So I'm fat. Now what?

Let me start this by saying two simple words. I'm fat. And let me also share that in many ways, I am sick of seeing all the articles and commentary and debate over fat shaming and body positivity. But mostly, I am sad that these discussions are still even necessary. But they are, and whether I want them to nor not, every single time I see a tweet or blog or magazine feature or Facebook post.... and every time I hear the comments that are directed at me (sometimes on purpose, sometimes when they think I can't hear them) or at someone else.... it affects me.

I learned long, long ago to put on a brave face in public. Sometimes it helped me, sometimes it led to more pain. See, I have been fat my entire life. I was born a “big” baby and have been a big girl for every single day of my life. I remember seeing our family doctor when I was approaching puberty, and him telling me that I had such a pretty face but no boys were going to like me if I was fat. I remember the mean girls in elementary and junior high and high school, who would pretend to be my friend so that I would tell them which boys I had a crush on. They would turn around and tell the boys and they'd all have a great laugh at my expense. I remember some of the boys I had crushes on, who actually were friendly with me, but just as friends. No one wanted to be the guy dating the fat girl.

Growing up, before bullying became something that people took seriously, I was bullied. “Fatty, fatty two-by-four, can't fit through the kitchen door. Fatty, fatty two-by-eight, can't fit through the garden gate.” was a daily song the kids would sing on the playground. In gym class, when we had to run laps, kids shaking and pretending that by running, I was causing an earthquake. I remember every last detail of these, and countless other, similar experiences.

I am far from being the only fat kid to have gone through it. Some used the abuse as a springboard to lose weight and become thin, so that kids stopped picking on them. My way of dealing with it was to pretend that I didn't hear the comments, and that none of the teasing bothered me. I laughed it off. And I withdrew from people. I learned to be by myself. I internalized everything and yes, continued to find comfort in food. Food was... food IS.... my ultimate frenemy. It is my addiction and it is my struggle, but it also doesn't judge me. It doesn't make me feel like I am stupid or worthless or ugly.

I have been “dieting” my whole life, with little if any success. I put quotations around the word dieting because the truth of the matter is that much of the time, I am putting no real effort into it on a consistent basis. Hence the lack of success. But I still feel compelled that, if offered a cookie or a snack of any kind, that I should decline because “I'm watching what I eat.” It's expected. If I was to actually EAT anything that could be judged as inappropriate due to my size, it's having to deal with the disgusted looks, judgments and comments all over again. Instead, behind closed doors, when no one can see me or judge me, instead of eating that one cookie that I was offered, that I really wanted, in private, I eat 5 cookies. And then I chastise myself for being a fat, undisciplined pig. Why can't I just not eat that shit? It's a vicious circle, a hateful game that I play with myself. And I always lose.

So........... what's the point of this? What prompted me to write this? Recently, I read an article about Tess Holliday, a plus size model, and some of the hateful reaction to her. And all sorts of memories came flooding back to me. A lifetime's worth. The article I am specifically speaking of can be found here: http://mic.com/articles/122279/the-comments-on-this-plus-size-model-s-facebook-show-exactly-why-we-need-body-positivity

In the world of fashion and modeling, “plus size” often is used to describe women who are a size 8, 10, or 12. The truth is, true plus size clothing stores START at a size 16/18. Tess is a true plus size model, clocking in as a size 22. She has cellulite, visible in her pics. She has rolls. She has a panniculus. She is fat. But, unlike me, she is confident with her looks. She sees her own beauty. She embraces happiness. I say unlike me because I still feel like that 12 year old girl who has a pretty face, but that no one will like because I'm fat. I know I have a pretty face, but I am certainly not beautiful. I have happy moments, but I don't remember the last time I was truly, completely happy. I simply don't feel like I deserve happiness. I am too much of a failure to be happy. I can fake it most of the time, look at the pieces of happiness I allow myself on occasion, and cling to those. But I'm not happy.

I sometimes wish everyone had to be fat for a week, if for no other reason, than for perspective. To someone who's never struggled with their weight... do you have any idea how much energy and effort simple things actually take? You see me climb a couple of flights of stairs, breathing heavy afterwards, and judge me for not being able to climb without trouble. Strap a couple hundred pounds on your back, and see how easy it is. Carry the weight around and see how your back feels... how your hips and knees and ankles feel. Is this a fate of my own making? Yes, of course it is... but do you actually think that I don't know that? You don't think I feel all of the shame and guilt that you think I should? I do. I realize it in every second of every minute of every day. And for that very reason, I would never wish my reality on anyone.

On the other side of the spectrum, there are those who try to show compassion and really make effort to see fat people as people. They are the ones who say that what matters is the person, not the body. That everyone is beautiful. People like J.K. Rowling, who's quote has been circulated as a meme countless times. You've seen it, I'm sure: “Is fat really the worst thing a human being can be? Is fat worse than vindictive, jealous, shallow, vain, boring, evil, or cruel? Not to me!” People who, when incidents like the reaction to Tess, or the comments that were made a few years back about Jennifer Livingston, a newscaster at a small Wisconsin TV station (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUOpqd0rQSo), express their outrage and how it's what's on the inside that counts.

