On reactions to body positivity

This is one of my rant posts that people who may not like what I have to say should maybe just not read. I've been thinking a lot today about body positivity. Largely because of this lovely bit of body shaming, but also because I started researching fatkinis out of curiosity. Plus, I recently saw my personal body positivity hero, Laura, who always reminds and encourages me to think about myself in a positive way (even if she doesn't know she's doing so).

In researching fatkinis I came across a wonderful thing, a body positive guide to bathing suit shopping. And I loved it, until I got to the bottom where the author had to write a note explaining that she wasn't advocating for obesity. Which she really wasn't.

But it made me angry that she even had to defend herself. I hate that every time I share something about body positivity or see something shared, it devolves into a discussion of whether or not this is promoting obesity and therefore a horrible thing.

Do you know what promotes obesity? Self-hatred. At least in me that's what it does. I'm fat because of a bad combination of genes, coping skills (emotional eating anyone?), medications, and I'll admit laziness. At my biggest, I was basically 300 pounds. At my smallest, I got down to 220. Now? Let's just say I'm a little afraid to step on the scale. And I have made plenty of bad decisions that have affected this. But, one of the biggest factors in my journey has always been, and continues to be, low self-esteem and self-worth.

Seriously - when I hate myself (which happens), do you want to know what my first response is? Eat. Because food is my one sin I let myself indulge in. Food was there for me when no human was, and became my coping method. Do you know what makes me hate myself? Being called a fat bitch when I walk down the street. Having classmates use me as the way to make fun of each other ("yeah, well you like Linden so how pathetic are you?" "Ewww! No I don't!") within earshot. Looking in the mirror and knowing that I will never live up to the standard of beauty that I have had drilled into my head as being the only acceptable way to be. Feeling like I can't partake in activities that I would enjoy because no one would want to see me that way (cosplay). Never being good enough, because I can never fit a mould that I was never made to fit.

Maybe all of you out there who are so concerned about my physical health that anytime something comes up that says "hey, you're amazing just as you are and worthy and beautiful" you need to bring out your obesity soapbox should be worried a little more about my mental health. Being allowed (and encouraged) to feel beautiful just as I am, without needing to change, lets me feel like I have a place in this world. And in turn, it might just help me feel like I want to be healthier so I can enjoy that place for longer.

Now replace me with "every person who is plus-size in our world" in that last paragraph. Maybe, instead of attacking body-positivity movements for a perceived support of physical unhealthiness**, we should consider them an empowering approach to mental health. Maybe if we create a world where it's okay to be however you are, and we can see the beauty and uniqueness of each individual, we can create a world where people are happier and healthier in all dimensions. Which is a hell of a lot more important.




**I don't really know where to fit in here that all of this can lead to even worse health anyways. Anyone ever heard of yo-yo dieting and how it destroys your body? Because that's what we're encouraging when we body-shame people. I could try to go back to 220 now, but I can see how I'm on the brink of falling into this incredibly unhealthy (physically and emotionally) pattern so I'm going to focus on improving my  mental health and making incremental changes towards an overall healthier lifestyle.

Men yelling out of cars.at women.

Earlier this week, I was walking home from the transit centre after a long day of work. I listen to podcasts while walking, but only in one ear so that I can hear anyone coming up behind me (another issue for another day). As I was walking, a car with its windows open stopped and some young men in the back seat tried to get my attention. Immediately I cringed, and my whole body tensed up. I ignored them, pointedly looking straight ahead. I've been there too many times before. Sure enough, as soon as they realized I wasn't going to give them what they wanted, polite attempts to get my attention turned into calls of "you fucking bitch" as they drove away.

It was my reminder that mosquitoes and sunburns are not the only drawbacks to summer that we forget about over winter. Men yelling out of cars is right at the top of that list, at least for me and some of my co-workers.

Now I suspect some of my less-harassed readers might be wondering something. Why did I not just acknowledge those guys? Maybe they just wanted directions or something? And there is always a tiny possibility of that. However, innumerable past experiences suggest to me that they were more likely going to make some sort of unwelcome advance, and when I didn't respond in the way they wanted then I would have gotten the same abuse hurled at me anyway. They fit into one category of men yelling out of cars, the "be nice and hit on you until you don't do what we want and then abuse you" category. But there are  others:

Fast Drive-By Type 1: these open the windows as they are flying by on the road to yell out things like "nice ass" or "sexy lady". Admittedly, I mostly see my friends get this, while it is far too common for some women I more often get Type 2. But this is horribly objectifying and doesn't make anyone feel good about themselves

Fast Drive-By Type 2: like Type 1, these are quick encounters where the car is gone before you can even react. However the verbalization is very different, this with more of the "fat slut" or "stupid bitch" type comments. The reason I am writing this post is that I had one of these today while I was adjusting my shoes.

Athletic Commentators: for some reason, being in the middle of some athletic pursuit seems to greatly increase the chances of being yelled at out of a car. Again, these can be unwelcome compliments or they can be flat out abuse. I think my favourite was when I was making a pathetic attempt at hill training with my friend Megan and some lovely gents felt the need to call us bitches from their car, adding on to the pain of being running up a hill to begin with. I find, as a fat person who sometimes dares also be a runner, that this type can be far more objectifying and dis-empowering, whether they are of the (unwelcome) "compliment" type or the insult type (I've lost count of the "run faster you slow bitch" ones).

