Over Commit and Under Deliver?

I feel like "Over Commit and Under Deliver" should be the subtitle of this thing.

I fell off the wagon of writing. I got in my head. I got stressed out. I got FURTHER in my head and all my old demons came out to play - the ones that yell I am not good enough (or really just not enough in general) and the quiet ones that whisper constantly that I am worthless/unlovable/terrible. The fall brought the first year of not having my grandmother alive for holidays or her birthday and winter brought back its usual darkness, shrouding me in the grayest depths but (luckily) not tipping into utter blackness.

The last month has brought a work promotion and a decrease in stress. It has brought a renewed hope and a desire to write. Most impressively, it has also brought a new revelation in myself.

I have written before about my struggles with body image, self esteem, and issues of that ilk. A little bit before Valentine's Day, I had a girls night with a few friends. We went into Salem and I warned them that they can't take a witch to Salem without getting dragged into shops. We ended up getting readings at a lovely shop called The Cauldron Black ( https://www.thecauldronblack.com/ ) with Justice the Wizard (who is incredible and also really friggin' attractive. He was amazing and I suggest booking him for a reading - I really want to go to him for a bone throwing reading. This witch approves). There was a trunk show going on and I bought a lovely baculum that the woman I bought it from harvested by hand. I bought it because the interview for this promotion was coming up and I felt like I needed a little #BDE to help me out. Since then, I am feeling better about myself, I am a bit more confident, and I have been receiving some THIRSTY texts from men. It has also empowered me in terms of the craft. #WinWin

Now, before closing this rambling mess that is literally....not good - but mildly informative as to why I just ghosted y'all - up I am sure some of you have questions. Namely about what the heck a baculum is and what this three letter hashtag is about. So, what is a baculum? Good question, friend. It is a mammalian penis bone. I promise you read that correctly. It has evolved out of humans but is still present in many creatures. Mine happens to have once been in a raccoon, who died naturally, and a woman that works with bones harvested. The dick bone sits at my desk on top of a bracelet my dad gave me. Knowing what a baculum is now, my assumption is you are unsure if you want to know what #BDE is. Big Dick Energy. That energy one sends out in the universe because they know what they are packing, physically or within. That energy that says, "Imma get that promotion over you and steal your girl while I am at it."

Will the baculum-fueled BDE, self acceptance and will to write continue? I don't know. And I am going to be smart enough to NOT commit to saying it will. But I am here. And I am ok. And sometimes, that is enough of a first step.

Dreams. The Goal Kind.

If you have followed this blog for sometime or gone through the past posts, you know this isn't my favorite time of year. And by time of year I mean quite specifically my birthday. It is a time that reminds me of spending time with my father in San Diego and the last time I felt really connected to that side of my family. This will also be the first birthday without my Grandmother who has never failed to call me to sing Happy Birthday to me. I spend this time scrutinizing every decision I have made and if in the last year I have done anything other than being a colossal waste of precious oxygen. 

My Womb Evacuation Day, or rather the day I was cut out so I didn't have a cucumber-shaped head, is a day I chose to fly under the radar. One that I pretend is a normal day to avoid as much fuss as possible. It is possibly the least Leo thing about me.

This year, we're hitting the big 33. And while I thought of some kind of Jesus/stations of the cross bar crawl (...sorry, Mom), I don't drink nor do I like anyone enough when they are drunk to do that. Instead, I am trying to embrace this renewed drive to write here. To capitalize on this motivation and do...something. 

I have mentioned briefly in the past, if not on here than to a few people IRL, that I want to start a literary magazine. I took a course in college where we spent a semester doing small writing projects before going through submissions for the school's literary magazine and to curate that issue. It was by far one of the best courses I took and it opened me up to the idea of publishing in general. Now without a degree, a job in publishing isn't really achievable. But you know what? That is ok because the more I think about it the more the concept grows.

Could it go from small, primitive (I think indie is too generous at this stage) pdf booklets to published in paper that is of the most spectacular quality and weight and finish - sorry guys, I REALLY like paper - and maybe even sold in bookstores?

Could it go from small and primitive to a huge online presence that evolves into a community like XO Jane, Bitch Media, or Bust?

Is it possible to create this from nothing? Is it possible for me to create this from nothing?

I don't know but for once I don't think it would hurt to try. 
And isn't that the miracle of aging? Getting to a point where you throw caution to the wind and embrace what could be so you aren't left with another what if?

Is 33 the time to leap?

The Weight of My Weight

As an adult I have tried not to hide my fatness behind sugary words to make them more pleasing to the people around me or the strangers that see me. Fluffy. “Curvy”. Fun Size. Party Size.

Nah. I am fat.

