HALP!

Dear Fat-o-sphere,

I need your help with something. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t eat gluten. Or oats. Or dairy. And I’m trying hard to stick to this intuitive eating thing. So what do I feed myself when I’m having an intense, crazy, white hot craving for just a teeny tiny cube (or two) of cheddar cheese? Sure, I could cave in and have a little cheese, but it would make me miserable.

So what is it my body is asking me for? The fat? The savory creamyness? The calcium? Because I can’t figure it out, and at this point I’m going to end up dreaming about flying to the moon in a rocket made of cheese tonight.

Suggestions appreciated, thanks in advance.

Just A Number

So, I’ve been gaining weight for a while, ever since I broke up with my ex Valentines Day 2009. It is only natural that I should gain, since before the breakup, I had been depressed and stressed and didn’t eat and lost some weight. Then after we split, I became a whole lot less active, but started to eat again, so I got bigger. I could tell because my clothes got tight, and I had to shop for new pants and bras twice. It seems to have leveled off now. I must confess that I really hope I have leveled off and stopped gaining because a) I’m sick of shopping for pants and bras, y’all and b) I am a couple pounds shy of the Big 200.

Yeah, I weighed myself. Went to a naturopath appointment, way back in January, and out of some morbid curiosity regarding the fatness of my body, stepped on the scale. I really wish I hadn’t weighed myself, because when I saw “197” I had an OMGNOT200!DOOOOOOM! moment.

But why? Why is that number so horrible? Its just a number: whether I weigh 199 pounds or 201 doesn’t change me, or any of us, as human beings. Even if our culture does decree that it shall be the Magic Cutoff of Worth(TM). Too many women subscribe to it, like Oprah, and I don’t want to be one of them.

So, since Janurary, I’ve been telling myself that 200 is just a number and that it does not really reflect my actual shape and size and WORTH of my body and myself. It does not make me any less desirable–in fact, while it lowers my attractiveness for some men, it raises it for others, and for the men I ultimately wish to meet and date, it has no bearing whatsoever. And I believe that, seriously, but gaining all that weight still bummed me out, because, yo, shrinking clothes suck.

Yet even with all that internal pep-talking, and the reinforcing I got from y’all, the Fatosphere, I still felt like crap. Of course, I had been feeling like crap for a long time, since before my ex and I split. I thought it was due to my several food intolerances, diagnosed just this October. Eliminating gluten and caffeine from my diet has done tremendous amounts of wonders for my sense of health and well-being. But even though I slept better and lived better (not dealing with painful abdominal cramping and diarrhea after EVERY goddamned meal) I still felt like crap. My energy levels went up, and my mental stability improved, but I still felt sluggish, weak, bloated, out-of-breath, tired, irritable, impatient, and flat out ugly and undesirable. In short, I felt “FAT”. (I use this phrase not to comdemn fatness, but because it is the term so many American women–maybe even other english-speaking women and men?–use to describe their discomfort with their bodies.)

I refuse to diet, in any form. They don’t work long-term and instead just make you hungry and angry and stressed and self-hating, and then you start yo-yoing and shit. I just refuse to go down that road. Hell, my diet is restricted enough as it is, being gluten-intolerant. In fact, I refuse to get sucked into the whole wish-fullfillment trap of the Fantasy of Being Thin, and I have rebelliously denied that fantasy by eating whatever the fuck I wanted, when I wanted. But that hasn’t made my crappy-body feelings go away.

Then a couple months ago, it came to me. I need to move, be active. I used to hike and walk a lot, before the ex and I went splitsville. And my healthier diet and better sleeping habits expanded my energy reserves. But I haven’t been active at all since the breakup. I just work, eat, read, and sleep.

So, I joined a gym.

I hate gyms. I hate machines and the whole thin=fit culture rampant in gyms. But this gym is the regional YMCA. Its got a POOL. Two, in fact. Most gyms in this area of the country just don’t have pools (don’t ask me why, cuz I sure don’t know). I love, love, LOVE to swim, and hadn’t been swimming since I moved out here. And since the whole tenet of HAES is to find activities one loves to do, I opted to join the Y.

