Wednesday, July 12, 2017

On Being Moderately Fat

My sister recently posted this picture of me on Facebook. My initial reaction was, "Damn, I'm fat. I have to untag myself." My second reaction, after a lot of deep breathing and consciously unlearning and resisting societal norms was, "I'm fat; that's who I am. I'm also beautiful and talented and worthy, and I can't run away from what I look like."

I don't write very much about the state of my body. Mostly because it tends to make people uncomfortable. Especially when I use the word "fat."

My dear friend from New York, Alex, inspired me to call myself fat. We were best friends in our formative early twenties, and we were both larger women. Back in those days, we'd get together and eat whatever food was allowed on whatever diet we were on, complain about our upper arms or thighs, get really sad, drink a little, and eventually say really mean thing about ourselves. We did other stuff, too, but being really down on our bodies was definitely part of our bonding.

Then, Alex took a burlesque class, and eventually mustered up the courage to perform for a real audience. The sheer act of taking off her clothes in front of others helped her feel more comfortable in her body. In fact, she gave an amazing Ted Talk about her transformation that is well worth your time. (She's kind of a big deal.)

Alex, aka Lillian Bustle, taught me that the word "fat" is merely a descriptor. Society tells us it's bad, that it's ugly and nasty. But we don't have to accept that.

I hesitate to write about being fat, because I know a chorus of well-meaning friends will be quick to reply, "YOU'RE NOT FAT!" As if being fat is so horrible, so scary, that we have to obliterate the word before it is fully pronounced.

But I wear glasses. If I say, "I wear glasses," nobody screams at me, "YOU DON'T WEAR GLASSES!" I have brown hair, but nobody ever contradicts that. Nobody tells me I'm wrong when I say I'm white or female or am a mother. Why? Because we don't see anything inherently wrong with those descriptors.

I am fat. Objectively so. I'm not big boned or curvy or chubby. I'm fat. And I'm really OK with it. Or, maybe more honestly, I'm working to be OK with it. Every moment of every day.

Not that it's anyone's business, but I'm healthy. Like many fat people, my body is fat not because of gorging on fast food or lack of activity. I cook very healthy, vegetable-heavy meals most days of the week. I drink enough water. I don't drink soda. I work out regularly. I haven't eaten at McDonald's in so long, I can't remember the last time I set foot in one. My blood pressure is great, my cholesterol is great, my resting heart rate is great.

Was I once unhealthy? Yes. I grew up in a traumatic home, and turned to food for comfort. I've struggled with eating disorders - binging, binging and purging, not eating anything, eating very little and then purging that. I once starved myself down to a size 4. I gained three times the recommended amount of weight during my first pregnancy. I've done the Adkins Diet and South Beach Diet and Weight Watchers and The Whole 30 and the Paleo Diet. I've run regularly and done yoga and taken adult dance classes and done weight training and lived in NYC where I walked several miles per day. I've felt suicidal more than once in my life because of how my body looked.

All this to say, that the current state of my body is not because I'm a lazy slob who let herself go.

But damn it, why do I feel the need to justify that? Why is our society still so insistent that women are SEXY! HOT! GORGEOUS! STUNNING! at every age, in every circumstance? And why do we equate thin with beauty? How did that lie get so much momentum? Our society tells women that if they're fat, nobody will love them. And yet Alex and I and so many others found amazing partners who love us just as we are.

Sorry. This is rambly. What was my point?

I guess I want to join the growing number of fat people who are sharing their stories, so we can finally start to eliminate this stigma. Because, to this day, I'm treated differently because of my size.

Just the other day, I ran on the treadmill and was sweaty and gross. I popped by the store on the way home to pick up supplies for slime-making and cookie-baking, because that's how I wanted to bond with my kiddos. I held a package of cookie dough in my hand, and I felt eyes on me. A thin older woman looked at the cookie dough, then looked at me - a fat woman in workout clothes. She laughed. She laughed in my face and then walked away. "Yeah, you burned 30 calories, so why not go eat a bunch of cookies, fatty?"

Don't tell me that's not what she was thinking.

I've been thin and I've been fat and I've been everything in between. I can affirm that fat people are treated differently.

And the thing is, I still have a lot of thin privilege at my size. I can still buy clothes at most stores and sit comfortably in a regular airplane seat and climb a lighthouse on vacation with a weight limit and live in a house with multiple floors without damaging my joints. I know and love a lot of people who struggle with the way their weight infringes upon their lives every day. The tiny amount of discrimination I deal with is nothing compared to what they go through.

But what I'm tired of, what I'm so tired of, is the assumption that I should do more. That if I cut xyz out of my diet or tried this class or meditated or what have you, I could be thin. The damned arrogance of some really good people to assume that someone as intelligent and diligent and tenacious as me isn't doing enough.

And the crass assumption that it's any of their business.

So, the next time you find yourself wanting to laugh at a post making fun of Chris Christie's weight or chuckle at some meme featuring a fat person or want to recommend a diet or lifestyle change to a fat friend, please kindly remind yourself that we are people and we are fine and lovable and valuable just the way we are. And if we want to take measures - drastic or otherwise - to alter our bodies, that's our business. And if we don't - if we've tried and tried and finally just want to be content and happy - that's our business, too.

And maybe someday I'll get up the courage to watch the Food Network while I run on the treadmill. But right now, I hate the idea of being the butt of someone's joke.

*****
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