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By Megan Monique, Special Guest Blogger to The Body Logic

Image via Mohd Khomaini Bin Mohd Sidik/Flickr


Well, shit.” I thought as I weighed myself this morning. I had gained a pound from the last time I weighed myself two days before.

I knew what the scale was going to tell me before I even stepped on. My monkeys had already talked to me about before I had a chance to pull the covers off myself and get out of bed earlier that morning.

They sounded something like this:

“Really, Megan? You are going to have ANOTHER chocolate covered graham cracker? Are you sure that is the best idea? I think I saw a new indention of cellulite on your thigh yesterday. That one last graham cracker just might be enough to break the seal. The next thing you know it you will be one giant ball of cellulite. Then who will love you?”

I sat in a pool of pity for a moment until I heard the last part. “Who will love me?!”

I will love me, dammit.

It is time for me to do away with the monkeys in every area of my life. They don’t only show up when I gain a pound. They also show up when I make less money than I want, or when I have a big dream I am working toward. (Lately it’s been becoming a life coach.)

But what purpose do these monkeys serve? They only keep me playing a small game.

I decided to create a mental box. When the monkey chatter starts happening, I mentally duct tape the monkeys mouth and put him in the box. I only let him come out if he is saying things that HELP me in my process of creating the life I love.

So what if I have cellulite. The only way I can rid myself of it is by making healthy choices, one by one. Inch by inch. Meal by meal. Listening, and more so BELIEVING the monkey chatter will only keep me in the same place I have been trying to move away from.

Armed With a Roll of Duct Tape,

Megan Monique

Megan Monique is a writer & Lovemuffin Extraordinaire for Owning Pink and so much more. Her most prized piece is her personal blog entitled If I Were A Rainbow I Would Be Chocolate where she shares personal revelations and life adventures with her audience. Megan is also a life coach who focuses on living life creatively and abundantly with no limitations.


…who I was meant to be! And if you give a damn, take me baby, or leave me. -Maureen Johnson, RENT.

Must be stuck in my head, because I was watching Idina Menzel star as the coach of rival glee club, Vocal Adrenaline on Hulu episodes of Glee.

I'm so good with who I am that I had a tango named after me. It's true. (Photo via


But I’ve also been thinking along the same lines for a few weeks now. The message behind those lyrics is what pretty much catapulted this blog. I am who I am. Beauty is being yourself. I’ve already touched on who I am in my opening post, but I’ve been feeling like talking more specifically about my reflection in the mirror—flaws and all. The definition of The Body Logic is: “Beauty is being yourself.” But ever since I can remember, I’ve been interested in altering my appearance. Not to the extent of plastic surgery. Lipstick? I got teased for being among the first to swipe on a brown-ish hue circa 1996 in junior high. Extreme dieting? In high school, I bought a bottle of “Metabo-Less” (because as desperate as I was to shed pounds at the speed of light, I apparently decided to pinch pennies and go for the generic stuff). Loads of foundation, concealer, mascara? One particular night in college, my face resembled that of a drag queen’s. 

Me, circa early '05, taking my makeup to drag queen-ish levels. With my dear friend Keith.


Daughters usually learn to/how to “beautify” from mothers. In my case, my mom taught me how to pluck my eyebrows, shave my legs and wear figure-flattering patterns/materials/cuts. But my semi-hoarder-like behavior with Sephora stock? Yeah, that may have developed as a rebellion against my mom. My hippie-ish mother is pretty much the Anti-Drag Queen, haha. My memories of her wearing makeup are scant. Through the latter half of the ’60s, her beauty routine was likely limited to ironing her long black tresses. When I was a tyke in the ’80s, she’d swiped on some blue shadow and a coat or two of mascara. In many ways, she was the opposite of my padded bra-wearing, gold lipstick-coveting, cotton candy perfume-spraying tween self. She’d probably shrug and laugh at this notion, but I really do think she’s totally comfortable with herself sans makeup. Maybe it’s one part that, and two parts that au naturel was the way to go when she was coming of age. (It doesn’t hurt that she has killer green eyes and thick lashes to boot.) I’m lucky that she passed a portion of that laissez-faire approach (it’s not Maybelline) to me.

An everyday heroine, Dr. Lissa Rankin wrote,“When we OWN all the disparate parts of ourselves, we tap into the divine spark within us, allowing us to release limiting fears and enjoy our lives more fully.”

I aspire to this. At 26, I’m finally beginning to own my cellulite-riddled thighs, genetically gifted from my paternal grandmother who is also 4’11”. I actually bought and wore shorts last summer for the first time since I was 10 years old… And every day, I get a little more OK with my disparate parts. But that doesn’t mean I’m really ever going to stop plucking, shaving, dabbing on concealer or adding product to my hair after a shower. These rituals enhance…not mask or infringe on…my appearance.

This is what I call therapy. (Photo via


I’ll never forget something my best friend, Colleen and I saw at a kitschy little store in Union Pier, Michigan: A gift book emblazoned with a cartoon of a woman and the caption read, Slap on a little lipstick, and you’ll be fine!”  Haha, and it’s true. Not because the lipstick makes me look like someone I’m not. It’s actually just a part of who I am. And you can take me, baby.

What’s the ritual that enhances who you are?

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