Weight, scientifically defined, is simply the force of
gravity exerted on an object. How much effort does it take the Earth to keep
your feet on the ground. To express that numerically, you’ll need to open your
calculator and google the equation because I’m not in the mood to teach a
science class.
People stand on scales every day to measure how much gravity
is holding them down. Sometimes two different scales, used merely seconds apart
from each other, yield completely different numbers. One scale might say you
are using more or less gravity than another scale. Gravity usage can even be
measured differently; some folks use kilos and here - in the good ‘ole U.S. of
A - we use pounds.
Somehow though, as a society, we have managed to take this
scientific measure of gravitational pull and turn it into a measure of
self-worth. A tool by which we assign value to others. Instead of being happy
that we are grounded and alive, a lot of times, depending on what number we get
when we measure our gravity usage, and what others think of our gravity usage,
we can experience a myriad of feelings. Happy. Sad. Proud. Embarrassed.
Confused. Relieved. Discouraged. Reassured.
But honestly, shouldn’t we just be happy we’re not floating
off into space? Shouldn’t we be happy that gravity is not a finite resource?
There is plenty of gravity to go around!
But alas, weight loss is a multibillion dollar industry.
Children, in particular little girls, are driven to eating disorders by unachievable
media depictions of how bodies are "supposed" to look. Just as recently as this
week, I even read a comment by an ignorant blogger who thinks the only thing a
woman needs to be attractive is to “be thin and have long hair.” I neither have long hair nor am thin. I was also
emailed by someone who read one of my blog post asking me why I am so angry,
then assuming my anger is frustration with my own “inability” to lose weight. Like the "Madeline" books, I simply say, "poo-poo!"
By any means, we have allowed the world to convince us that making assumptions about the characters of anyone who uses more gravity (or is different in just about any way, really.) That being even a little bit fat means you are unworthy of all
things this life offers, so it's ok to be unkind or cruel or unreasonable. As a fat mom, often times those judgements do not rest with me, but extend to my kids and our family as a whole.
Yikes.
Truthfully, I bought into this for a long time. Obsessing
about what the scale says, and equating it to what I was worthy of. Worried someone might know my jeans are somewhere
between a 14 and an 18, and usually made of stretchy material. Over the last
year, I have gone back and forth on how I feel about my body and the number
that measures the pull of gravity on it. One day, I would appreciate what I am
able to do with my body; that I am healthy and strong, and that I feel good.
Another day, I would be saddened that I jiggle when I laugh and have to buy
clothes bigger than many stores carry. One thing that has remained consistent,
is that others typically view me negatively initially. I usually have to prove to folks that I am a good and decent soul before my kids are invited to play. I have to prove that we are clean, healthy, and honest... I have to prove these things in a way that I don't often see my thinner counterparts don't have to.
For a long time, I have believed that I am not worthy of the
beauty in my life because of my weight; because I kept having to prove things. Dating back to even elementary school,
I remember feeling lucky to even have friends. Never mind that I am hilarious and
kind. Never mind that I am smart and selfless. Never mind that I am reliable
and honest… I felt lucky because I had people willing to be around me even
though my body took up more space than theirs.
This feeling of being “lucky” has persisted into my adult
life. I have a handsome husband, who earns a good living and worships only God
and the ground I walk on. I have three gorgeous, healthy kids, that light my
soul on fire with happiness and love. I have gotten to travel parts of the
world that others only dream about. I have a comfortable home and even Disney
season passes. I have all the things I could ever need, and most of the things
I want. And I have wasted several years buying into the notion that I don’t
deserve any of it because I am fat.
For the last year, I have been doing a lot of soul
searching. Trying to define my worth and value so I can feel free.
It wasn’t luck that made this life for me. It was hard work
paying off. It was honesty and love in the moments where hate or dishonesty
would have been easier. It was doing hard things when no one was looking.
Simply put, I am learning that I, in fact, deserve this life I have worked for,
even though I am fat.
I have lived most my life at least a little bit fat. I have
also lived most my life trying to lose the weight. I have suffered from an
eating disorder and I have worked out until I passed out. I have counted
calories and run holes in shoes in an effort to use less gravity. But no matter what I have done, I have always
taken up more space. Because of this, I have not only carried extra weight, but
I have also carried the heavy judgements of others. Especially as a mother, I’ve
noticed my parenting under a microscope that focuses with a weight based lens.
I have come up with a small list of some common assumptions
made about parents who are overweight. I am also going to provide
corrections...
1. I feed my children junk. This is
exceptionally funny to me! My kids are actually really healthy eaters. My
oldest could live on avocados and raspberries, and my son is a moderately picky
3 year old. The baby, well, she still subsides mostly on breastmilk, because
The Fat Mom Does Breastfeed. They get a fresh fruit and vegetable at every
meal. My kids help in the kitchen, too. They cook and clean up with me quite
often... We don’t drink juice, except for family breakfast on Saturday. We eat
every meal at home at the dinner table, together as a family... To assume that
because I am fat that my kids are doomed to a life of fast or processed food,
gobbled down while we watch TV, is narrow minded and ignorant on any soul sad
enough to make such a harsh, and unfounded, judgement.
2. I don’t play with my kids. I jump on
the trampoline. I swim. I play hide and seek. We do artwork, schoolwork, and
read books. I have scaled the play structures at the park. I get on the floor a
lot to roll around and wrestle. My kids have pretty restricted screen time
compared to a lot of their peers; anyone with kids knows that not using a
screen means you have to be an involved parent, and I am. Very much so.
3. I am not smart. I have an accent. It
gets pretty thick when I am getting after my kids. The combination of this
accent and my wide ass tends to make others assume I am uneducated. To go
further, that I am not smart. I am both very educated and very smart. People
are of course welcome to disagree with that, but I have three degrees (one of
which is a B.S. in Nutrition) and a keen ability to see a bigger picture that
would classify my as such. I also took a bunch of AP classes in high school...
so... yeah... still hanging onto that one.
4. My marriage is without passion. I am
going to take the high road with this because I don’t want to scare readers off
with my third post. There will, at some point in the future, be a post that addresses
fat intimacy, because despite what the media shows us, fat sex is a thing that
really happens. In this house, it happens a lot. (Clutch.Those.Pearls.)
5. I am only working out to lose weight. I
love the gym. As a matter of fact, just this morning I got to go back after a
two month break (my old gym closed and I had to wait for the new gym to open
the childcare area...) and I remembered how much I love sweating and being
strong. I am healthy. Not that it would make a difference if I wasn’t, but I
am. I am not working out to lose weight. I am working out to take care of my
body... Still, others who work out at the same time as me tend to address me as
an inferior because my body size.
6. I am lazy. I addressed this a little in
my Instagram post. Lazy is the most common assumption made about people who are
overweight. When you add being a parent to that mix – well – the judgments
extend to your kids, and that’s just not cool. I can run circles around a lot
of folks. For anyone who disagrees, I ask them to spend a day with me. From sun
up to sun down. Be the parent I am. Be the wife and friend and citizen I am...
then have the audacity to call me lazy...
I am inclined to address that I am lucky enough to be quick
enough to counter the harsh criticisms, backhanded compliments, and ignorant
comments I have received. It is upsetting
to others that I am no longer going to berate and disrespect myself until my
body fits the societal depiction of what deserves the life and love I have. I
am pretty great.
Since body positivity is a new concept in society, I am
inviting anyone who has ever reduced their contributions in their own life to “luck”
based on the assumptions of others, to follow along with me. There is no end to
this. I am not working towards an after; I am simply living. And I hope you are
doing the same.