The words out there designed to make my body more accepted and marketable to potential lovers, bosses, friends, or whoever has the misfortune of getting caught in my personal magnetic field are not my words. They are not the words I choose to define me. I do not care about someone’s discomfort with the word fat or the preoccupation society has with it. I move and giggle and take up space in a world that thinks being fat is the worst thing you can be. I live every day trying to balance the self-loathing coded in what seems to be every cell, every fiber, every particle in me with the urge to love myself and my stretched out skin and my flesh. Most days the balance tips in the direction of self-loathing, all of my progress sliding to the floor and shattering only to make the next day harder; each time asking myself do you need to radically change yourself to love yourself.

The Husband had bariatric surgery about a year and a half ago. He has done phenomenally, sticking to his medical program and shedding weight. He moves better. He feels better. Medical issues he had have cleared up. I went with him to the information session for surgery. I went to the consultation and follow ups for my own potential surgery - a gastric bypass to help with the  weight, pain, and medical issues that can sometimes accompany being fat. Everyone, the medical practitioners as well as myself, agreed I needed to work on my mental health and bring down my A1C before we could really moved forward. I never went back. Not because my process was delayed but because I can’t decide if it is right for me.

I don’t know if I have ever taken a diet seriously when I have tried to lose weight so a step like this seems drastic. I don’t exercise really. I gained back every pound I lost while working with doctors and then some. I am not happy with myself most of the time. But is something like this going to change that for me? Or will I just continue this balancing act at another size?

And then the internal argument bombards me with mixed messages that weigh me down further and make my heart ache. How can you feed into diet culture? How can you go outside when you look like this? Why let society dictate your appearance? How can you be a feminist if you think like this? Why did someone marry you, you cow? Why can’t you just practice what you preach and be stronger when it comes to body image? No one really loves you. No one really likes you, they just tolerate your existence because they feel bad for you. WHEN THE HUSBAND LEAVES YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE SO DISGUSTING, NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO BE WITH YOU. YOU WILL DIE ALONE.

Let me tell you, this shit is exhausting. But I get it. I get why I fight this fight in my head. I preach the gospel of accepting yourself and your body to everyone yet at the end of the day I have nothing nice to say about myself or my body - other than I think my eyes are nice because they are so dark you can see through them to the depths of hell and that I am doing a-ok in the breast department. I try to reconcile this drift between who I am to myself and who I am to others. How can I continue writing as my authentic self if my self is in what seems like a lifelong civil war?

So I simmer, letting these thoughts marry until over and over the same thought bubbles to the surface gasping for oxygen: is thinness the key to happiness?

I can’t believe it is. That is one thought I can reject even if it fights its way to the top continually. Rearranging my organs can’t cause happiness. Starving myself can’t cause happiness. Fighting myself can’t cause happiness. Could this be the moment where I let go of the years of bullshit? The diet culture and shame that seem to be bred into me?  Is this where I lean in to the wind and let my weight, for once, work in my favor - letting it tip me over so I can fall in love with myself?

I will prepare a parachute, just in case.

-MPA

A Re-Introduction

Hello, Friends.

It has certainly been a minute. Life, like usual got a bit outta control. But here I am, attempting this shit again. Is it because I love failure? Is it because I have I am a glutton for beating myself up when I trip up or don't stick to a schedule? Accurate, but no. I just have a big mouth. A big mouth and a terrible desire to clog up the social media feeds of my family, friends, enemies, really...anyone and everyone. #sorrynotsorry

Now, you may be asking yourself "what has brought this broad out of hiding during the dumpster fire that is the year of our Lord 2018?" Maybe your question is "what has Trump shit on lately to make her emerge from hiding?"

The answer? Lately I feel myself being less and less authentically me. Sure, I still have weird hair that is dyed pink and some inability to filter before speaking but… Something has been missing. The blog has always been a way for me to be and feel more authentic in a world where because of work or other organizations or relationships I can’t necessarily be myself 100%. Most people see Diet MPA - just 4 calories and with a lingering aftertaste that isn’t wholly right.

This was not supposed to be the first post back. I had a lovely fluff piece on Mercury in Retrograde as a Sunday special to kick it off so I could pace myself and really see if this was worth it, if this would give me that feeling of being genuine again. I couldn’t finish it. It will sit, in my google docs until I finish it or delete it. Instead, I thought if I yearn for this validity in myself and in what I am reading on my own then I owe it to myself and the dozen people that may read this to do the same. What better way to do that than to re-introduce myself and define myself as I am right now, knocking on the door of 33 and still a mess?

So, that is what you’ll get on my return. Me. As close to 100% as I can possibly be.

