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Oct. 14th, 2007 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violachicI don't know why, but I felt compelled to make this a follow-up to my fatphobia post instead of burying it in the comment responses.
I haven't always been someone who has felt good about my body. In fact, its really, really recent, and to say I "feel good about it" isn't entirely accurate. But yes, I've definitely started to let go of being so worried about how my appearance comes across to other people, and definitely stopped caring if people judge me by that appearance.
An acquaintance, over the summer, said to me (in the midst of a conversation about vibrators, the content of which I'll spare you at the moment) that he didn't think I was the kind of woman who had problems getting guys, and that I certainly didn't seem to have body-image issues. This completely shocked me because I've had body-image issues most of my life, and always feel that I'll never "get the guy". Even though I didn't start gaining weight till college, and wasn't truly overweight until my mid-twenties, my mother had always been an appearance nut, and nagged my sister and I to the point of trying to get us to integrate Slim-Fast shakes into our diet as early as age ten or eleven. She has always told us that women who are overweight don't get the men- and when they do, its always the men looking for an easy lay- and they don't get hired at jobs, and generally don't get taken seriously. Luckily, my sister and I knew rationally that this was all bullshit, but that didn't stop it from becoming ingrained into our psyche; both of us were convinced we were fat from a young age (I wore a size 8 in high school!!) which then led to us not really caring when we did start gaining weight. We both retain a lot of this psychological stuff to this day, and struggle with it, although each in our own way.
So what changed?
Well, my body broke.
Not because I was fat, or because I ate wrong or didn't exercise, or somehow didn't take care of myself. It just... broke.
And all of a sudden I realized that there were more important things in life about your body than what it looks like. You know, like if it works or not. Every day that I can get out of bed and accomplish something- anything- is a day to celebrate, because that means my body is working, even if it is working under par for now.
So yeah, some days I don't love my body, not because of the way someone else sees it, but because I'm frustrated with how my illness affects it. Sure, I'd love to go back down those three freaking sizes I've gone up in the last year and a half, but if I don't, I'm not worth less as a person. And it won't make me less charming or witty or intelligent or interesting or cute or modest (heh) or sexy. And anybody who says otherwise can fuck right the fuck off.
Dammit.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I haven't always been someone who has felt good about my body. In fact, its really, really recent, and to say I "feel good about it" isn't entirely accurate. But yes, I've definitely started to let go of being so worried about how my appearance comes across to other people, and definitely stopped caring if people judge me by that appearance.
An acquaintance, over the summer, said to me (in the midst of a conversation about vibrators, the content of which I'll spare you at the moment) that he didn't think I was the kind of woman who had problems getting guys, and that I certainly didn't seem to have body-image issues. This completely shocked me because I've had body-image issues most of my life, and always feel that I'll never "get the guy". Even though I didn't start gaining weight till college, and wasn't truly overweight until my mid-twenties, my mother had always been an appearance nut, and nagged my sister and I to the point of trying to get us to integrate Slim-Fast shakes into our diet as early as age ten or eleven. She has always told us that women who are overweight don't get the men- and when they do, its always the men looking for an easy lay- and they don't get hired at jobs, and generally don't get taken seriously. Luckily, my sister and I knew rationally that this was all bullshit, but that didn't stop it from becoming ingrained into our psyche; both of us were convinced we were fat from a young age (I wore a size 8 in high school!!) which then led to us not really caring when we did start gaining weight. We both retain a lot of this psychological stuff to this day, and struggle with it, although each in our own way.
So what changed?
Well, my body broke.
Not because I was fat, or because I ate wrong or didn't exercise, or somehow didn't take care of myself. It just... broke.
And all of a sudden I realized that there were more important things in life about your body than what it looks like. You know, like if it works or not. Every day that I can get out of bed and accomplish something- anything- is a day to celebrate, because that means my body is working, even if it is working under par for now.
So yeah, some days I don't love my body, not because of the way someone else sees it, but because I'm frustrated with how my illness affects it. Sure, I'd love to go back down those three freaking sizes I've gone up in the last year and a half, but if I don't, I'm not worth less as a person. And it won't make me less charming or witty or intelligent or interesting or cute or modest (heh) or sexy. And anybody who says otherwise can fuck right the fuck off.
Dammit.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-14 10:47 am (UTC)Of course, it sucks that you got sick, though. That part is no damn good and I'm sorry. But I appreciate your sharing this.