But let me point out a few things that fat haters like to point out, as if we who are fat were unaware.

Being fat (not the size 8 or 10 kind of fat, but FAT) is unhealthy. Yes, this I know. I actually know it more acutely that you do, because I am the one that's fat. I am the one that has to stop to catch my breath if I'm going up more than 2 flights of stairs. I am the one that feels the ache in my bones and joints when I bend over or squat down or get up out of a chair or out of bed in the morning.

But I ask you... by being cruel to me, or to anyone else struggling with their weight, do you actually think you're helping? In your twisted sense of reality, do you think your cruelty is motivating us to make lifestyle changes? You're not. YOU ARE NOT. YOU are making it worse. You don't have to like me or befriend me or offer anything that you think might be “supporting” my unhealthy lifestyle. Maybe you could just leave me alone.

Being fat is not physically attractive. Maybe not to you. Everyone has their own preferences. So you don't want to fuck me. That's ok. Maybe I don't want to fuck you either. But does that mean that I am not worthy of some basic human compassion? Does that mean you can't be civil to me? Even friendly? Would it be so hard to just be kind to me because I am a living, breathing human being?

If you read the article in the link above, about Tess Holliday, I draw your attention to the guy who's comment was “not really contributing to the discussion. Just wanted to state how much she turns me off”. In other words, he's commenting for no reason other than to be mean, hateful and try to hurt her feelings. Nice job. Yet we have had to deal with ASSHOLES like this our whole lives: people who purposely want to make us feel bad for no other reason than to make us feel bad. I have learned to pretend not to hear these kinds of assholes. I keep a stone face, make no acknowledgment whatsoever. I refuse to give assholes like this the satisfaction. And even they don't get to “win”, neither do I. Many times, because they aren't getting the reaction that they want, they keep going. Comments get more and more cruel and hateful. And about 95% of the time, once I am alone, I do break down. I might be fat, but I have feelings.

And sadly, those words, those insults... they stay with us for a long time... years... sometimes forever. That old saying that we used to say when we were kids was wrong: Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. We often wave off the words that hurt us because we wouldn't want the people who are making us feel bad about ourselves, feel bad about themselves. So we say it doesn't matter, it doesn't hurt, it's no big deal. But, the truth is that the broken bones we got from the sticks and stones will heal. The bruises will fade. We know when we've healed from physical injuries. The injuries inflicted by words stay with us much, much longer. Those hateful voices stay inside of our head. Every time I fail at a diet, I hear them again. When I want to be able to jog in the park, but I can't, I hear them. And every time I hear those words and voices, even though they're in my head, they rip off the scab and my wound is fresh.

At the end of the day, my words aren't going to change the world. People who don't know me, make no attempt to get to know me, but hate me on sight due to my size are not going to wake up one day and magically discover a shred of basic human decency. So why write this? Selfishly, for myself. To remind myself that it's the asshole haters who are the problem. To tell myself that just like Tess, there IS beauty within me. To quiet the negative voices, and let my voice drown them out, as I tell myself that I AM WORTHY. And to retrain myself to be kinder, gentler, and more accepting not only of myself, but everyone around me. Whatever their imperfection may be, I write this to remind myself that is in our differences and our imperfections that character and acceptance live.

The Irrelevancy of Donald Trump

Let me preface this by saying that I do not agree with anything that Donald J. Trump says, nor do I support him in his bid for the Republican nomination for President of the United States in the upcoming 2016 election. When he first announced that he was throwing his hat into the ring to seek the nomination, I laughed. Certainly no one would take him seriously! And then he made those comments, calling Mexicans a bunch of drug dealers, rapists and murderers. Well, certainly that would seal his fate, and his bid for the nomination would be over before it started... right?

WRONG! Somehow, someway, he has risen to the top of the lot for the GOP nomination. Now, we are about a year away from the Republican National Convention and the official decision on who will ultimately run on the ticket for President. And the leading hopeful will likely change a dozen times or more between now and then. But how is this guy even relevant?

Personally, to me, he is the personification of what ails our nation. He is a greedy, entitled, pompous ass who inherited his fortune. He is not the self-made success he claims to be. It was his father, Fred, who was the true real estate tycoon. But even he, Fred, had to rely on government funding programs to make his fortune. It was money from the Federal Housing Administration that allowed Fred Trump to revive his failing real estate business of building homes during the Depression. As the US entered into WWII, he received government contracts to build FHA-backed housing units for US Naval personnel.

So, with Daddy's money, Donald Trump received a world class education and took the helm of Daddy's company in 1974. But by 1990, he was in financial trouble. It was a BAIL OUT that saved him. The banks that backed his ventures gave him a $65 million rescue package that was pretty much squandered. Less than a year after the bail out, he was nearly $4 billion in debt. Trump Entertainment Resorts Inc. has declared bankruptcy three times. The Trump Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City also declared bankruptcy. It was slated to close in 2014, but Trump received yet another bail out to keep it open through at least the end of 2015.