I am:

Almost 33

Fat as fuck

Unhealthy

A ball of anxiety and depression

The mother of two beautiful cats

Married to someone that has managed not to divorce me even though I am A LOT to handle

The Creative Director of a Rocky Horror shadow cast

Weird

Nerdy

Confused

A witch

Most likely unable to have children

Tired

Queer

Most of these are no real surprise if you have read any posts before but while we are here, let’s unpack a few of these.

I spend a crazy amount of time in my own head. Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What/Who am I meant to do or be? Why is the world such a mess? Why don’t my cats let me pet them more? Why are corgis the most precious of dog breeds? What am I? WHAT AM I? The world is so much more #woke now. People can define and label themselves in ways that reflect them infinitely better and more accurately than when I pondered this before. Do I define myself as a woman because it is all I have ever known? Am I a woman when I have never felt intrinsically female or male? Am I just performing a gender because it is expected? I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, other than a mess. What do I know? Finding yourself and gaining true identity is confusing and hard and the people that have, who live their truth everyday are brave af.

Yes. I am queer. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY.

Whatever you want to call it. I am it.

The first person I ever kissed was a girl and while I don’t remember it, I have had it retold to me many times. In an act of shame or making fun of me? I don’t know.

But you’re married.

I know it is confusing. So lemme break it down: For many years I clung to “homoflexibility” as my sexuality. That, my friends, is some garbage. Some grade A rotting garbage because it is easier to say you just do things sometimes or when drunk than it is to deal with people’s opinions of your changing. Y’all - I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR THAT SHIT ANYMORE. I define myself, right now in my truthiest truth, as pansexual. No. I don’t think pans are hot. Cast iron, copper, Teflon coating, all of that has nothing to do with it (I am flipping off my laptop right now because people think they are hilarious and ask that all the time). I like to explain it to people as: I like consenting adults. Hearts not parts? It is funny that it took me years to understand this. When I was dating my ex-girlfriend (ESCANDELO!) my mother and brother had a conversation that she relayed to me where he was not surprised because he felt I would look at a person for who they are and not anything else. RIGHT ON, BRO.

Now, let’s add some additional layers to that.

I am on an antidepressant/anxiety medication. If you have been on one or know someone who has, you know that sometimes your mental health improving comes at the expense of your desire for intimacy.

But you’re married.

I am. I had to make a decision to stay on a medication that made me suicidal but didn’t hinder my drive or change medications. I changed medications. Some days I feel like this wasn’t the right decision. Most days I feel like a terrible spouse. Add to it, the large possibility that biologically having kids is off the table too makes me feel like a terrible daughter/daughter-in-law.

But didn’t you just define your sexuality?

I did. Because that is me. When I am well. I suppose you could call me medically asexual right now for the most part. Now let’s smash it all together to create and identity!

I am a 33 year-old fat weirdo, whose gender is …?????, is pansexual but due to mental health issues basically asexual, and panromantic (I like consenting adults for romance as well as other activities). I am loud. I am proud of that identity. I am here to reign fire on issues and type until my fingers are tired. I am here to make delicious food and try crafts on Pinterest that I will ultimately fail at. I am here to laugh, and cry, and be angry. I am here.

-MPA

**side note, I just realized I never came out. I just kind of, started dating a girl and didn’t explain myself. 10/10, MPA. **

And Then... 31

As I start this post, it is 11:54 PM on the eve of my 31st year. Tomorrow I will be overwhelmed by posts on my Facebook wall, receive texts from friends and family, maybe even a few calls (one of which will no doubt be my grandmother singing happy birthday to me, just as she has for every year I can remember). I will be humbled by an outpouring of love I often feel I don't deserve. I will worry that too much of a fuss will be made over something as trivial as I find myself. It is the one day in 365, the 24 hours in 8,760 where people celebrate me... And it is my least favorite day.

Since beginning this blog I have seen myself grow and shrink (literally and figuratively), felt myself slip further into depression, let anxiety hold me back from being my authentic self, and I let myself believe the voice deep inside that gnaws on your dreams while enumerating each fear or worry or negative thought about yourself. I have seen myself furiously research things I am passionate about to not write an article or create something because I don't feel that I, or anything I create, is worthy of positive attention. I have cried myself to sleep over my wasted potential and feeling stuck at work, only to bash myself for believing I had potential at all. I have disconnected myself from family and friends for fear that my failure, my issues, my darkness will somehow taint their lives. It is a lonely road. Is it painful? Yeah. Is it for the best? In my head, yes but in reality... *shrug*

This is why I haven't written. Anything I have to say or want to get out is being said by people that can say it better. At least that is how I have viewed it. It is in moments like that or enormius breakdowns that The Husband would often suggest I go see someone. This suggestion felt like an attack. I understand he just wants me to feel bettee. To work through everything so I can get to a place where I don't hate me or feel less than. But, I am hot headed and would never take it that way. He stopped saying it, knowing that I could not see what he was getting at.

