Contact Jasmine

Need to talk to Jasmine? Use this form----->

Name *

123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789


You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.

Screen Shot 2018-02-21 at 5.51.45 PM.png


These are my thoughts, yo.

Filtering by Tag: binge eating

Does What You Choose to EAT Say Something About YOU?

jasmine banks


Food choices. When you struggle with body image stuff and depression (to name a few) what you choose to eat can be a BIG deal. I, for one, get overwhelmed. There are too many voices about what is right and what is wrong concerning FOOD. EAT this, not THAT. This ingredient is bad and this is good. Gives me a headache.

Sometimes I just feel frozen. HOW DO I EVEN KNOW WHAT TO EAT ANYMORE!!!!!

But what if it was as simple as eating something, being present with yourself, and listening to what your body tells you. DID that Big Mac make me feel well, strong, energized, good, etc? Was I eating for enjoyment? Could I have found another way to celebrate, grieve, quench my boredom? The answer could be yes or no depending on what I needed. I've learned that what I eat and how I eat says a lot about how I feel about myself.

Food Choices

Do you get overwhelmed with food messages, food choices, and "being healthy"? How do you manage it? What have your learned about yourself from food?

Schmutzie Threw Me a Lifeline: PTSD, Binge Eating, and The Body

jasmine banks




My depression is bad this week. I have successfully *yay* made it to the gym, turned in grad school work, and smiled (sometimes) but I feel like I am rolling this gigantic stone up a hill.  I am managing but I feel so utterly exhausted by the task.  I am snappy and not fun to be around… unless you talk to me online or on the phone. I can totally fake it, then.

This is depression: Being trapped in your own head, utterly convinced that you have no worth or what worth you might have doesn’t count.

Body image. Body image. Jasmine image

Broken image

I have left my house to go to the gym, take my kids to see Ice Age 4 (best nap EVAH!… seriously, slept through the whole thing), and to run to Walgreens (where I purchased more false eyelashes than one person needs *DAMN YOU BLOGHER EYELASH BOOTH!!!)

I’ve binged twice this week. I am a binge eater. It is a reaction I have to post traumatic stress disorder. I know why I have binged this week: Too much attention.

When I was sexually abused, as I have said before, I adopted a belief that if I could just make my body go away, become hidden under layers of fat. My body was the problem. Disengage. If I could be funny enough to distract you, you might not notice I had a body. You might think of me as more of a character.

Blogher ’12 was epic. I loved it.. and as soon as the depression lifts I will write about my experience, but one thing that was hard at Blogher were the comments about my body.  I was with WOMEN… women are the worst. Women, I think, pay special attention to each other’s bodies in such unique ways. I felt sheer panic when strangers would stop me to tell me how beautiful I was (damn that sounds arrogant! But it happened…). Panic because: ” Do you know what happened to this body?!”  I’ve been trying to escape this body for so long. Love this body for so long. Come to terms with this body for so long. Then I read Schmutzie this morning and cried. Damn it! I cried. There was a moment of connection where her words were speaking a kind of truth in to me that I can’t put words too. I didn’t realize it, but I am still dissociating. I am still viewing my body and Jasmine as separate. I am still afraid to lose weight because people notice my body.  A large part of me still treats it like my armor. It protects me and makes me special.

So Schmutzie, without knowing it, threw me a little life line. In this vast ocean of my depression she paddled out on her excellent graphically designed boat and tossed out some truth…. and I’ll hold on to that truth, like an anchor until the waves aren’t choking me, until I am able to tread water again.

It isn’t about loving the body.The body and me are one. It is about loving me. Whole, un-fractured me.

It is all about small movements toward healing, I suppose. Thanks Schmutzie


Hungry For Something More

jasmine banks


When I found out I was pregnant with Isaiah I was not happy. I was freaked out. Sending these words out on the internet isn't fun... Sending these words out forever onto the internet carries weight. I understand that one day I'll have to explain to Isaiah, "you weren't planned," "Mom and dad weren't very happy at first," "you gave us the gift of learning how to grow in love with something that was difficult." I tried hard to be happy. I faked it, mostly. I painted and decorated a "jungle themed" nursery. I read baby books and prepared as much as I knew how. Following Isaiah's birth I experienced intense postpartum depression and psychosis.

The other day I was thinking about what are the reasons why I eat. Not like "hey I am hungry" eat, but the "the world is so fucking dark and confusing someone hand me a whole cake!" eat. I thought long and hard and began to consider my life. After I gave birth to Isaiah I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I threw myself into domestic activities. I even had another baby, and then another...though Tobias' conception is a whole other story. My dreams were to finish undergrad, move out of Arkansas, start research and spend the better part of my life writing and doing research. Unbeknownst to me my previously hailed "nonfunctional" ovaries decided to do what everyone said they couldn't: produce a baby.

So when I eat. I eat out of grief. I lost so much having a kid/kids. Some people, I am sure, would chide me, "Grow up! You've got kids now, suck it up and be there for them." For me, though, there will be no hours exploring my passions, no wrestling with who I want to be, no figuring out what it is I love. Instead I was handed a definition. He was wrapped in a hospital receiving blanket. His existence concreted my definition. I am mom. His existence told me what I was supposed to do: mother your son.

So when I eat I  because of  what I have lost. What I was never able to have.

I am working it out. I am figuring out what my story line is. I am a mother, but that is not all. I am hungry for something more...and that is okay.