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

#effyastandahds B-I-N-G-O

The Husband was enlisted to help me name this game. Fat Freedom bingo was what he came up with. And I love it. But I hemmed and hawed about it being too exclusionary. My main issue was that so many people have issues with their bodies and many of the items on the list are "trouble areas" to them. My goal here is to give a large middle finger to society here. So I changed it. Effyastandahds (can you tell where I am from?) seemed to sum up my feelings on this completely bananas idea that we should police each other's bodies and clothing and actions.

Rules, ways to get extra points, prize info, and bingo card are below. I hope those of you participating have fun and those who aren't enjoy the photos as they are posted! Here's to a happy summer spent breaking barriers and smashing the patriarchy.

-MPA

#effyastandahdsbingo

Rules:
-You don't have to be fat or identify as female to play! Join your fat friends in standing up to some truly stupid ideals and take some really cute selfies in the process.
-Take a photo of yourself doing or wearing some of the "Forbidden" things listed on the bingo card.
-Traditional bingo rules apply. To achieve bingo, you need all 5 items in a horizontal line, vertical line, or diagonal line.
-Multiple entries are allowed.
-When posting photos: if you have an app of collaging, it will totally make your life easier. If not, post all pictures that apply. They can be posted here in the comments, on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook. Please post once all five at once.
-Photos should be tagged with your name as well having me tagged in the comments (so I can easily find them): Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/cupcakesandcrossbows /Tumblr- tfdmelissa / Twitter- cupcakesnxbows / and Insta- whofavorsfire. Please also use the following tags: #ccacb #effyastandahdsbingo
-Winners will be selected at my discretion with no preference given to those I know personally. If the decision gets tough, I may rope The Husband in to help.
-All submissions must be posted by Labor Day (The last real summer weekend! September 7.)

Extra Credit
Extra points will be awarded for:
-Incorporating donuts into a picture for the free space (No picture necessary as it is the free space).
-Wearing the Target trophy t-shirt OR making a #takingbackTROPHY shirt (please tag these with #takingbackTROPHY as well!).
-Following me on Facebook or subscribing to the blog.

Prizes:
-There will be 5 prizes awarded, one of which will be the Grand Prize.
-What they are, or monetary value, is currently TBA. But I promise it will be fun and not expensive.
-Winners will be notified by private message as well as announced on the blog. I will not use photos without the permission of those that submit them.



Things Fat People Shouldn't Do

I have been giving a lot of thought to the idea that there are things people should and shouldn't do based on the feelings of others. This excludes things that are harmful, mean, break the golden rule we all learned in elementary school...things like that. What I am talking about are things that are merely part of existing, like eating in public or being seen grocery shopping. Exercising in public. Dancing. Being on an airplane. Simply being happy. I am a live and let live kinda gal. Your life is your business, enjoy as you please as long as it doesn't bring me harm. #hippiefeels I mean...I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...

While perusing The Militant Baker's blog http://www.themilitantbaker.com/ , I came across her list of 25 things fat people "aren't supposed to do." Naturally, I then googled things fat people shouldn't do and ended up on Reddit. Reddit can be a beautiful place but more often than not, it is the playground of people with nothing better to do then put down literally everyone else on the planet. Between these two, I compiled a list of things fat people aren't supposed to do or aren't supposed to wear.

The List of clothing we "can't/shouldn't" wear:
Shorts
Crop tops
Skinny jeans
Bathing suits (all of 'em, -kini or otherwise)
Short sleeves
Tanks/no sleeves
Mumus
High-waisted pants
Anything that draws attention to the belly area or has a VBO (Visible Belly Outline)
Bold Colors
Bold Prints (including geometric, animal, and ya know, everything else)
Short skirts and dresses
Anything tight
Leggings
Horizontal stripes

Now that I own nothing suitable for a fat person to wear, let's look at what we aren't supposed to do:
Eat. Especially in public. (FOR SHAME!)
Swim
Sun bathe
Ride a bike
Trampoline
Cosplay
Sit on plastic things - What if it breaks?!?!?!?! Oh noooooooooooooooooooo.
Ride on an airplane - the horror.
Dance
Run
Do yoga
Grocery shop
Cook or bake
Purchase/consume fast food, and Dunks/Starbucks counts. (If it has to do with food, consider it on this list fo' reals.)
Sit at a booth - Too snug a fit, yo!
Swing on a swing set
PDA of any kind
Be happy.