Lately my own negative feelings, depression, anxiety, guilt over not being where I or anyone else thought I would be  have been growing. I shed tears daily over it. I get panic attacks over nothing. I felt like my spirit and my will were broken. I knew I didn't want to feel like that and it often felt like my soul could not take much more. In the back of my head, in the way back where the mostly empty boxes covered in cobwebs are, I knew I needed to speak to someone but I can't bring myself to call family let alone a doctor. I stumbled across a link to an article by fat babe Virgie Tovar, who I find hella inspirational, about online therapy. Specifically a service called Talkspace. The idea is you have a private chat room with your therapist where you cant text/instant message instead of being face to face. There are also different tiers of membership that include video chat if you want a slightly more traditional experience. I reasearched it. Read other article on it and all the reviews I could get my hands in. I talked it over with The Husband and decided that it couldn't hurt to try. I hemmed and hawed, thought about not doing it, voiced that opinion, but decided I had to do something.

About 12 days ago, I signed up for Talkspace. It seemed practical given my issues setting up appointments and after doing the math it was less expensive than traditional office visits with my insurance. It was scary. I hated every second of answering the questions they have so you can be matched with someone. I felt vulnerable ,which isn't my jam.  I was worried they wouldn't be able to match me with someone. Or that I would say the wrong things. Or get matched with a therapist I didn't jive with so it would take forever to get into a groove. Guys, it was understandable to be worried but it was for nothing. My therapist is rad. In a dozen days, I have learned that I am not crazy or wrong or broken. I just need to work through some shit. And while I don't think I am magically fixed or back to good I have cried less, worried less, been less anxious, had fewer panic attacks, and have been less low than normal.

We've now slipped past midnight and into my birthday. My birthday gift to me is to try and cut myself some slack; try to blame myself less for things out of my control, try to stop moving the goal post when I think I am worthy of something, and shit... maybe even stop trying to run away from happiness.

My birthday gift to you all is to share a few things I have learned so far in hopes if you are down or struggling in your own darkness it may shine a little light in to help you find your way:

•  We hold on to the things we went through as kids. We use it in a multitude of ways to navigate this shit storm called life.  What got us through then isn't relevant now. We keep changing and evolving but those learned behaviors don't. Instead of them morphing into what we need now they hinder growth.

• You get to define you and your life. Your idea of worthiness, your goal of happiness should not hinge on the thoughts and dreams of others. You get to be the master of your own destiny and should not feel guilty or like you have let everyone you have ever known down because you took a different path. Be your authentic self. Find the courage to stand as yourself and not what others wish you to be. Live your life for you. (Deep, right?  I am working in this real hard)

• Stop planning life. Seriously.

• Make a list of the things you are interested in. Really. No matter how small. Read the list. It probably sounds like someone you would want to be friends with. Think about how you treat yourself versus how you would treat that friend. Fucked up, huh? Treat yourself like the friend. Be your own friend. Treat yo' self. Take care of yourself.

• If this Talkspace thing sounds interesting or you have questions, holla at me. I am happy to chat about the process and how it works. I also have referral codes that discount a month of service if you are thinking about it but worried about cost.

So, Cheers to 31. May this year bring me closer to peace of mind, happiness, and plenty of corgis to pet.

-MPA

Here's to 2016

I took a lot of time off of writing here and I apologize for that. It was not for lack of desire but more for lack of feeling.

When the winter hits and the holidays start, stress bogs me down causing my depression and anxiety to kick into high gear. If you are plagued with either (or both) you understand how crippling it can be. If you are not familiar with them/how they work in tandem the best way to explain it is this:

I hope you all made it through the holiday season happy and healthy and ready to tackle 2016. Tackling 2016 is what I am here to talk about today.

2015 was a year that brought me closer to friends, got me productively talking about books in a book club (which brought me back to some high school friends), I got to go back to Disney - if only for a day, I wrote more here, and tried pitching some articles for online magazines. I was not good at staying gluten free or being good to myself in general. I didn’t make any real resolutions (I find them too easy to discard) and did not for this year either. What I do have, is a letter to 2016 - a manifestation of what I want to do and who I want to be in the new year.

To The Fates, or really any deity of time and fate and destiny:

Thank you for another year, another chance to wander this Earth and learn from my surroundings. While that is gift enough, I would like to impose on your generosity a bit more as we head into this new year. I want to see myself grow both in my writing and in my confidence, to take care of myself better as well as those around me, and to channel anger/disappointment/frustration/stress in ways that make me feel less like a walking personification of The Morrigan. I strive to become as fearless as those around me believe I am. May I focus on things that make me truly happy like baking, cooking, candy-making, and seeing friends instead of tunneling in on the negative. I would like to learn how to relax more, even if that just means more baths (with or without bath bombs - which are amazing, btw.) and wine and laughing. Should I find the confidence to do so, I hope this year will bring me the opportunity to start the YouTube channel for this blog as well as the opportunity to pitch more articles (and hopefully have something accepted!). I ask for your intervention when I need to remember to breathe, to slow down, to stop and enjoy what is right in front of me instead of missing the small things. Most of all, I hope this year will help me continue to be amazed and humbled by the support of those around me, that The Husband continues to have the patience of a saint when dealing with me, and that I continue to learn how to love fearlessly. And another trip to Disney wouldn’t hurt either.