I’ve gone 3 times since joining on the 1st. And, y’all, I’m so glad I did this. Swimming makes me feel euphoric and relaxed, calm and tired, and at peace with the cold cruel world. It makes me feel strong. And since I’m not focused on BEING SKINNY, I can actually enjoy feeling my body glide through the water. I can enjoy the bubbling hot tub. I can meditate in the steam room. I can watch the Zumba chicks dance and say “that looks fun, I will try that next week.” And best of all, I can climb on the locker room scale, see the numbers say “197” and NOT GIVE A FUCK, cuz, y’all I feel great! 200 really IS just a number. Whether I am above or below that “magic cuttoff of worth”, I”m still me. I’m still here. Am I still fat? Hell, yeah. Do I still “feel FAT”? Hell, no. And that’s all anyone, thin or fat, can ask for; our worth and our ability to feel good and be worthy, does not depend on some damn number.

Teachable Moments

This week I went to a party at the home of a friend whom I have known since my oldest kid was an infant, about 7 years now. We have several mutual friends, her and I, and I was, ahem, lucky enough to have a conversation with one woman, B, who I’d first met a couple of years ago while I was in WW. At that time, B had confided to me that she had struggled with her weight for many years and that her mother had her doing WW from the time she was 10 years old, but she was inspired enough by my WW effort to give it a try again. (For the record, it looks to me that B has a body which would be considered and embraced by our thin loving culture as “normal”. I am bad at guessing at weights or sizes, but I would be well and truly shocked if her pants were any larger than a size 8.) Anyhow, at that time, two years ago, B and I were able to slip into the culturally expected norm of bonding over the shared misery and challenges of dieting and hating our bodies.

Toward the end of the party this week, I had settled down in a nice quiet corner with my knitting and B found me while she waited for her husband to gather up their children. She struck up a conversation with me, which started with a compliment about my knitting. She went on to tell me that she hadn’t knitted in years, but was thinking she could take it up again as a weight loss tool. Internally I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Oh? Because you can’t eat and knit at the same time?” I asked with a laugh and then told her, “well, I knit all the time and it never really worked that way for me, LOL.” As she tried to steer the conversation back to how utterly miserable she is being such a huge giant fatass, I said to her, “to tell the truth, B, I just don’t diet any more. I gave it up and I feel so much happier now.”

The truth is, I do feel happier now. Freed from the constant obsession of meal plans and food lists and points calculations and good foods and bad foods and body hatred, I can actually get on with my life. Granted, FA for me is still a work in progress and will always be sort of unfolding within me, but I feel like I’ve come a long way in the last year. I no longer look at myself in the mirror and automatically think “YUCK!”. I can look at a photograph of myself and think, “Yep, that’s what I look like,” instead of “GAWD WHAT AN UGLY FATSO I AM!” Being able to do that is incredibly liberating.

I actually explained all that to B and suggested she have a look at Linda Bacon’s Health at Every Size. She seemed open to it, and I do hope she does come around to it eventually. Because, really, being someone’s WW (or weight loss) inspiration is a lot of pressure. Honestly? I just want to sit. And knit.

Size Acceptance and the Sleep Talkin’ Man

Have you seen the Sleep Talkin’ Man? Adam talks in his sleep and his wife blogs about it and it is hilarious, to say the least. And today’s little gem? Perfection.

In which I say “I’m sorry I haven’t blogged lately”.

I’m not the kind of blogger that does a lot of “I’m sorry I haven’t blogged lately” posts. Sometimes I blog regularly, and sometimes not. Blogging isn’t my job so I figure I’ll get around to it when I get around to it and that, for the most part, blog readers understand that. But lately, the lack of posts isn’t because I’ve been particularly busy, or for a lack of material, but because of something that has been taking up a lot of space in my head since the early part of May. I’d like to blog about what it is, because much of what happened is apropos to what I’m trying to accomplish here on Fat Sisters, but I also don’t want to be a passive aggressive twat about it, either. I’ve started and discarded about a dozen drafts of this post since The Incident, most of them sounding too ranty, or too combative, or too acrimonious, or too hurtful. Which is not at all what I aim to do. So please forgive the lack of posts around here while I work on processing and letting go of things.

OBESITYDOOM, Kitteh Edition

Even the cats aren’t safe from the OBESITYDOOM panic. I’m so furious with my vet right now. We’ve been going to her for years and years, and she’s always been wonderful. She has such a gentle hand and is very sweet and smart and kind. A great vet. But today, I am pissed. Both cats’ weight was up since their check ups last year, so of course we had to have the OBESITYDOOM lecture. She told me that I was going to have to start giving them insulin if I didn’t stop feeding them so much. And then she didn’t believe me when I told her how much I actually am feeding them.

Here’s the thing. Doozer appears to be part Maine Coon. MC cats don’t reach their full size until after their third year. Doozer is three this year. He’s gained 3 pounds in two years (13 lbs all together!) and he doesn’t even look plump. Yes, he does have the little pocket of belly fat which is typical of neutered males, but he is no where near obese.