What are we going to do with this list? BINGO. We are going to play bingo while smashing misconceptions and, if we are lucky, the patriarchy.

Tomorrow I will post the card here, on Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr. Rules to be announced then. And, yes, there will be prizes.

The "Dressing Up" Experiment

It's a fairly well known fact that getting a new 'do can make you feel like a million bucks. Fresh hair easily corrolates to fresh attitude. Last night, I did not put myself down at all while having an intimate discuss with The Husband. I even went as far as pointing it out. It went like this--paraphrased to keep the identity of the innocent secret and because I can:

MPA: Beautiful Amazon friend's butt would be much better to bongo on than mine.
TH: ZOMG, you have a good butt. Blah, blah, blah (*please read that the way Ke$ha sings it).
MPA: Silencio. I didn't say anything negative about my tush. I am merely pointing out that the shape of hers--
TH: YOUR'S HAS A GOOD SHAPE!
MPA: I am not saying anything bad about my butt. I am just pointing out that the shape of hers is better for bongoing and would be, in terms of tone, much better than mine. I am in no way saying mine is bad.

Boom.
It happened. I didn't put myself down. I could have. It would have been so easy to slip a quick dig in, but I didn't. It was weird. And surprising. But strangely nice.

So, I decided to take that and run with it. Knowing I am capable of not being terrible to myself coupled with the notion that altering something about yourself can equal a new 'tude, I decided to create an experiment. If I dress up, will it impact the way I view myself/help me further this being nice to myself thing I have going on?

Step back, y'all! I am doing (social)science.

 

 

Here is the formula:

 

(SpH*2) + (GgS/Mu*SkCardie)/HSg= New MPA

 

For those of you not up on my COMPLETELY made up fashion math:

SpH=Spikey Heel

GgS= Gold glitter Skirt

Mu= Make-up

SkCardie= Skull Cardigan

HSg= Hot Sunglasses

 

I've discussed make-up before. Black eye liner, gold and neon eyeshadow, and oxblood lipstick go a LONG way in my book.

 

The shoes are TEH SEX.

The outfit is cute. and easy. I told The Husband I felt like a fat hooker and that I was totally ok with it.

Here are the results:

I feel like people are looking at me differently. Like they feel like I am a put together person.

I feel like I look good. I even complimented my legs with hte heels on.

I have not turned any compliment into a negative.

I don't feel better about myself/more confident/anything like that.


Verdict?
I clean up well, but looking #swankyasfuck does not make me feel better about myself.

TMI Time! Fat Girl Problems: The Search For Sexy

**This post will, toward the end, discuss a sexual encounter with The Husband. It is fairly detail-less and not at all porn-y but the disclaimer is there.**
 
I follow some body positive blogs on the internet and tumblr. While I identify with those that lean on the more fat positive (duh.), I feel strongly that it is just as hard to be “too” skinny as well. Lately, a lot of the blogs I have looked at are focusing on larger women wearing whatever they damn well please (Fatkinis, crop tops and leggings, etc) regardless of our fatphobic culture. The idea is to own your largeness instead of being afraid of it. To find what makes you the whole motherfucking package to someone. But mostly, to see the beauty others seen in you and feel sexy (so scandalous for a fattie!) in your skin.

 

How does one feel sexy while fat while living in the good ol’ USofA? Is it lingerie? Is it walking around the house naked as a jaybird while telling yourself you are sexy? Is it wearing whatever you please, whenever you please and not internalizing the stares or comments?

