl with a clink, slowly got up and grabbed the towel that they kept next to the door for the dog. He rubbed the black lab aggressively, more so that he could get back to his cereal than to dry off the dog. George rubbed Ben’s face and then down his neck. The boy stopped and looked the dog in the face, who looked back with his light brown eyes. He almost felt as if the animal could read his mind, feel his despair. He wrapped his arms around the lab and hugged him, despite the smell and the dampness. Then the boy got up and walked back to the table.

In the corner, Ben took one last great shake off which still managed to spray a bit of water on the patio door and wall. “George! I asked you to dry him off!”

George looked up from the bowl, “I did mom.” He continued to crunch the Sugar Smacks. He could feel his mother looking at him, he knew she was glaring, probably upset, but he didn’t really care. His mind was sluggishly focused on the future task, getting to the bus stop and better yet, avoiding Tommy.

The song on the radio had changed, “Every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you…” Sting sang with The Police. George took a few last bites and picked up his bowl, drinking the sweet goodness that remained. The boy looked up at the clock on the radio just as the plastic number flipped to 7:12 AM. Not feeling any sense of urgency for his 7:20 bus, he got up, placed his bowl in the sink, grabbed his backpack and walked toward the door.

“George. Coat.” His mother called from the kitchen. The twelve-year-old grabbed his cream suede jacket and put it on, then walked out the front door as he slung his backpack over his shoulders. He was grateful the rain stopped, but dreaded going to the bus stop.

Shoulders slumped, staring at the concrete of the sidewalk, he plodded toward the bus stop. George saw how the rough concrete gave way every few feet to the smoothness of the grouted edge and finally to the crease of the walk, then to smoothness and then to roughness. Over and over the pattern continued. He saw the pattern but wasn’t thinking about it. George wasn’t thinking about much of anything. His heart was filled with the angst of how his day might start. He hoped today would be different. Today maybe Tommy wouldn’t be at the bus stop. Maybe Tommy would just be sick today. Fat chance of that. George thought as he looked to the end of the street. He could see the five other kids standing there waiting for the bus, Tommy standing among them. George looked down at his feet, wondering if his new shoes made his feet look smaller. He dreaded the upcoming encounter, every morning it was the same thing. Perhaps, perhaps today would be different.

George slogged slowly toward the bus stop, not getting close to the other children, standing back about ten feet. He liked the other kids well enough, they weren’t mean, but they didn’t do anything when Tommy picked on him either. He could feel the tension building in him already. Tommy was talking to Mike with his back turned to George, so at the moment he was safe. George looked down the road, praying that the bus would come around the corner. Maybe the bus will get here before Tommy turns around. Mike was not one of Tommy’s lackeys, but he also wasn’t George’s friend. Mike was the kind of guy who tried to ingratiate everyone. George’s younger sister called Mike a ‘suck-up’ or a ‘fair-weather friend’. She was probably right. Mike attached himself to whoever seemed to be the most dominant person in a situation and now, that person was Tommy. Come on bus. Where the Hell are you?

Ever so slowly, Tommy turned around and his eyes lay right on George. Shit. “Hey, Bigfoot. Your mamma dress you in that?” Tommy gestured toward George’s jacket. George looked down at the cream-colored suede. He could feel his blood pressure rising, the tension in him building like a storm. “You look like an ice cream truck threw up on you.” Tommy started laughing.

“Shut up.” George spat. Tommy stopped laughing. “What did you say?”

“I said… shut. Up.” A few of the kids whispered. Tommy took his thermos out of his bag and opened it up. He threw the hot liquid at George, which was apparently hot chocolate and for a moment the hot liquid burned. George looked down at his jacket.

“There, now you look better. Can’t have a puke colored jacket without some brown on it.” Tommy said, braying laughter. A few of the kids started laughing. George no longer cared about the bus. He was so tired of dealing with Tommy and his bullshit. He was tired of hating himself for looking the way he did, the type of looks that apparently made kids like Tommy pick on him. He threw down his backpack and ran full force into Tommy knocking Tommy on his back on the sidewalk.

“Get off of me you big-footed freak!” Tommy screamed.

George climbed on top of Tommy and grabbed the kid by his black hair and slammed the back his head into the sidewalk. Tommy began screaming louder. Two of the girls screamed in horror at the sight of what was happening. George continued to slam the back of Tommy’s head into the sidewalk over and over and over until at last Tommy stopped making noise. He looked down at Tommy’s head in his hands and let go, blood covered the sidewalk behind the boy’s head. George jumped up and stared in shock at what he had done. What he couldn’t take back. He collapsed on the sidewalk and sat, staring at Tommy’s lifeless body. “Oh my God! You killed him! You killed Tommy!” Mike screamed.

George got up and ran down the street toward his house leaving his backpack at the bus stop. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He could just vaguely perceive the bus pulling up in the background. It didn’t happen, it was all just what I wished would happen. It was an illusion. He told himself as he ran with all his might. Running back into the house and slamming the door behind him he leaned on the closed door. Then looked down at this jacket, still wet with hot chocolate. Tommy’s hot chocolate that his mom had made for him for lunch. A lunch that the boy would never eat. George slid down the door and stared at the coat closet door across the hallway, slumped at the bottom of the front door, just as his mother walked in from the kitchen. She looked at her son, sitting at the base of the door and saw his jacket. “George? What happened?”

He said nothing. “George?”. She walked over and lifted his head, his eyes looked glazed. Then she saw the blood on his hands. She flipped them over, looking for a cut. “George, what happened? Are you okay? Whose blood is this?” he continued to stare. “George!?”

The twelve-year-old looked up at her, “I killed him, Mom.”

“What? What are you talking about? What happened!?” she shook his shoulders. Tears ran down the boy’s face and he began to cry. He jumped up and turned, opened the door and his mother grabbed him by the arm. George jerked hard and ripped his jacket at the shoulder, running out the door and slamming it in his mother’s face. He got to the end of the sidewalk and stopped, looking up the street toward the bus stop he saw the kids still there, bent over Tommy just as a police car pulled up near the kids.

“George!” his mother called from the door. One of the kids saw George and pointed. George quickly turned right and ran as hard as he could toward the end of the street. He ran across the street at the end of the culdesac and between the two houses into the woods behind them.

~ Check for the conclusion here  ~

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