And Lolly? Well, she is another story. She’s quite solidly packed on a teeny frame. But honestly? She doesn’t eat any more than Doozer does (in fact she eats considerably less), and I am quite aware that some female cats, when spayed, become quite, well, ROUND is really the only word for it. Honestly, I’m not worried about her. She and Doozer get plenty of exercise running around the house and up and down the stairs and wrestling until the break of dawn. So yeah.

And my vet’s advice? “Take some food away and see if one or both of them loses weight. If they don’t then maybe they are just good retainers.” WTF?

[Doozer]

37

Another swing around the sun completed, and a new one began. Cheers.

*cross-posted from my other blog

Thoughts on the ABC vs Lane Bryant Ad

The big news this week is the apparent fat phobia of ABC execs in denying a Lane Bryant lingerie ad from airing during prime time hours along with Victoria’s Secret’s “Naked” advertising.

Except, I’m not so sure that fat phobia is at play here. It seems to me to be primarily a case of patriarchal normativism.

Let me explain. In the LB ad we see a curvy girl in figure-enhancing lingerie making a date on her phone, then admiring herself in the mirror, and walking out the door clad only in a trench coat. The implication being that this woman is heading out for some hot sexytimes–and is very much looking forward to it. And her paramour has no idea what’s coming to him. Oh la la! Viva la fat femme!

This is a woman who owns her body and her sex. She is not meek–she is sexually confident and assertive. She does not wait, like the Vicky’s models, passively and winsomely, for her lover to come and satisfy himself on her. No, instead she goes out knowing exactly what she wants and with no doubt that she is going to get it.

Well, that just simply isn’t “proper!”

This is still a patriarchal culture, and women are supposed to be passive objects for male sexual consumption, not active consumers themselves. Any woman who is sexually aggressive is considered “bad”–slutty, mean, promiscuous, man-eating, deceptive, and evil. Consider the characters in movies and TV that are sexually dominant women: the vast majority are portrayed invariably as Villains. The Damsel’s nemesis, or the Hero’s weakness, who must be overcome.

In the context of the LB ad, the sexually dominant attitude of the character adds the element of the taboo to her nakedness–magnifying her sexual presence tenfold. In contrast, the gyrating sirens of Victoria’s Secret are nearly invisible in their adherence to female norms.

The fat phobia here is incidental–a symptom of normativity. A person who is evidentially “normal” has more leeway to engage in non-approved behaviors than one who is not “normal”. It is remarked upon, but it is not threatening. Much like rich white suburban white boys dressing and acting like poor urban black youths. Non-threatening people engaging in “bad” behavior are eccentric–whereas Abnormal, threatening people engaging in the same behaviors are labeled deviant, and are in need of immediate correction. Or censorship.

So, the “problem” with the Lane Bryant ad is not merely that of a “fat girl” showing off, but its of “fat” girl engaging in “deviant” behavior. That’s just not allowed, because why then, “normal” girls might get ideas!

HAES Parenting Fail

This morning, my kids woke up hungry and so I fed them cereal with rice milk. Then my older son asked for some potato chips. I told him to have an apple. Then he asked for some potato chips. I told him to have a rice cake with sunflower butter on it, and I gave him a mini-lecture about macro-nutrients. He ate the rice cake and he asked for some potato chips. I told him to have a boiled egg. “ARGH!” he shouted and stomped off. “If you’re not hungry for an egg,” I called after him, “then you’re not hungry.”

Ugh. Yes, I really did say that. Once he was in his room, noisily and angrily rooting through the lego box, I started to wonder what was the big deal. Why can’t he just have some damned potato chips if he’s hungry for them? And then it dawned on me that the entire exchange we’d had was a power struggle on my part. One of the things I continue to find extremely difficult is eating normally–letting go of the notion that there are “good” foods and “bad” foods, and just generally trusting my own hunger cues. So, in my my mind, I am still unconsciously compartmentalizing the potato chips as a “bad” food which should only be enjoyed at lunchtime. Of course, as soon as he was out of the room, I couldn’t STOP thinking about those fucking potato chips and they were all I wanted to eat, even though I’d already had a cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal, and a banana.

I got myself some chips and called him back to the kitchen. I told him that I’d made a huge mistake. If he’s hungry, he needs to eat, and that he’s allowed to decide for himself, within reason, (see? i’m still doing it. argh!) what he would like to eat. Of course, he was still hungry for the chips, which he ate happily with his brother.

