My favorite coworker’s mother stopped by the office for lunch yesterday. She brought McDonald’s food for us, very kind of her. During the visit, she mentioned the bikini I wore at her daughter’s birthday pool party this summer. She just loved that I was brave enough to wear it. She weighs at least 100 lbs. less than I do, but says she could never. She has too many ‘icky jiggly parts’ (hello, I am constructed entirely of jiggly parts). Also, she doesn’t see me as fat, she just sees me as me. She sincerely meant this as a compliment, she’s incredibly nice and we have a great relationship – she would never wish to offend me in any way.
I told her that I am fat, and it’s OK to see that, and acknowledge it. That I like the way I look, that I don’t see fat as a bad thing. I told her I was glad she liked my bikini, it’s one of my faves and I felt great in it.
On Monday, my husband and I went for dinner with some dear friends of ours. They cooked a delicious seafood pasta dish for us. And then sent us home with all of the leftovers, along with their Thanksgiving leftovers – because they were ‘getting back on keto’ the next day. They already both had weight loss surgeries. Cool cool, I love pecan pie.
I have conversations like this all the time. We all do. Well-meaning friends or family members bearing backhanded compliments. My existence is not brave, I’m just out here living my big fat life.
My own mother just had a weight loss surgery. She has wanted it for decades. I have seen her gain, lose and regain hundreds of pounds in weight during my lifetime. She is not in the best of health, generally speaking, and was so afraid of dying on the operating table that she redrafted her will and sent me an email with an attached Word document, detailing her very specific desired funeral arrangements. My mother would literally rather be dead, than fat. She is convinced that thinness will be the answer to all of her problems. She has forgotten that almost 20 years ago she was thin for a while, and her problems still existed, just in a different shape.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is for your only living parent to be willing to die to avoid having a body like the one you have?
My family is a fat one. We just are. My sister got thin for quite a while, she did it by running ultramarathons and cutting out dairy. At a low weight her body struggled, she was anemic, and deficient in B12. The second she reduced her activity level, she gained that weight back, and she hates it. I would argue that our bodies are genetically fat ones. We researched our family tree once, and every woman, dating back to the dawn of photography, was built the way we are: short and round. They lived tough lives, and did not eat processed foods, and they were fat.
I have been on my own fat acceptance journey for about ten years now. It changed my world. I do not feel food-related guilt, I eat what the fuck I want. If my clothes are too small, there are bigger ones. (I do appreciate that this is a privilege I have, and am very aware that it is not an option for everyone for various reasons). I wear things that I like, I don’t care whether or not they are ‘flattering’. It’s not bravery, it does not require courage, it requires confidence – the same as it does for a thin person. My blood pressure is normal, my glucose is normal, cholesterol is normal (and seriously, even if they weren’t, that would be my choice and not a reflection on my morality). Genetics plays a huge role in all of this. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t be less fat if I ate less McDonald’s, but I wouldn’t be thin. And anyway, I like McDonald’s. And I like being fat.
I absolutely subscribe to a philosophy of ‘my body, my choice’. If you want to diet, go for it. Want bariatric surgery? Sure, be my guest. But I don’t want to fucking hear about it. I’m not going to congratulate a weight loss, or commiserate a gain. I am indifferent to your size. I don’t care what you can or can’t eat, or what you have to puree for your new, tiny stomach. Or whether or not you think avocadoes are bad. Because when you tell me that only way you can feel good in your body is to make it small, you invalidate my largeness.
So, if you need me, I’ll be over here with my milkshake and a basket of fries, being brave in my bikini, limbering up for another slice of pecan pie. Okbye.
Fat and Slutty 