Talk About You: ah, another favourite. These guys take a different approach, instead of yelling at you directly, they yell at each other about you. Again, these range from unwelcome compliments/advances ("look at the one in blue, she looks like hot piece of ass") to outright abuse ("oh wow, do you see that ugly cow?") but either way are awful.
ting the idea.
I'm sure I could think of more categories if I wanted, but hopefully you're get

After the incident the other day, I ended up in a conversation with some of my amazing co-workers about the general un-safeness of being a female. While stories of much more intensely violating acts (public masturbation while staring, houses broken into, being physically grabbed and touched, etc) came from this conversation, something that really disturbed me was that when I mentioned the car thing everyone in the room knew the exact feeling of sickening tenseness I felt when those guys tried to get my attention. I didn't have to explain why I got tense, they knew. Because every other lady there has had this happen. One of them pointed out that on her walk home, she puts her music on full blast because she can't go forty-five minutes without having at least one incident of being yelled at from a car. This is just such a part of our everyday lives that we all just deal with it, ignore it, block it out, and let it be.

Why the fuck is this okay?

Seriously. If you are a man who yells out of cars at women, stop it. It is not okay. It is ridiculous and terrible and you need to figure out why you feel you have this right to intrude into women's lives and invade their space. You don't.

And if you're a woman who has been yelled at out of a car (which, if you are a woman is apparently pretty much a guarantee), then I am sorry that someone felt the need to treat you that way. You deserve to be allowed to walk down the streets in peace.

EDIT: July 29, 2015
I've decided to try to do something creative with all these experiences. So if you have experiences of street harassment you're willing to share, there is a link on the side of the blog to a Google form. Or it's right here.

On Tattoos and Acts of Resilience

It has been a long time since I have written anything here, took me a minute to brush off the virtual dust and find my place. A lot of this absence has to do with good things that have happened in my life – and while I know people would be happy to celebrate these good things with me, the best of these things has a life of his own and privacy that I want to respect and all that jazz. (If you know me in person you are probably laughing right now because I have a slight tendency to gush and to overshare on Facebook, but this is different).

Anyways. Even when you have something that amazing going on in your life, there are always the things waiting to bring you down. It hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows, I went through at least one mild depressive state this winter. Luckily I know my triggers and the signs to watch out for so both got acknowledged and responded to quite quickly. And lately work stuff has gotten pretty crazy, to the point it was really affecting me both at and away from work. This triggered what this post is about – the realization that I use tattoos as acts of resilience, and trying to work through my thoughts around that in a public forum because that’s what I do.

As some people may remember, I got my first tattoo a coupleyears ago while in England.  I had moved to England to teach, and as a result of a lot of factors (unstable living situation, removal from support systems, bad work environment, etc.) entered a major depressive episode. 

On a fairly impulsive whim, I decided to go with a friend and get a tattoo. I decided to get the chemical structure of serotonin, a neurotransmitter believed to play a major role in depression and mood, on my right leg just below my knee. Both the image and the placement had a lot of meaning. A very long time ago, when I was a very different version of me, the last place that I self-harmed was that spot on my leg. I wanted to mark it with something positive instead, a reminder of how far I had come and how strong I am. A reminder that while my experiences with depression have been difficult and awful, I am still here and still unbeaten. As strange as it may seem, this act helped a lot with my recovery. It was a permanent, visible reminder that I would be okay in the end. And it has become something I love about my body. I love when strangers ask me about it and I can talk about depression and help defeat stigma (“but you don’t look like someone with a mental illness!”). I love seeing it and feeling strong and determined. It was not just an act of resilience at the time, but serves as a lasting reminder of that resilience when I need it. 

Serotonin tattoo right after being finished - nice and red and itchy!

Cut to 2015. I am back in Edmonton, back doing a job where I love the work but hate the politics. Back dealing with uncertainty, fear, and anxiety due to factors that I am struggling to bring into my control. These factors are starting to affect my life away from work as well, and it’s starting to really get to me. I feel sick every day going to work, and on edge away from it.

I’m sitting at my desk one day when my lovely good thing (as mentioned above) sends me a link. This link in fact. (disclaimer: it might not have been that exact link, but it was to that video). He sends it because one of the things we bonded about when we met is our love of the TV show Firefly, and because he knows I’m struggling, and because I’ll enjoy it. I think. I don’t know why he sent it, I just know I interpreted receiving it. 

I listened to the song, which I know at least one friend of mine hates musically but I love the lyrics of. And I decided that I needed another tattoo. I needed another reminder that I am strong and that no one can take what I love from me. No one can destroy me and bring me down. I especially refuse to be brought down by something as ridiculous as work politics. I will not let other people destroy my health (mental or physical) and the good things in my life.

I should point out I had been considering other tattoos for a long time, pretty much since getting the first. I regularly talk about getting an owl in memory of my Grandmother who I miss (and who loved owls the way I love turtles). I think of getting a world turtle as it is an image I identify with more than any other. I think and think and talk and talk and never actually book anything or make a plan. However when I decided I needed this new tattoo, I booked a consult by the end of that day and had an appointment booked within two weeks.

That appointment was last night:

Tattoo #2 - also right after finishing so also rather red. 

I find it interesting that there are tattoos I have pondered and put off for years, but the two that I have actually gotten were both rather quick, and both related to reminding myself that I am strong and will survive. Looking at this I realized that I use tattoos as acts of resilience – acts to help me get through tough times both when I get them and later. It’s a good reminder that people all have their own reasons and rationales for the ways they mark their body, and makes me wonder – if you have tattoos, what is your thought process? What meaning do they carry?