I have been working on this post since long before
Charlottesville. A serious case of writer’s block and being incredibly busy during
summer left me without the ability to formulate coherent and relevant words,
though. I haven’t written since May. When you have the intention of producing
inspiring and quality writing once a month, with three children at home, one of
which has extra needs and the other being a baby, you realize quickly you have
bitten off more than you can chew. But then Charlottesville happened, and I
need to respond, because I hate being a white person when I see stuff like
that. It’s humiliating and divisive and makes the people I see every day wonder
if they are safe with me. It is so far from what I think or believe or feel
that I NEED to be sure to separate myself from it. More than that, WE need to
protect the people in harm’s way – because this crap is real and it is scary.
Additionally, I only want to provide you with, in the words
of George Jung, “Disco shit.” Because I am more than capable of putting
something out every month to get clicks and likes and stroke my little hobby
writer heart, but the truth is, that’s not what I am doing here. I want to
write to make you think. To heal your heart. To build camaraderie and community. Not
just a fluff thing I threw together right before my kids went to bed because I
need a few more likes on my facebook page – although those are always nice. As
a fat woman trying to exist in a place of self-acceptance and happiness, there
will always be experiences to write about or meanness to shine a light on. I
don’t need to beat a dead horse. I do, however, feel a strong need to inspire
change. And I am trying that in the sphere I exist in.
Fat mom’s, most of which are white, are my wheelhouse. I
know you. I am you.
I know what you may be thinking... “ANOTHER thing that is
going to tell me how racist I am... I’m not racist!!!”
I don’t think you are overtly racist. At least, I hope you
aren’t. I think most of my readers are people who hold doors for people,
regardless of skin tone. Who think children of color are precious and just as
full of potential to change this world as their own. Who want to do the right
thing and love people. We talk to people in line at the store and sit with the
people who are alone at tables.
Am I speaking your language now? You can be a good person
that has benefited from a racist system. It doesn’t make you lazy or scheming.
It doesn’t make you hooded and hateful. And it certainly doesn’t mean you
haven’t worked hard. But, denying that you benefited at all is ignorant at the
very least, and frankly, a privilege that shouldn’t be ignored.
See. As a fat woman with a southern drawl, I have been
marginalized. Not nearly as harshly or frequently as other groups of people,
but marginalized none the less. People have assumed things about me –
incorrectly – for most of my life. Those assumptions change with my waistline.
I have been able to grow empathy for other marginalized groups because I, too,
have been gawked at in a store. I have been spoken down to despite being
educated. People have assumed I am lazy.
Or stupid. Or incapable. Or just plain ‘ole not as good as them. To society,
the hard things in my life are a direct result of my own actions – because if
I’m fat I must creating my hardships.
I have been the odd man out for a long time. And, despite
that being hard and heartbreaking, I am so thankful for the perspective I have
grown.
Because while I have never been a person of color, or a
member of the LGBTQ community, or a religious minority (well, I was in a cult
for a while, but that’s for a different day), I have been a fat woman in a
society that created barriers, expectations, and standards that I simply don’t
meet. They drew a box that I don’t fit in – then villainized me for it. They
left me, and people like me, out of the equation.
Let me be clear I am not equating my experience with my
friends that are beautiful shades of brown. Or my loved ones that fight to love
openly. Or those scared to worship freely.
The thing about me that incurs the judgement can be changed.
I could reduce my calories. I could sweat. I could build my life around
shrinking my body. Grow my willpower through resisting delicious temptations. I
could stop cooking with butter. I could do all the things to make my body
acceptable. I can become what society
wants me to be; it’s an option for me. If I would just give into the voice that
is desperate for me to feel perpetually weak and tired from intentional
starvation. If I could just ignore the facets of my life that bring me joy to
spend endless hours in the gym. Yes, I could easily lose weight and be welcomed
into the box that I have been left out of... Inclusion is still an option for
me.
But it seems to be a non-option for folks who look, love, or
worship “differently.” My black friends can’t turn light. My gay friends can’t
turn straight. And my friends that aren’t Christian shouldn’t have to change
just to feel safe.
So, here is my small stand. My attempt to effect change. I
will not enter any box until the sweet black woman I met in the parking lot at
school the other day can, too. I will not step into a box where my Islamic
friend from high school is afraid for her daughter or parents. I will not step
into a box where my loved one born in the wrong body fears peeing in a public
restroom.
Take your box and shove it. The truth is, anyone holding the
idea that we don’t all have the right to happiness exists is a part of a dying breed. There are more of us
teaching our kids that “acceptance” of our friends that are marginalized really
means protecting them. Uplifting them. It is work – not passive.
To make this simple, one cannot say, “I believe in body
positivity” and NOT support the cause of equal rights for ALL. I cannot say,
“it’s unfair for clothing stores to not carry cute clothes for me” while ignoring
overt racial inequality. I cannot truly advocate for a recognition of the
impact of societal regulation of women’s bodies while people in this country
are scared for their children to play outside. It makes no sense to say “I
should be accepted as I am” and not fight for others to be accepted as they
are.
As my daddy would say, “what’s good for the goose is good
for the gander!”
So. Here it is. A promise to my readers and friends that
have lived a different life from me. I have your back. You are safe with me. If I see something
wrong, I will do what I can to fix it. I will protect your children with same
ferocity with which I protect my own. I will use my votes and my dollars to keep
people in power who promise the same to you and yours. I will march.
And, perhaps most importantly, I will not deny the privilege it is to be white – even while
fat.