But back to the matter at hand... HOW did this jackass become relevant? I think it's because even though his words are hateful and stupid, he's being honest. For him. Whether you agree with him or not, he's not giving us the usual rhetoric that politicians give us. That people in general give us. Most folks, whether they aspire to a political office or not, have to choose their words carefully. They have to be careful to not offend this group or that, and make sure whatever they're saying is vague enough that they can waffle back and forth on really important issues, depending on what the need of the moment is. Donald Trump doesn't do that. He gives us his opinions straight up, with no apologies.

It's actually a little refreshing. There's no mistaking what side of an issue he is on, whatever the issue is. He beats us over the head with his opinions. As disgusting as they may be.

And yes, he's the favorite at the moment, but it won't last. The truth of the matter is that whether it's the Republicans or Democrats, the person that will ultimately get the nomination is the person that they believe will have the best chance to win. And that's just not Donald Trump. He alienates too many people. 

It can happen to YOU too!

So a few weeks ago, I got into a debate with a very good friend of mine, who happens to be a gay man, over police brutality, the Black Lives Matter movement, and my position of being on the side of the people. I listened closely to his argument that this is an increasingly fucked up world. Police are on the front lines, not knowing what kind of situation they’re walking into and that we the people need to be more aware of that. We the people need to not do anything that would make the police concerned for their, and others around them, lives. He argued that hindsight is 20/20, and that we need to be more willing to put ourselves into the police’s shoes in the moment of the crisis.

All very valid points. I mean, this IS a fucked up world. Don’t believe me? Listen to one news broadcast or read one newspaper. Kidnappings, rapes, assaults, robberies. Violence has become our way of life. And yes, people still overwhelmingly believe that in moments of crisis, call the police.

But I counter-argued that unarmed kids like Mike Brown had his hands up, and was shot anyway. Tamir Rice was killed within seconds of police arrival. The deaths, no… the MURDERS, that have people enraged and protesting have unacceptable similarities: there is no weapon in the dead citizen’s hands, the dead citizen is disproportionately Black, and there is NO ACCOUNTABILITY for their murderers.

As a white woman, I will never know what it’s like to be a Black Man. I will never understand how it feels to be a Black Woman. I will never know how it feels to have this intrinsic feeling that just by existing, I am predisposed to being followed, suspicious, or having people follow me around in the store because they’re sure I am going to steal something. When I go down into the subway with a backpack on my back, I don’t get nervous when I see police with tables set up, fearful that they are going to target me because of the color of my skin. I don’t have to counsel my nephews about how to act, what to say and what to do if they are stopped by police walking down the street with their friends. And although I will never know what that’s like, because all these things are realities for Black men and women every day of their lives, I can try to identify by imagining what it’s like; by listening to their testimony of incidents they have lived through; and my opening my eyes and being aware of what’s happening around me.

So I counter-argued to my friend that one of the things he was not taking into account was that growing up, we learned about Officer Friendly, the cop who was there to protect us. We learned that police were our friends, that we could trust them, and that they wouldn’t harm us. Officer Friendly is not who Black children meet. They meet Officer Enemy. Officer Enemy is called to help, but when he arrives, assaults, beats, and arrests the person he was called to help. It’s a very different relationship, and both sides see the other as enemy.

My next question to him, he says, hurt him. I asked him to consider how he would feel if dead body after dead body of the unarmed citizens, instead of being Black boys and men, belonged to LGBTQ individuals, and that they were targeted because of their orientation/identification the way Black men and boys were targeted because of the color of their skin. He was offended by my question, saying being gay has nothing to do with it. He is a person first and foremost, after all.

That my friend, I replied, is my point. You want the world to see you as a Man. Not as a gay Man. But as a human being. Because you’re white, you get your wish. People can’t look at you and see your sexual orientation. But how many people change the way they speak to you, how they deal with you, once they find out you’re gay as compared to when they thought you were straight? How many times have you heard “Hey, you’re all right for a gay guy”? That’s just one more luxury that Black boys, girls, men and women don’t have. They are seen for their skin first, and everything else second.

He dismissed my argument in its entirety, which is his right. I have not wavered in my position, and so far, neither has he. But when I shared this article with him (http://www.dnainfo.com/new-york/20150629/west-village/gay-activists-zero-on-police-encounters-as-next-step-rights-fight), pointing out that unfair treatment by police is identified as a next step in achieving equality for the LGBTQ segments of society, and reminded him of our past conversation, I received silence in response.

In the end, I say this: no one is obligated to share my views and opinions on anything. All I ask is that when deciding how YOU feel about someone or something; try to find a way to relate to the opposition before dismissing them. It’s easy to dismiss something we do not understand, or do not relate to. It doesn’t mean we can’t find common ground, or that we cannot empathize. In a split second, the whole shit can change and we can find ourselves as the outsiders. Wouldn’t we want people to stand up for us and our rights too?