-MPA  

My biggest hope outside of myself is that Trump isn't elected. Well, that and that feminism stops being treated like a dirty word - that people start to understand what it means for women as well as men.

What are your goals for 2016? Comment below to share your letter to 2016 and inspire others as we forge our paths in the new year.

"But" Talks and Conditional Acceptance

This slut shaming piece is giving me hella writer’s block. Which is driving me crazy. I can talk until the end of time about it but there is a fluidity to conversation that allows for you to skip around. So while I work on making it a cohesive piece that any sane being can follow, I decided to switch to a different topic. I promise as soon as I can get my shit together and make the slut shaming piece work, I’ll post it. Until then, I will treat it as a roadblock and just...get around it.

The next topic? The conditions we put on others for acceptance. I don’t just mean the terrible societal pressures to conform/fit into a certain niche.

Perhaps it is best to explain it with a personal example. In addition to being fat, I have (for the most part) maintained a fairly “alternative” lifestyle. I started dying my hair in 6th grade, got my first facial piercing a few months before turning 14, surrounded myself with those not in the mainstream (whatever that means), etc. My political leanings always being liberal and feminist, championing non-traditional folks and ideas, being a freer spirit than most, blah blah blah counter culture talk. NBD. I don’t expect people to agree or “get” me. Often I am faced with the “but” talk. The “but” talk is something I have heard since I was a wee fatling and it has gained momentum reaching it’s peak in my adult life.

Just what is the “but” talk? It is putting out a compliment (or sadly saying you love someone) then following it with a conditional statement. Well, compliment….ish.

“I love you but I am concerned for your health (because you are fat, even when I have no idea what your medical history is).”

“You would be prettier without all those piercings/a different hairstyle/your natural hair color.”

“You could be pretty/prettier if you lost weight.”

“I think you are beautiful but you should wear less makeup/more makeup/different clothes/etc.”

“But” talks aren’t limited to these examples but they are fairly common ones. I know I am not the only person who experiences them. The idea is that we are conditioned to expect others to present themselves in a particular way. I am not the modest, dainty, flowering beauty that is expected of a woman. I am brazen, crass, opinionated, and clever. I use words as a weapon but am not afraid of a fight. I don’t back down and refuse to be silenced. I strive to unapologetically take up space in this world. I understand that this is who I am and I am pleased with those aspects of myself. These words are not “lady-like.” They are not the overarching image of what a woman should be. If anything, they are more linked to how society expects men to act. The “but” talks I have received often bring up my lack of female-ness (I really didn’t want to use femininity as I don’t think it explains exactly what I am saying), attacking the few traits I have grown to like about myself.

These backhanded compliments work to corrode confidence and sew seeds of doubt into us; meant to soften the blow of something the giver feels is true, regardless of how the receiver feels. I don’t think every giver of the “but” talk does it to eat at the person on the receiving end. I think, unfortunately, it is seen as normal and acceptable… perhaps even the correct way to deliver something like that.

Take the following “but” statements:

“You would be prettier without all those piercings/a different hairstyle/your natural hair color.”

“You could be pretty/prettier if you lost weight.”

“I think you are beautiful but you should wear less makeup/more makeup/different clothes/etc.”

None of them say you are ugly or unattractive. They don’t point out a flaw directly but instead beat around the bush. When someone calls you out directly it is much easier to agree to disagree. You don’t like my fleek AF mohawk? That’s cool. I do and it is my head so… #ByeFelicia. Take away the direct negativity and add an ambiguous almost compliment, it gets a little murky. Instead of “hey, I think your hair is ugly/stupid/other negative whining” you get “You’re pretty but your hair really takes away from it/you’d look better with a different style.”

“But” talks and jabs like them work to place conditions on each other that are unfair and unnecessary. The underlying statement is, essentially, you are not what I envision x to be and think perhaps you should be more concerned with working toward what my ideal of x is. By addressing our own need to have the pieces of our world fit into the boxes we have been taught to assign them to, we put pressure on others to conform to something WE need instead of them becoming what THEY need. They are not good enough to fit the terms we want to assign them and instead of looking at how we can change our perspective, we work to exclude or shame. In a world where people are finally starting to understand how non-binary gender is and how antiquated our social idea of masculinity/femininity, it boggles my mind that this is still a thing. The "but" talk and talks like it should be less common but (ba dum tsssss) as those around become more enlightened it feels like it happens more often.

