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

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."

Reflecting on a Rough Week

This week has been a tough week for The Husband and I. On Saturday, our bank account got cleaned out by fraudulent activity. While our bank has been really great to work with, not having money for gas and groceries was hard. Luckily, we have great family and friends that helped us out and gave us support.

With being exceptionally broke comes exponentially worse depression and anxiety. At a time when I should be happy (women can vote in Saudi Arabia now! Ms. Marvel won at the HUGOs!), I feel less sure of myself than usual. If you tuned in prior to my Tess Holliday post (ya know, my taking off point in terms of views and interest), you are aware that I am kind of a Debbie Downer. I second guess myself, worry over everything, think I am never enough, and constantly search for a place that feels like "home" should. With the uptick in anxiety and depression, I tend to pull back into myself and over-analyze everything that comes my way.

Today is no different. As I posted a while ago (at least I think I did) that I pitched a few articles to XO Jane. It's been a few weeks and I still haven't heard back. Rationally, I understand they get swamped with submissions and it is possible that they haven't gotten to it yet or that silence is their way of passing (which is pretty normal in the freelance world from what I understand). I got really amped earlier in the week because Marie Claire UK is running a contest for a plus size columnist. You had to submit a sample column and Tess Holliday would be reading/picking the winner. I went back to check it yesterday to confirm I had all the rules and parameters correct and they updated the listing to limit the applications to UK residents only. This is understandable as the retail choices are different there than they are in the US. Understandable, but crushing. I felt like I somehow had a solid chance at this as the parameters for the column were not limited to fashion. It was a 6 column gig that I thought could be a great stepping stone. And it will be for whoever gets it, just not for me.

It is a strange feeling to have a surge of confidence and have it ripped away literally in the time it takes a page on the internet to load. Being someone who is generally the polar opposite of confident, I was riding that wave like I was a pro surfer. XO Jane may have passed over me because my pitches were weak, but this was an actual article submission. My challenge here was brevity, not content. Brevity I could master. I convinced myself I could conquer the world for a day and a half. Flying higher than usual (and I can pinpoint that last time I was that confident: January 17, 2015 at approx. 9PM  EST, immediately following a panel at Arisia I was on - and crushed - about slut shaming. Although, I was probably the most confident in my life after that.), I was brainstorming ideas and planning out the column. I was thinking about how this could launch me into something more fulfilling than my current job. For a brief, shining moment everything felt ok and normal and possible. I read the edit in the rules, took the gut punch reading it gave me, and tried to push it from my mind. With terrible emotions running high, that could not be done. I have spent most of today working and looking at other publications for freelancing opportunities. Each one I click, even if it doesn't have crazy hoops to jump through, makes me take a mental step back to a place where I let self doubt wash over me and soak into my soul like some freaky form of osmosis. I have continually beat myself up for daring to hope and daring to feel like I was capable of landing such a great gig.

Self doubt, lack of confidence/self-esteem, anything of that nature is so detrimental to the spirit. It zaps creativity, creates inner turmoil, and makes one feel less than. This made me think about how I got here. How did I arrive at a place barren of something so essential? My parents encouraged me. My family always seemed to support me (even if now I feel a bit like the black sheep). No one stood in the way of me being creative or bookish. I was always a fat kid and was teased but it wasn't that. At least not until later in my teens was that an issue. I was often the teacher's pet or close to it, with a Hermione Granger complex about grades. There were some rivals but we always engaged in light hearted one-ups-manship. Boom. There it is. The rivalries.

I was a know it all, smug, nerd. My biggest rival was a know it all, smug, cool kid. We would argue over spelling and test scores in fifth grade. He was brilliant, and a ginger (kind of. Fun Fact: My ginger love started at 6 - he was 7 and befreckled and beautiful and perfect. It has lasted since then). Popular but not sporty. I thought I was also brilliant and while not popular or sporty or edgy decided this could be love. We got into a heated argument about spelling test scores one day. The test included the word rendezvous. There must have been a mishap where I razzed him for spelling it wrong because upon revealing his score was higher than mine he said that was the word I must have gotten wrong (PS: It wasn't. You didn't believe me then, but it wasn't that) and then proceeded to violently scream out the spelling at me - which is how I still hear it spelled in my head today. This only made me love this kid more. I was weird then, I'm weird now. But he was the one that ended up launching the cascading effect of my loss of confidence and what would be my too cool for school attitude. I was a reader. Anything I could get my paws on I devoured. So confident in my ability to read, I always volunteered to read out loud in class when it was an option. We were reading The House of Dies Drear. To this day, I remember nothing of the book except this event. I got picked to read. I started off just as sure of myself as usual but came across a word I was unsure of. Instead of stopping and asking, I attempted to soldier through. I read it, voice quivering, leaving a half hearted question mark on the end of it like I was searching for approval that I got it right. He snickered. He laughed with his friends, making fun of me in their little corner. Face hot with embarrassment, I continued on until it was someone else's turn and spent the rest of the day mortified. It was not love. Well, not for him. The adults were wrong. Teasing wasn't a sign he liked me. Teasing was just teasing. It was mean and hateful and robbed me of confidence. I stopped offering to read as much. I stopped caring about comparing grades. As I went through the rest of school, I shirked off home work and projects. I stopped reading as much. I lost the desire to commit to academics. This lead to declining grades in high school and dysfunction in college.

What I should have learned that day was that even though I thought I knew everything I needed to know for a 10 year old, I stumbled and had to learn something new. I should have understood that people learn new things all the time and that one slip up can lead to doors opening. All I saw was doors closing. I took away from this that I would never be smart enough for what I wanted.

Messed up, right? But in retrospect, it makes tons of sense. I tied my intellectual appeal to my general appeal - if I am smart and clever and funny they will obviously adore me. Though I understand this wasn't his way of rejecting me (he probably was unaware of said childish love), it wasn't his way of bullying me... He was smug jerk who took advantage of my fall from fifth grade grace to try to cement himself as smarter than me. Unfortunately for me, I internalized it and kicked off 20 years of overanalyzing every thing I do. I became my biggest critic and enemy that day.

From 6th grade on, I let my feelings control how I proceeded through school. I let them shut me down and paralyze me with fear. It is probably why I changed my major so many times: I couldn't commit to one pursuit. To attempt to master something meant potential failure. Failure meant coming face to face with not being good enough. I didn't finish college. I have nothing to show for my time there. Instead, I try to proceed like a ramshackle jack of all trades. I can still be a know it all but being the master of none means I can be content, yes? No. It is another thing I look back on as another stupid mistake. Not having a degree, not pursuing and dedicating my life's work to something makes it hard to find meaning. I makes it impossible for me to feel confident in searching for career fulfillment. Every door I see ajar comes with the requirement of a degree. In fearing failure, I have in fact failed myself (and in my mind those who supported me). Lamenting on that is dangerous if you already feel so broken. Doing so makes me feel trapped, caged in a life I hadn't planned for. Living a life so different than the one I assumed I would be living at this point.

Even when we are joking around, teasing, whatever, our words have a greater impact on those that hear them than we know. He probably doesn't remember that that exchange happened (secretly I hope he remembers the rendezvous part because that is HILARIOUS). The fact that I can pinpoint it in my mind after 20 years as where I started to fall apart is the problem. I became really jaded in middle school. I was never the best me possible, never the nicest or most understanding. It worries me that I had that kind of effect on someone inadvertently. We are so quick to defend things we say as meaning nothing but when we all bring our own unique experiences to the table, how can we be so dismissive? #deepthoughts

TL;DR - Small things matter. Confidence is easy to lose but hard to gain.