FAT is not a four letter word.I applaud anyone's
determination to manage their health and well-being, physical and
emotional. However, with everyone from parents to society, and now even
schools becoming the fat police, this this makes me see red! Why?
Because it does not help. Instead it (paradoxically,
counter-productively, ironically, cruelly) creates an environment in
which eating disorders and body dysmorphia thrive.
As
someone who has spent all of her adult life on the other end of the
scale (pardon the pun), I am a prime example of the damaging effects of
harping on the fear of fat. When I was 13, I was 5'2 and I weighed 137
lbs. My petite mother panicked and dragged me to the doctor, beginning a
life-long cycle of diets and weight gain, strict regimented eating or
binging, and continual self-denigration. As a result, I have "yo-yo"ed
between sizes 16-24 for my entire adolescent and adult life. It has
taken me 32 years from that day to overcome the damage to my spirit and I
am just starting to overcome the damage to my body.
We
have to combat the zeitgeist of fat phobia - the last widely
permissible (even lauded) bigotry. The very word, "fat", has become
overloaded with anxiety and negative values. It has taken on hugely
disproportional connotations of shame and mortification, and no longer
functions as noun or adjective, but rather is used almost as a swear
word. With the onslaught of media messages, from reality shows and
"helpful" talk shows, the fashion industry to news reports of the latest
"studies" on obesity, it is very easy to be caught up in the social
frenzy and buy into the myths of fat vilification. Women in particular
are bombarded with the message that if we are fat, then we are (or
should be) physical, emotional and/or spiritual cripples, and fair game
for all sorts of derogatory comments.
Enough! I refuse
to participate in or perpetuate that mythology. We owe it to ourselves
and our sisters and daughters, and yes, also our brothers and sons, to
combat the tyranny of our fat phobic society and how it targets and
denigrates people based on size. You are beautiful at any size.
Let's
be clear: We do not have a weight problem. We have a weight. They may
have a problem with that. But let's stop letting them dump their problem
on us.
As a child, I remember running around and
playing with abandon. I took dance classes, and rode my bike, and
walked, and ran, and... However, with the onset of tween-dom and
adolescence, I succumbed to the pressures of schoolyard politics and
lost my love of physical activity. In high school, gym class and school
dances were at best boring and at worst humiliating. I became an
artistic, nerdy, smart girl-woman who could not conceive of anything
like physical "exercise" being fun (I recognize the words, but the
sentence as a whole does not make sense).
In adulthood I
rediscovered my joy of dancing and movement as well the pure
unadulterated elation that comes from celebrating your strength,
flexibility and endurance. I've walked 60-kms in two days (raising
$13,500 to combat cancer) and had the blisters and lost toe-nails and
sunburns and a cold from walking all day in the rain (because while
healthy activity supports the immune system, extreme activity has been
shown to suppress it) to prove it. I've biked all around this fantastic
hilly city of mine (just take a look at a topographical map of Toronto
and you'll see what that entails). I've taken Yoga and Pilates classes,
found myself able to contort my body into fantastic shapes and
positions, though humorously hindered by bumping up against bits of
myself in the process (like the time I had my legs thrown way back
behind my head and found myself with a face-full of my own bountiful
bosom, unable to breathe). And, after laughing at the strength-training
instructor who wanted me to do push ups (Sure, honey. Tell you what. If
you can bench press ME, we are on. Otherwise, can I push YOU up?), I
discovered that real weight training was a true exercise in both torture
and pleasure. Who knew it could be so satisfying to bench-press or leg
press or, even, those dreaded PUSH-UPS!
All that
physicality finally taught me to love my body as it is. Furthermore, I
get hit on regularly these days - often even when I'm out walking with
my husband. Real men who are not afraid to appreciate ladies with a
little extra meat on our bones are out there and I am living proof that
they can tell when we feel confident at whatever size!
Full
disclosure: I currently wear about a size 24 (well, the labels say
everything from 14-26, but I know my measurements but let's call it 24
if we have to give it a number). In the last couple of years I've
discovered something has shifted in my marriage. My husband, who used to
be enthralled by the more usual womanly erogenous zones, is finding my
voluptuous belly irresistible! His hands will inevitable stray to and
linger on my belly.
This paralleled my own (gradual and
hard-won) acceptance of that part of my body. Our unjustly maligned and
oft-reviled yet generous and forgiving bellies can be honoured as a
source of sensual pleasure, as well as serving so well in all the ways
mentioned by Sarah Henderson in her wonderful poem: My Belly. I just
LOVE this. It's posted here: http://www.facebook.com/notes/sarah-ann-henderson/my-belly-a-poem-of-love-and-hope/401604304591
You
know, it's a funny thing I realized on the way to size acceptance. No
matter what size we are and whether it's our ribs or our rolls that are
more evident, even swathed in a burka, our bodies make their unique and
wonderful shapes known. It's not like we really can hide the truth of
our body, so why not embrace it instead?
