Not so Good Friday around here
Apr 10, 2009 Feminism/Politics
My childcare has food poisoning so first I want to acknowledge that her Friday is even more suckier than mine before I whine that I’m scrambling to reschedule meetings. I’m just grouchy because I am discombobulated. I’ll recover. And Noah is being considerate and making everyone breakfast so I could get to my work inbox and stuff.
(sigh)
I just emailed Becca this (because she’s my editor/writer friend who talks to me about editor/writer stuff when I’m working on essays) but in my essay about calling myself fat it is only about ME. It’s about me not wanting to be called fat and the times I have been called fat and how I feel like I need to get over it for the sake of my daughter who — being female — will eventually be called fat and for my son who — having female friends and perhaps someday partners — will eventually be dealing with women who say, “Do I look fat in this?” So it’s a very small focus, the essay. It’s not about calling other people fat or about the media or manners or fat-phobia in general — it’s about ME and calling myself fat and obviously this is a good thing essay organization-wise since talking about the rest of that just gets off-track.
Becca asked if I felt defensive and I’ll tell you all, YES. ABSOLUTELY. And I suppose I feel defensive about this because it’s not easy at all to talk about, (which goes back to my need to pretend that we don’t all know that I am fat) and so discussion is just harder for me around it. Yet another reason to work on the essay.
Here is one piece I’m putting in the essay though. I was thinking about it while I was working out because I’ve never blogged it since it was and is very painful for me.
So — one of the hard things about my infertility struggles was that I now had proof that my body was a worthless piece of shit. If you read fat-positive stuff, sometimes it will focus on how fat women are so fruitful and lush and womanly and also — the adjectives imply — fertile. You know, they’ll go “womanly hips to cradle a new life” and “lush breasts to nurture another being.” But me — I was just fat and barren. I loathed my fat, barren body. My infertility was unexplained but I had myself convinced it had to do with my weight and I convinced myself of this because all the infertility books say if you are too fat or too skinny you can sometimes f*ck up your fertility. Plus there are always miracle conception stories from women who lose a bunch of weight and — boom! — get pregnant. My RE was neutral on it. Maybe losing weight would help, maybe not but he was pushing for Clomid.
I decided the whole infertility journey had to have some meaning and I decided I would get stronger and healthier and lose some weight and see if it helped me get my cycles in order. But I was really scared about it because I didn’t want to become diet obsessed (I had never dieted before although I have lost weight in the past by exercising more) and I didn’t want to sink deeper into self-loathing, which I knew would be easy to do since inevitably I would eat something “bad” or skip a work-out.
I took it all very slowly and deliberately. I made small, heatlhy changes. I started keeping track — not obsessively — with portion sizes. I asked Brett to quit buying ice cream. I also started running instead of just doing step aerobics. And slowly but surely, I started losing weight. I felt really good about it. I felt confident about my ability to keep the weight off because it was coming off slowly and I felt like I was making changes I’d be able to live with forever. After every run (and it took me a long time to get to where I could run for twenty minutes without stopping to walk) I would stop and breathe and stretch and pray.
I started to feel better and more forgiving about myself. And as it happens? My cycles shortened from 35 days to 29 days, which boded well and sure enough — after losing about 25 pounds — I got pregnant.
And then I miscarried.
I was at my brother-in-law’s wedding when I began to lose that pregnancy so I didn’t get back to the RE until I was well and truly bleeding. I was still holding out impossible hope though because you do that when you’re insane to be pregnant. And this is how my doctor greeted me (this part is in my archives): “Congratulations! You’re pregnant!” and then when I gasped at the miracle he smoothly added, “But it won’t last.”
This is the part that’s harder to write.
I was crying in his office, sobbing so hard I couldn’t see and he started pressuring me to consider the Clomid, which I really did NOT want to do. And I said (through tears), “I’ve been working really hard to lose weight and I’ve lost twenty-five pounds so far and isn’t it possible that if I keep on this course that it’ll help regulate my luteal phase defect?” And he said, “How much do you weigh now?” And I told him (although I don’t feel ready to tell you yet) and he said flipping to a BMI chart, “How tall are you? Well, then that’s obese! You’re obese!”