 Clearly, I have no idea. I never have. Sexy is not something I feel. There are days why the jiggle of my thighs or the swaying of my arms/wings doesn’t bother me. Days when my double chin doesn’t disgust me to some degree. For years I stopped going to the beach on the premise that I was doing others a favor-they didn’t have to see me in a bathing suit. In all actuality, it was my deepest fear that people would stare and make comments-or mistaken me for a very white, beached whale that had this misfortune of eating a plus-sized swimmer before getting tangled in her tragically ugly clearance one-piece. I mean, Jeezey Creezey, I have been in a Rocky Horror cast on and off since high school and two weeks ago wore the least I have ever worn in a show (It was a bitchin’ Eve costume I made for an Epic Rap Battle pre-show). Even then all I kept saying to The Husband and anyone who listened was how naked I felt. But the subtext there was not that I was showing a lot-I wore a tunic length tank top with a garter belt, two pairs of underwear, and fishnet thigh highs (in the RHPS that is pretty damn covered!)-but more that I felt like I looked… Fat.

Now, I am fully aware of my size. I 100% am fat. There is no sugar coating that. The word fat doesn’t bother me. If anything, the only term that bothers me is the hushed way people describe you as “a bigger girl.” Just grow a pair, say fat, and move on. Obviously I looked fat. You can’t hide what you are. My concern wasn’t that I hoped I somehow looked less large than usual… but that I looked fat in a way that makes thinner people look at me with pity. The look that toes the line between feeling bad that I look the way I do and being disgusted that I have the audacity to dress in so little in front of them. This look is what has made me take a back seat in the show since high school. I can count one hand the times I have played a major role in the show. Each one had options for remaining fully clothed. Each pre-show I was in kept with that trend. I spent most of my time doing tech work or stage managing.

 Recently, I lost a little weight. I am not trying to diet. I am trying to eat better: less take out, less meat, and more veggies. I am trying to limit gluten so I don’t spend hours in pain. Exercise and I have a very limited relationship. Will that change? Yes. Not because I feel like I need to be a size 2 but because I want the next big adventure in my life to involve children and I need to take care of myself before I can take care of others. This weight loss isn’t major. It’s a step in feeling more comfortable in my skin. Comfortable but not sexy. I give far fewer fucks about my thighs jiggling or touching or the inevitable chub-rub I get when wearing skirts and dresses. In an effort to embrace this new-ish me, I decided to leave the lights on during sexy-time with The Husband. *Please note, this incident took place at the height of my weight loss a few months ago* Lights on. All jiggly parts visible. Not cowering in the dark or hiding under a blanket. I, for the first time in recent memory, attempted to own my largess. Things were going quite well, until I looked at my shadow.

 What possessed me to look to the side where the wall was is unknown. But there, where my back should be was a tsunami of back fat that rippled and threatened to break on my head, drowning me in an eddy of shame. I could feel it move but it wasn’t until I saw it that everything came crashing (da dum tsss) down. If I can see this, how terrible must it be for him? The current is moving away from him, so I guess it is ok? How disgusting am I? How grossed out must he be that this is what he married? I have waves of back fat that could devastate a small island nation. And then I started crying. Uncontrollably. And then weeping. Unable to breath, weeping, panic attacking, nauseated, nose running, hot mess crying. Nothing gets you a one way ticket out of boner-ville like the above stated trauma. Naturally, The Husband handled it like a champ assuring me he did not feel that way and that I was beautiful, etc. It didn’t help. If anything, it made me feel worse. This is when I really jumped off the better eating wagon. Which naturally made me feel even more terrible about myself.

What have I learned from this? I have no idea how to feel sexy. Wearing next to nothing: Epic Fail. Losing weight and lights on sexy time: Epic Fail. Maybe the answer is to get a crop top and some (more) leggings. Maybe the answer is using RHPS to put myself out there more in front of others. Until then, I will rock my graphic tees, jeans, and cardigans while lamenting it isn’t cool enough out for tent-like sweatshirts.

-MPA