The main impetus for Cheeky was initially my chronic constipation and journey with IBS. For reasons not entirely clear to me, my body doesn't poop without encouragement. This is a truth I was late to discover -- late I think because we do not talk about poop enough (especially the fact that women poop).


My first memory of pooping is pushing so hard I thought I saw thunder bolts. Suffice to say, I was heavily constipated. Not only was the act of pooping terribly burdensome for me, but it was also quite rare. Maybe once a week if anything.

I had no idea this pattern was less than ideal.    

Growing up and becoming more aware of my body, I felt pretty bloated and large most of the time -- feelings I now know were result of intense constipation. My first few experiences with D.A.D.S (day after drinking shits) in college revealed this truth -- my nights 'out' in high school consisted of a tub of cookie dough, four close friends, and 30 Rock, so alcohol and the poops it brings was a very new concept. I began to understand that my body was depriving me of one of life's most gratifying joys: POOPING, morning poops specifically. 

With this realization, the hunt for my poop began. 


The gut is a fickle thing with mystery at every intestinal turn. I went to many doctors and was ultimately given the unfulfilling diagnosis of IBS. With not much to work with, I was left to my own devices: google and the nearest pharmacy. As you can imagine, this sparked some interesting/rough trial and error scenarios.

act of desperation #1:


act of desperation #2:


Stay tuned for my more sustainable and pleasant solutions to constipation coming tomorrow!

BBQs, rice cakes, and closet eating

Happy 4th! Here's to eating/wearing/doing whatever the fuck you want. 


I feel like I am finally, FINALLY getting to a place where I care less what others think. I of course still have some hang-ups but these are my small improvements:

  • I go for seconds in plain sight instead of anxiously waiting for everyone to clear the area so I can fill up a bowl and eat more in private.
  • This weekend, I gave my thigh-length bikini line its summer debut. In the presence of male lifeguards.
  • Sometimes I leave the house with both my unibrow and cute lil' bar-mitzvah boy esque mustache in bloom (or alternatively, a red-streaked face when I do feel like melting my own wax and stripping the hair off my face). 

Throughout middle school and high school, I really felt everything was under scrutiny and open for judgement.  Especially what I ate and what I wore. I believed that eating certain foods like pizza or sweets in public would affirm my chubby status. Conversely, eating carrot sticks or plain yogurt in public would somehow make me seem slimmer. When I was alone, I felt that weight lift and could finally eat what I really wanted. During my summers at sleep away camp -- where all meals are eaten together with all crushes present --  I kept a roll of rice cakes in my underwear drawer (cinnamon bun flavor which was definitely disgusting but I loved them at the time) and I would eat at least 3 cakes laying in bed in the dark while my bunkmates went to sleep. Those few minutes of eating alone in the dark felt so good. It was the only time at camp when I could eat feeling totally carefree. 

This cycle was stressful. Unnecessarily so. But it was real, and definitely took time to get over. Becoming more at home in myself and body afforded me the assurance that the food I eat does not define me. Foods have no innate good/bad values in terms of how others see me. Those choices are up to me and only me. If I want a big cone of ice cream, others will not/should not judge whether or not that is a good decision. 

If I'm going to feel bad about my food choices, it's gonna be because ice cream happens to be purely diabolical to my digestive system. Next time that deliciously lactose-filled opportunity presents itself, I may choose to remember the bloating and HIIP (high intensity interval pooping) that followed and forego. But that call is on me. No one else gets a say.