Leaving behind a lifetime of cultural messages and 2 years of WW indoctrination is a process, but at least I was able to recognize the ridiculousness of telling an 8 year old (or any one else for that matter) that he’s not hungry.

Well, If You Ask ME!

I stumbled across this “Dear Annie” bit while reading the fluff section of my local paper. (Online source is here. As always, Sanity Watchers Points required due to douchebag comments!)

Dear Annie: I have a 12-year-old son who is grossly overweight, as is my wife. I’m worried that my son will become an obese adult. My wife blames her obesity on her childhood and believes if we say anything to our son about his weight, it will only carve it into stone. But it seems not saying anything might be just as bad. My wife’s brothers were chubby until they became teenagers and then thinned out. But everyone in my family grew up fat and stayed fat. My son is sensitive, so I don’t want to say anything that would make him feel like less of a person. What do I do? — Worried Dad

If it were me tasked with doling out advice, this is what I would say:

“Dear Dad:
I commend you for respecting your son’s sensitivity, as well as wanting him to be healthy, but you worry overmuch about your son’s weight. As a matter of fact, people’s health have very little to do with weight. There are lots of fat people who are healthy and live long lives, and just as many thin people who are short-lived and ill.

Moreover your son is only 12 years old. He is about to start–or is starting–puberty, and he will need a lot of excess weight to convert into the muscles, bones, brain, and organs of his genetically-determined adult body. If that body is meant to be fat, nothing you can do will change that. Your task as a parent is to encourage your child to eat nutritous foods, to enjoy being active, and to provide guidance and encouragement as he navigates the tricky path of puberty and adolescence. It is not your job to force your son’s body to fit into some arbitrary social mold.

In fact, it sounds as if in writing this letter you are loooking for permission to circumvent your wife’s wishes so that you may shame your son thin and force him into a mold that is more pleasing to your eyes.

Using the term “grossly overweight” implies that your son disgusts you. It is a very judgmental perception. It is not the basis of a healthy relationship with your son, and will not lay the foundation of the healthy man you say want your son to become.

Don’t project your own loathings and insecurities onto your child.

Listen to your wife. Don’t shame your son. It won’t make him thin. Forcing him to do exercizes he does not like and to eat foods that won’t satisfy his growing body’s natural need for high-energy foods is just another way to shame him. It would feel like torture, and your son will know why you are torturing him: because he’s too fat to be accepted by you. That won’t make him thin.

Just be a parent who loves him. Nurture his body and encourage him to test his limits, but don’t force him into a mold you think he should fit into.”

But is that what Annie says? Of COURSE not. Instead she trots out the tired “eat less, move more, be a healthy family!” tropes, and makes a asston of bigoted assumptions to justify it. Let’s break it down, shall we?

Dear Dad: Your son’s biggest problem is the fact that both of his parents have weight issues.

–No Annie, his son’s biggest problem is that Dad is being a judgmental ass. And the only person who has a problem here is Dad.–

The most effective way to help your son is to model healthy behavior. Get rid of the junk.

–Way to make assumptions based on stereotypes! You’re assuming a lot here. You think you know exactly WHY this family is fat. You hear “obese” and automatically make the leap–which is completely unfounded–that this family eats primarily “junk” food. You have no evidence that this is the case. There could be medical issues. There could be disabilities. At the very least its obvious there is a genetic component. Whatever is the case, YOU DONT KNOW WHY ANYONE IN THAT FAMILY IS FAT! YOU DONT KNOW HOW THEY LIVE.–

Cook nutritious meals with lots of fresh vegetables. Have fruit available to snack on. Eat the way you want your son to eat.

–How CLASSIST of you. You assume they have access, money, and time to fresh “healthy” foods. Wiithout getting into the whole morass of the class issues of food availability here, how DARE you assume they don’t eat fresh, nutritious foods?–

Then take him with you for bike rides, neighborhood runs, basketball games and softball practice.

–Once again with the classist assumptions! You assume they live in an open, safe, and spacious neighborhood, and enjoy sufficent leisure time and money to indulge in what are really activities of luxury. You don’t know where they live, what their family schedules are like, how much money they make. Furthermore, how DARE you assume that this family, or the son in particular, aren’t already active?–

You will teach your son the good habits he will need for the rest of his life — and improve your own health in the process.

Way to subtly call Dad here a fatty fat fat, Annie. Way to reinforce his own internalized fat-hate. What a masterful display of fat shaming! Bravo, Annie, Just bravo!