The Chair and This Blog

At the risk of sounding vain, several people have indicated to me that they would like to see more of my writing. I also find writing about things I find important to be cathartic. The literary release keeps me from assaulting strangers who either don’t know better or don’t want to know better, and therefore display less than savory behaviors. So here we are. I am writing with the intention and hope that an audience reads.

Over the last month, I have worked on an introductory post for this new blog. While that original post is beautiful and meaningful, it’s not what I am going to use to present this new project to you. You’ll get it at some point, either dissected and used as Frankenstein parts of other posts, or it’ll be shown in its entirety... we shall see. But last weekend I had an experience too good not to share. It was so perfectly timed I felt as though the Universe herself was saying, “Here… use this, please! I believe in you!”  

To preface - I write about what I care about, and while I care about a lot of things, the object of my most recent nagging obsessions - that’s been just oozing out into nearly all of my Instagram captions over the last year - is self-acceptance and body positivity. It has been pounding on the doors of my brain and I want to share the thoughts and my journey in body positivity, with you.  In December of 2015, I made a new year’s resolution to not avoid my own reflection. Since then, have been learning lessons about accepting who I am left and right. At some point, I will post that original post, but to introduce this blog to you, I want to tell you a story about what happened to me last weekend.

My daughter goes to a fairly progressive school. They use a method of interacting with the children called Conscious Discipline. Google it because it can change the dynamic you have with your kids, especially if they are whiny or combative! In an effort to provide children with consistency and support to become their best selves, the school offers seminars covering how to implement Conscious Discipline in your home, free of charge.

See? Progressive. We love it.

Since we missed the seminars the school offered in the fall, we decided to catch the last one before the school year is over. It is divided up into three classes that are two hours each instead of the longer classes that meet fewer times. It is perfect for us; and apparently every other family that didn’t want to attend the longer classes in the fall. See, my mom can sit with our kids for about two hours before she is on the verge of a breakdown, so meeting for two hours three times over a couple of months, is much more manageable than meeting for 3+ hours one time. You with me?

We were running a few minutes behind, and we rushed into the meeting shortly after it had begun. As we signed in, I scoured the relatively full auditorium for anyone I might recognize from my sporadic PTA attendance. I spot a few people I know, but there are no open seats near them. So we scoot about halfway up the isle where there is a completely empty row on the left side of the room. There are about 40 people in attendance, but the atmosphere is warm and open; people are chatty and welcoming despite the speaker having already started.

Then I sat down.

I went from standing to being laid out on the floor in the literal blink of an eye. The room went from warm and welcoming, to silent and void of oxygen. Initially, I was confused about what had happened. But, as the speaker started asking those nearby to check on me, and a crowd of people gathered, I realized what had happened:

I had broken a chair.

As a woman who weighs well over 200 pounds (I KNOW! Clutch your pearls, ladies and gents, because I am gonna tell you my actual weight in a few paragraphs! And my jeans size!) this could be humiliating. For thinner folks, the public assumption in a situation like this is automatically that the chair must have been faulty. When you are fat, even if it’s just a little bit fat, the assumption shifts, and you are viewed as capable of collapsing a handcrafted steel reinforced chair easily with the weight of your ass. To clarify, this was an old rusted flimsy folding chair that I would not have sat in had I arrived on time and not been rushed!

As I sat up from my super graceful descent, my manic inner dialogue went something like this:

“Ow, my head. Is my leg bleeding?  Is there someone fatter than me in one of these chairs? Am I really the fattest mom here? Crap, I tore my leggings! Nope! She is fatter than me! I should wink at her. Where did my pen go? It was my good pen! They are all looking at me, quick make a joke so they stop looking!”

So, because I am insanely charming, with quick wit, I compose myself and loudly announce, “I just wanted to let everyone know that I am here!” Then I mouthed and motioned for the speaker to continue.

The truth is, though, as I shooed away people trying to help, I was actually hurt. I have a 2-inch gash on my leg that bled throughout the seminar, and I hit my head hard enough to leave a nice sized goose egg and bruise. But because I am larger than most people, and have been my whole life, I get very uncomfortable in settings where people stare at me. I am conditioned to assume they are thinking the worst of me, because historically, the judgement placed upon people like myself at times like this is:

IF I WASN’T SO FAT *IT WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED.

[*It is often whatever negative situation has befallen said fat person. For example, “Clothes would fit if you weren’t so fat.” “Boys would like you, if you weren’t so fat.” “You could have gotten that job, if you weren’t so fat.”]

You follow?

Within 45 seconds, I knew I could not appear to be injured despite being so. There could be no weakness displayed on my part. It’s always been my defense mechanism to protect me from ridicule – pretending I’m indestructible. Being funny. And being smart. And ALWAYS being one step ahead.

What was interesting about this whole situation is that is was a direct challenge to the positive vibes I have been preaching lately. I traded my fitspo for body positivity on Instagram. I am no longer telling my kids that fat is a bad word – because it’s not (that is an entirely different post.) I have been taking time for myself, doing things I have long neglected like tweezing my eyebrows and buying new jeans. I make a point of looking in the mirror every day and I taking pictures with my kids.

So, why, when I am doing “all the right things” did I still shun the help when I needed it? Why was I afraid of the perceptions people would have if I had said the chair was broken? Why did I let it become a thing about my weight?

I’ll tell you why. Because, despite being incredibly inspired by beautiful and diverse women who are body positivity gurus on social media, and being an incredibly loved woman, I am still only at the beginning of a journey to love myself. Undoing 32 years of both illicit bullying and less intentional body shaming takes time. And effort. And forgiveness. And help.

The thing is, most of you have something about yourselves that makes you feel like I do about being fat. This blog is about embracing all the things that make people feel different, overlooked, or left out, not just weight.

So, I am putting my 250-pound self out there, in my size 16/18 jeggings, for all of us. To reclaim the life I have let slip away from me for fear of persecution. This is what The Fat Mom Does is about:

This blog will be my journey in doing the things I have been waiting to do until I lost weight – Because I am no longer waiting for my after picture.

This blog will be an account of me contributing all that I have held back for fear that I would be ridiculed –
Because I am smart, kind, and hilarious, and the world needs me right now, in the body I have.

This blog will be the story of me accepting the role I have played in building the beautiful life I get to live –
Because I am not simply lucky; I have earned every bit of this.

Because this fat mom wants a better world for any person that has ever felt different or left out or looked over.

Because if the worst thing someone has to come at me with is some variation of "You’re fat” then I must be doing a pretty damn good job of living a good life.

Because my kids, your kids, OUR KIDS need to see adults giving all they have, so they know they can give it all they have, too.

I hope you follow along with me.