 

What does it say about us (not only as a society but also as individual beings) that as we encourage those in our lives to become comfortable as their truest self, advocating for each other to life authentically yet we fail them when that authenticity is too real and revert back to making them feel that they need to fit into our ideal vision of them?

 

Discussing "Dear Fat People"

** Hey Friends. Apologies for my lack of posts. Some personal stuff came up and took me out of the game for a bit. But, I am back! **

Canadian actress/comedian Nicole Arbour put out a YouTube video that is breaking the internet. Dear Fat People is her open letter to fat people in which she uses outdated, juvenile humor veiled as satire to shame and criticize fat people. Having a laugh at the expense of those who are fat is nothing new, so why is there been such an uproar about this video? People are making response videos. People of all body types. There has been an incredible amount of support for the fat community. The video and channel were flagged to YouTube and all content was taken off the channel for a few days. Some people are arguing this was a publicity stunt by Arbour (she tweeted out that she broke the internet with comedy and that satire is being censored) as everything, including Dear Fat People, has been restored and the number of views has skyrocketed.

I have watched this video twice, once out of curiosity and once to decide how I wanted to talk about it. While I don’t agree with her point of view, I don’t agree it should be taken down when there is MUCH worse out there. That being said, I won’t link the video because I don’t feel like the video deserves the viral attention it is receiving. Later in this post, I will post Whitney Way Thore’s response which includes clips of the original.

But let’s get back to what this video says and why it’s an issue.

It isn’t Arbour’s use of juvenile humor that is offensive, it is her insistence that she is doing fat people a favor by telling them this and that fat shaming is non-existent. Anyone who doesn’t fit into an “ideal” size gets shit for their body at some point. Whether it is looks or comments, it happens far more than it should. Since “fat” is considered one of the worst things you can call someone due to fatphobia and increasingly unattainable body ideals, the term fat is used to shame people of all body sizes. I have friends that are thin and hour glassed shaped who have men call them “fat bitches” (or worse) when they deny advances. If fat is the go to word to demean someone or shame them for something you do not agree with/want/do/whatever, then perhaps it isn’t something fat people just made up so others would feel sorry for us. She goes on to say that fat shaming is a great idea: we (fat people) should be shamed until we have better habits. BITCH, YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE. It doesn’t matter if you start the video off by saying if someone is fat because of a medical condition this isn’t aimed at them. That is the equivalent of telling someone off by starting with “with all due respect.” You can’t tell by looking at someone if they have a medical condition or are on a medication that has caused them to gain weight. Spoiler Alert, Nicole: It’s invisible. The kid you made fun of in your video could have a condition but you still feel the need to be unnecessarily cruel to and about them. I, for one, have PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) which in addition to making it 100 times harder to get pregnant and makes me grow in a full beard (watch out No Shave November office battle, I am kicking your ass this year), makes gaining weight as easy as breathing but losing it nigh impossible. Outwardly, other than the occasional five o’clock shadow, I look like everything is in fine working condition. The assumption that fat people are ticking time bombs of premature death is archaic at best. Yes, for some people there can be health complications but those same complications exist for everyone depending on their health and family history. Plus size doesn’t necessarily mean plus heart disease or plus diabetes as Arbour will happily tell you. She also likens the thought that obesity is a disease to someone being a shopaholic, and the idea of being body positive to being pro-meth use or smoking.

The problem with fat shaming, other than the obvious, is the lasting effect it has on people. There are numerous studies that prove an approach like that doesn’t work. Pretending to care about someone’s health to shame them into losing weight often has the opposite effect. It causes depression, further body dysmorphia, and in some cases can lead to self harm or suicide. Comments, however funny they are supposed to be (like Arbour’s suggestion that the natural aroma of fat people is sausage and that Crisco comes out of our pores or that our friends should be telling us what she is), matter. It isn’t a matter of needing to acquire thicker skin or more self confidence. When you are the punch line to everyone’s joke and made to feel less than, how are you supposed to gain confidence? Isn’t fat shaming (and similar tactics) meant to bring down confidence and keep things in a mythical state of status quo? Why are people so afraid to see fatties happy?

Fat happiness is a slap in the face to everything society tells us is correct. Much like women or poc (people of color for those who were unsure) or any other group that is seen as “lesser” being successful and strong or happy is seen as defiant. When so much time is devoted to making whole populations feel like something is wrong with them solely because of appearance, gender, race, what have you - to move past that and live life on your own terms is seen as a threat, a reason to tighten the reigns and inflict further tactics of oppression or ridicule. Fat is seen as acceptable in certain areas, as Arbour points out. She loves church going “big, black women” who can sing (...really? You had to go there?). That, to her and many others, is an acceptable type of fat. Older folks are ok too. Just about everyone else falls into the “YOU ARE A TERRIBLE HUMAN, IF I CAN EVEN CALL YOU THAT, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED. MY EYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS” category.