Then he harangued me about wasting time (I was 31) trying to lose weight when he could get me pregnant RIGHT NOW if I would only follow his directive. And I don’t really remember how I got out of there but all I could hear was “obese” and suddenly it didn’t seem like such an accomplishment that I’d gotten to a size 12 again.
I haven’t run since. Because the next time I tried to run I started crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe and I had to stop and I felt like a big, stupid worthless thing trying to stagger around a track. I felt so stupid. I felt so humiliated. I felt like he could see me in all my fat glory on the track and I sure couldn’t run past the playground full of skinny moms with their many children so I went home to hide my shameful self and the next month I started the Clomid.
Contrary to legend — I did not drown my sorrows in cheesecake or curl up with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a chick flick like a Cathy comic strip. I just stopped running and eventually the weight came back on.
(I have tried running since but can’t get past the shin splints.)
So when I allow my children to acknowledge my fatness and when I acknowledge my own fatness, I am doing this in part because I need to teach myself, too, what I want to teach my kids: That I can be fat and accomplishd and lovable and attractive and worthy. I don’t really believe it yet. I mean, I sorta do but in a very compartmentalized way. It is hard to own my good points when I am owning my less socially acceptable points. I can acknowledge that I’ve reached some of my writing goals but very often hot on the heels is, “Yes, but I’m fat.” As if it negates everything — anything – I’ve done.
I feel best about my body when I’ve got an exercise routine but only if I unhook said routine from the idea of weight loss and trust that I will be the weight I should be if I’m eating right and exercising and understanding that I will always be bigger than many people think I ought to be. (And many of these people are wearing white coats, which reminds me that I need to find a new doc now that my insurance has changed, which just makes me want to CRY because it’s hard to find a doctor who will not give me shit about my weight even though my blood pressure is low and my cholesterol is normal and I work out regularly. And I am prone to crying in doctor’s offices because I can bluff my way through my kids calling me squishy but not so much when it’s a person of some authority. I get kinda wimpy then and my high ideals end up puddling away into a stagnant pool of shame.)
I’m working to drown out voices like Grosskinsky’s and I’m working to head off the voices that will, without a doubt, be coming for my daughter.
So you know, when we get into semantics arguments or a totally civilized debate about manners, I am a little bit prone to feeling like people are deliberately not hearing me even though I know — and in every other blog type situation would accept — that it’s got to do with my writing and not with your reading. (In other words, that I’m writing it wrong. I know I’m writing it wrong but I feel more sensitive and defensive than I usually would.)
Anyway. I want to write this essay in part because writing things down helps me get rid of things and if I can write it all out loud then it won’t be so shitty. And at least dealing with the comments here will kind of ready me to deal with any comments I’ll get if it’s published. So I know that’s all good and everything but I’m still slightly miserable about it all. (Because i just wanted to write it and get it out and not have to debate it just yet — still fragile. Which how should you psychically know that? And honestly I’m not blaming any of y’all for saying anything that I got all hepped up about — just explaining my small insanity around this.)
(I’m not rereading this post because I’ll want to delete it so anything that doesn’t make sense will just have to not make sense and bad spelling and poorly placed punctuation will have to hang there, too. Also I am going to ask you to be kind, which is not something I usually ask from my commenters in regards to myself but honestly, this is one of the most difficult posts I’ve ever written and as I’ve said, I am particularly fragile around it. And now I’m not only frustrated with my work day but I am also marginally depressed.)
Tags: Becca, clomid, essay, Infertility, Noah, weight, working out
Bye Bye Bye Friday
Jan 23, 2009 work work work
Did I tell you I have a new job? What? I didn’t? I forgot? Oh. I have a new job.
I interviewed for it kind of on a whim because I wasn’t in the market for a full-time job but this one looked interesting and I liked the non-profit’s mission. So what the hell — I interviewed and I walked out of there thinking, “Man, I wish I could do that job.” But I can’t do a full-time job because I have these here kids and stuff so I was merely wistful. Then I got called for a second interview and I started trying to figure out how I could make it work.
The pay isn’t enough for Brett to be home with the kids and sending them to school for free childcare isn’t even an option. (Early on I told Brett I’d rather sell the house then send the kids to school if it came to that and fortunately he said it goes without saying. It’d be hard to have a partner who didn’t agree with me on the big things.) So I asked Becca, how does one negotiate for telecommuting? Because she’s done it more than a few times.
At the second interview I loved them even more and felt even more excited about the job possibilities. There’s some light travel (just around the state) involved, which sounded FUN and the people are nice and friendly. There’s a lot of work but it’s about the level of work I have been doing on my busier days only I wouldn’t have to be marketing myself all the time so actually it’d be easier than full-time freelance as far as that goes. But how how how could I do it?
When they offered me the job, I was frank with the director and explained my dilemma, mainly that I needed to telecommute. And she understood and said she’d take it the board. Two board members have personal experience with telecommuting and they offered their concerns and then we negotiated together to find a schedule that will work. As of right now, I’ll be there two full days a week and home the rest of the time. The director understands that I’ll do a lot of my work at night and on the weekends and is ok with that as long as I get it done. Even though I’ve never had trouble keeping on-top of business, their willingness to take a chance on me makes it feel that much more urgent. So I’ve spent the past couple of days setting up my iGTD and creating files and filters and things.
For me, here are the pluses to a regular (telecommuting) job:
- A regular, predictable paycheck (with direct deposit!). Having a predictable budget makes me want to weep with joy. Seriously.
- A break from the constant marketing that comes with being a freelancer.
- A stronger resume because I feel like mine lacks this kind of concentrated, on-going experience.
- Less time marketing means more time to do some creative work (something that’s really suffered since Brett went back to work).
Still, if I hadn’t been able to work with them on hours, I simply couldn’t have taken it. Homeschooling and having the kids at home is just too important to us even though it’s made for some mean compromises in some ways. I’m hiring a friend of mine who’s known the kids forever (one of my L friends) to watch them and she’ll be able to bring her own daughter when school is out.
Also, my new boss? Really a nice woman and when I told her about the workshops I’ve been lining up to lead and how I want to be able to do those things, she totally got it and was encouraging and interested. I’m really looking forward to working with her.
I’m really hoping we can make this work long-term. I’ll be talking more about the job itself when I feel like I won’t be jinxing it. Anyway, I’m heading in there now to set up my laptop! Then it’s Thursday potlucks now revamped as Friday no-potluck and pure socializing!
Tags: Becca, budget, childcare, experience, freelance, freelancer, homeschool, Homeschooling, interview, telecommuting, travel, work, working, workshops
Why I have no blogroll
Nov 23, 2008 Blogging
I used to have a blogroll. This is what my sidebars looked like when I first had a blog. (Becca will remember this! Anyone else?) I don’t know why it’s making the font white — you have to highlight the whole page to see the type but you can see the sidebars.
This was before everybody and their mother had a blog so most of my links were other sites and then down at the bottom, the few bloggers I read.
Then blogging got busy. I couldn’t keep up. I pretty much added anyone who ever commented to my links-list. I moved it from the sidebar to its own page and tried to keep it organized. The blogosphere mushroomed so quickly that it was hard to keep up.
Then I realized it was a giant mess so I just asked people to tell me their blogs and I’d link to ‘em, no questions asked. But someone posted their link and someone else wrote to me off-list and said, “You can’t link her! She wrote XYZ once! You can’t condone that with a link!”
And that’s when I said screw it because I can’t be responsible for every single thing every single person I read says. Maybe this was the first time someone outright said, “don’t condone her with a link!” but it wasn’t the first or last time someone held me responsible for what someone else in my orbit said.
That’s why I use my google reader to share specific posts I find thought-provoking or inspiring or interesting and said to hell with the link list.
Friendships can be political anyway (they demand such loyalty!) but in the sometimes heated world of blogging and the sometimes even more heated world of adoption blogging, it’s too easy to get mired in some debate even when you’re trying to stand on the sidelines. To a certain point, I accept that and really don’t mind it much but it does preclude me having a blogroll.
By the way, I’ll have been blogging EIGHT YEARS come January 1st. Isn’t that nuts?
Tags: Becca, Blogging, blogosphere, Blogroll, linking