Whatever “bombs of truth” Nicole Arbour felt like she was dropping, fatties and non-fatties alike came out of the woodwork to discuss why this mentality is upsetting, unnecessary, and in some cases dangerous. Whitney Way Thore, star of the TV show My Big, Fat, Fabulous Life put out a response video as well. She was even on CNN about it. Which is phenomenal. A leap for all fat(and human)kind. Whitney also has PCOS (what up, Cyster?) and gets judged for things she can’t control. Her response:

Preach, Boo, Preach.

The biggest issue with Arbour's video, at least to me, isn't touched upon in Whitney's response. Nicole Arbour makes it a point to say that being fat is selfish as it takes you away from those that love you earlier than if nature took its course. If that kind of twisted guilt trip isn't enough, she ices this shit-cake with saying that she, our friends, our loved ones should be able to enjoy us as human beings. Direct quote "...enjoy you as human beings." DAFUQ?

Her message essentially is: Fat shaming isn't real. I, and my fellow fatties, smell of sausage and sweat Crisco. Being comfortable in my own body should be frowned upon. My friends are lying to me if they aren't telling me what a hideous blubber monster I am. And to top it all off, I am not human because of my size.

To discount my feelings to the point that I, and those like me, should feel inhuman for something like body shape/size is, honestly, fucking disgusting. This is the line of the video that I wish everyone was attacking. Forget her awful humor, terrible effects, and the fact that this a piss poor excuse for satire. People are jumping to her defense as well, agreeing with her message as if it were gospel. Those people are hearing that fat people are less than human. People who already have terrible self-esteem and depression are hearing that they are less than human. LESS THAN HUMAN. Let that sink in. No one tells you they could enjoy you as a human if you were a brunette instead of a blonde. We all deserve to be treated like we matter. All of us. Even assholes like Nicole Arbour. I have been pretty open about depression and anxiety here, and in the interest of keeping it 100% real, let me drop this bomb on you:

Most days, I feel less than human. Not just because I am fat, my size is something I have come to terms with for the most part, even if I lapse on feeling body positive sometimes. But because I feel unworthy of existence. For a variety of reasons. There are days I wish I could stop existing. Days I pray, hope, wish to just not be. Not to actually take my life (which I have thought of before) but just to vanish. To simply not be. While I do not act on it, there are others who do. And if they feel like I do, like I have, like I am sure I will continue to, a video like Nicole Arbour's might be the thing that they interpret as a sign that proves every negative thing to cross their mind.

This kind of trash is what pulls people into dark places they may never get out of. This is the kind of trash we need to defend our selves and our loved ones against. Because it isn't just fat people - it is just more acceptable to direct it at fat people. It is people of other races, other genders, gay people, trans people, it is everyone who has been held down because they disrupt a social "norm."

Tess Holliday, Fat Backlash, and Why I am Afraid

For those of you who do not know: Tess Holliday is a beautiful, majestic creature that we mere mortals are not worthy of.



 
For those of you who still do not know: Tess Holliday is a size 22 model who recently was on the cover of people magazine. THE COVER. She has also done Vogue Italia. And did a look book for Torrid. This is a big (ba dum tssss) (see what I did there?) deal.

               

    People on the left, Vogue Italia on the right. MAJECTIC CREATURE AMIRITE?!?!?!

This lady has brought plus-size to the plus-size modeling game. Traditionally, plus-size models were in the size 10-12 range. In my brain, anything over a 16 is plus-size as that is where you typically stop finding availability in stores. A lot of plus-sized retailers are pushing their size brackets further down - Torrid now starting at 12 and Lane Bryant at 14 for example. While I would love to argue what actually *is* plus, that is not for today.

With Tess' media visibility, we have a new plus-size icon. One that models plus-size cloths on a plus-size body. I truly mean no offense to the models in the 10-12 range that model the smaller end of plus-size clothes. Keep on, keepin' on. Y'all are beautiful.  It is just nice to see what an item would look like on a body similar to mine. It's humbling, inspiring, refreshing, and a little bit revolutionary. Something that had myself and many of my fat peers had access to growing up could have helped with body dysmorphia, self esteem, and a lot of other issues in a major way.

Unfortunately, we live in a society where making fun of or criticizing fat people (and yes, it is ok to say fat. I promise.) is still considered funny, valid, and completely acceptable. It is one of the last bastions assholes can hold on to and not get called out for when expressing their opinions. A sub-cockle of the internet where perceived anonymity and distance fuels self-righteous indignation that someone dare to be different than their perceived norm.

I understand fat people are not the only ones attacked online or in real life for their appearance. What I am saying is that it is still considered acceptable to do it. THAT is the problem.

Having someone like Tess, who is fearlessly and unapologetically herself, is something we (please understand this we as the fat folks of the universe) desperately need. People need to see those that mirror themselves in a positive light from an early age. We need role models of all shapes, sizes, races, religions, sexualities, genders - You name it, we (this time, I mean all of us, not just my fat folks) need it. But more than anything, we need role models that look like us. Strong people, trail blazing for those to follow.

Recently, the crop top has been a heated debate. Fearless fat babe and feminist Virgie Tovar wrote a Buzzfeed article about fat people in crop tops. Regardless of size, we shouldn't police women's bodies. Clothing is an expression of self and should not be mocked or ridiculed. Tess posted a totally adorable photo set of her in a crop top. The backlash on both Virgie's article and Tess' photo as well as anything that is close to fat-positive is met with so much vitriol it is nauseating to read. And I always read the comments. Because I am a glutton for punishment and terrific at making myself feel bad. Here is a tame example of the shit slinging people do:

Tess in all her adorable glory.

                      



Sadly, this truly is tame when it comes to the backlash fat people get for posting pictures on the internet. Especially if they look like they are enjoying themselves or consuming food/beverage. Even if as a fat person you live a healthy lifestyle, eat well/balanced, exercise, and/or have a great bill of health from your doctor people assume the worst and lecture you for your choices. And health is always the reason they do it. Looking out for your health, because you are promoting an unhealthy lifestyle, possible health issues in the future, etc. No one looks at the socio-economic ties. Or that some medications and conditions make you gain weight rapidly and make it almost impossible to lose said weight (look! a health reason that is legit!). While they may only be words, when younger people read these comments the linger effect can be devastating. Shit, it can be devastating to anyone...myself included.

Reading the comments, for me, is always a terrible idea. The negativity is consuming and crushing. Growing up fat without role models in the media was tough. I didn't feel right or normal or that I had worth. As an adult I still grapple with that daily. I may understand they are only words and opinions of people I will most likely never meet, the knowledge that this is how people could potentially feel about me breaks my spirit. I used to like the beach. I spent almost every day of the summer there or quite a few years. Now? Twice a year tops: the Fourth of July and our nephews' family birthday party. Why? Because I am fat. People don't want to see fat people at the beach.

To fear being in public at a place that was once a source of joy is the worst kind of mindfuck you can ask for. When a place of atonement (and one that made me feel connected to my family and roots) becomes a place of fear and anxiety, you lose a sacred thing. You lose a part of yourself and with that a great deal of dignity. For me, it doesn't end at the beach. It has carried over into most aspects of my life. The idea of being considered repulsive does not motivate me to lose weight. It makes me retreat into the darkest corners of my mind where I point everything wrong with me and let the weight (I did it again! ba dum tsss) of other people's opinions crush me.

If you have followed this blog, you may say "hold up, MPA. Aren't you in Rocky Horror? Don't you run around in very little in front of an audience?" Yes, I do. I play two of the less dressed roles (Janet and Dr. Frank-N-Furter) as well as one of the most covered (Magenta). I freak out about it before every show, right up until I am on stage. And then sometimes for the whole show. But I do it. As weird as Rocky Horror is, the community is often welcoming and hold the core belief of "Don't Dream it, Be it." I am still paralyzed with fright that I am too fat or ugly or terrible or repulsive to go out there. I push myself to help reclaim parts of my dignity and pride.

 

                                                       

Me, doing the thing. Trying to be brave. Hilariously blocking out my cast mates' faces

So, why am I talking about this? I wanted to cosplay The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl for Boston Comic Con. I was so down for this. But I read the comments. I let people's issues and negativity get the best of me. I retreated, allowing myself to be swallowed up in the storm of my own darkness and decided maybe it isn't the best choice. Even though she has on leggings/tights, she is still wearing a bathing suit. I know I could pull it off - For Christ's sake, I prance around in a corset on stage for 2 hours after a small breakdown...I got this - but my infantile confidence falters when I realize there will be pictures. And not ones I have consented to. I may become a punching bag for the internet and I just don't know if I am strong enough to handle that. I shouldn't have to fear this. No one should, yet this is the reality of being fat (and a woman) in our world.

Perhaps we need to sit back and really think about why we feel we can comment so negatively on others when we know nothing about them. Perhaps we need to think about how our actions and words, written or spoken, effect those they are aimed at as well as those reading or listening.

Until then, I am going to continue trying to be (unapologetically) my authentic self. And try to live by some of Tess' words: