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
Quickly ‘cuz Brett’s cooking dinner
Apr 9, 2009 Feminism/Politics
And he’s making spaghetti so you know how quickly that cooks.
A couple of people commented (spring and momartfully) about the use of the word “fat” and also whether or not it’s ok to “observe/evaluate” people’s bodies. This is convincing me to keep going on the essay.
Technically fat is a descriptor and I wouldn’t stop my kids from using other descriptors, from saying tall or red-headed or African American. Would you? If not, then why can’t they use fat?
I have told both of my kids that some people feel very self conscious about their body size and that the word fat can hurt some people’s feelings because (I’ve explained) too many of us don’t understand that healthy bodies come in all shapes and sizes. Fat, I tell them, is something some not very kind people use as an insult, which is ridiculous because fat is just one way to be. But be sensitive, I tell them. Even though you and I know that fat is just fine, out in the world people feel uncomfortable when we talk about body size be it thinness or fatness. WE know it’s ok and we can talk about it here at our house but out in the world? We need to be aware that people struggle with self-acceptance.
I think it’s akin to colorblind racism, (which is about white folks treating everyone the same i.e., as if they were white) to pretend that some people are not fat. If you ignore fatness (i.e., pretend that we are all thin), then you are devaluing people for being fat.
Think about it.
“The bathroom is over there, by where the tall woman is standing.”
“That guy is really attractive — the one who has the dark glasses on.”
“My friend will be waiting near the front. You’ll recognize her as the fat, pretty woman.”
It’s like — yikes! We can’t say FAT! We can’t say that out loud! But what if we could? What if fat was simply a descriptor? I mean, how else do we say it? We could call someone thin but call someone fat? We balk!
I am an advocate for talking to kids about subtext. Ever notice that all the women in commercials are thin? But commercials are trying to tell you that something is wrong with you — that your life isn’t organized or clean or pretty enough — because they want to make money off of you. Marketers deliberately ignore fat people. Media deliberately ignores fat people. Is that fair, I ask them? Should fat people take that on as a judgment of their value? No, of course not. Not anymore than people in wheelchairs should take on shame from the dearth of people in commercials using wheelchairs.
Fat is not a curse word. Fat does not equal ugly. It doesn’t equal stupid. It doesn’t equal rude. It’s a descriptor. I have blue eyes. I have brown hair that is streaked (increasingly) with white. I am fat.
Obviously in the wrong mouth or in the wrong intonation — ouch. Fat! I say, “Oh I’m round. I’m a little overweight. I’m chubby.” But the “F” word, my god. I’ll be honest with you (because when am I not?) — I want to pretend that people won’t notice that I’m fat. I am uncomfortable with the descriptor but that is because I am struggling to be comfortable with me. I hear “fat” and I hear all the other stuff under it like that I am greedy or lazy or out of control, none of which is true. I exercise. I eat reasonably (sometimes I eat too much but I know lots of skinny people who do, too). I’m anything but lazy.
My children can SEE that I’m fat. Am I supposed to make them pretend that I’m not just to save my feelings? Force them to lie by omission? Am I supposed to make them afraid of my fatness and — importantly — of their own possible fatness by being sensitive about them stating and seeing the obvious? It used to be that my worst fear was to weigh this much. I was fifteen and would think, “I would rather be dead!” I don’t want my own fifteen year olds to think that. I want them to know that you can be this fat and still be lovely and loved. And confident. And busy. And accomplished.
So I own — at least with them — my fatness. I say, “That’s right — I’m fat and beautiful.” I have a husband who says, “Hello gorgeous!” I get dressed up for work and Madison says, “You look pretty!” And I say, “Yes I do!”
Madison notes I have blue eyes. Yes! I do!
She notes that I have pink skin. Yes! I do!
She adds that I have a fat belly. Yes! I do!
These are all true. They are morally neutral.
And in fact? How much more important to own this for my brown-skinned daughter given the aforementioned colorblind racism. People may try to ignore traits that feel uncomfortable FOR THEM but those of us who have those traits? We need to own them.
There is nothing wrong with being fat. Now go read The Weight that Women Carry. (I will keep linking to this until y’all read it!)
(Now I really need to stop writing about this or I’ll lose momentum on the essay.)
I do not sleep well in hotels
Mar 26, 2009 The Story of My Life
And so I do not blog well in hotels so for this grouchy, rainy morning: a meme.
You have received this note because someone thinks you are a literary geek. Copy the questions into your own note, answer the questions, and tag any friends who would appreciate the quiz, including the person who sent you this.
Don’t bother trying to italicize your book titles. We know you want to…
1) What author do you own the most books by?
Beverly Cleary, hands down. She was pretty dang prolific.
2) What book do you own the most copies of?
We have a lot of copies of To Kill a Mockingbird because it’s Brett’s favorite book and so we have a couple of collectible copies. I’ve bought a lot of copies of This Way to the Gas, Ladies & Gentlemen and given most of ‘em away.
3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
You know, it does a little but only because I’m tired and my brain is extra itchy.
4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Oh literary crushes! I’ve crushed on Will (Dark is Rising), Almanzo (after I saw his actual picture at about 13) and of course Ponyboy. The only recent crush I’ve had was on Fenno until I reread the book and decided he was a tiny bit of a prig. Not a big huge prig (I’m still too crushy to actual insult this imaginary man) but a tiny bit.
4a) What fictional character would you most like to be?
I never wanted to BE a fictional character. Sometimes I wanted to be in a story but as myself.
4b) What fictional character do you think most resembles you?
Sniff in the Moomintroll books. Petty and shrill. I aspire to be more Snufkin (another literary crush!!!). Actually, come to think of it, I identify with various moomin characters at various times in my life. Except for the Snork Maiden because I am not obsessed with my fringe.
5) What book have you read the most times in your life?
Probably the Laura Ingalls Wilder series.
6) What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
Probably the Laura Ingalls Wilder series.
7) What is the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
This young adult book about a teacher molesting her student. It was a female teacher and the ending totally invalidated that she was molesting him.
What is the best book you’ve read in the past year?
I just read a couple of great young adult books. One was Weedflower (about the Japanese internment camps) and the other one was Anything But Typical about a boy with autism.
9) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?
Hmmm. This Way to the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen MAYBE. I’m tired and if I thought harder it might be something different but maybe not.
10) Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for literature?
Oh lord, I don’t know.
11) What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
I think Bel Canto would make a great movie — directed by Ang Lee.
12) What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
Hmmm, maybe a A Wrinkle in Time because they’d probably cast Miley Cyrus or something.
13) Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character.
I periodically dream I’m having conversations with literary characters but they’re not all that weird.
14) What is the most lowbrow book you’ve read as an adult?
Angles & Demons.
15) What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
I don’t like Herman Melville.
16) What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you’ve seen?
I think I’ve only seen one play performed.
17) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
Here I quote my friend Sonia, “Option C: the British!” But if I HAVE to choose, it’s not a fair fight because I’ve read more of the French.
18) Roth or Updike?
Neither.
19) David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Oh (sigh) David Sedaris, I guess.
20) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Shakespeare.
21) Austen or Eliot?
Austen.
22) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
I haven’t read any of the big Russian novels
23) What is your favorite novel?
This very minute? Bel Canto. No wait, Persuasion. No wait, Finn Family Moomintroll. No wait, Watership Down. Nevermind.
24) Play?
I’m a big fan of Edward Albee or was ten years ago (haven’t reread any lately) so what the hell, Zoo Story.
25) Poem?
I keep typing one and then changing my mind. I can’t decide between the cold plums in the refrigerator and the lanyard.
26) Essay?
Oh!! Shoot. There are SO MANY but I’ll stick with The Weight that Women Carry.
27) Short story?
Just one?!? My god, people. Well, since I just read it, the one by Ann Beattie about the couple whose child died and they come home from the party and sleep on the floor of the living room.
28) Work of non-fiction?
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
29) Who is your favorite writer?
That’s an unfair question. Hmmm, Barbara Comyns.
30) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
Audrey Niffenegger (Time Traveler’s Wife)
31) What is your desert island book?
Oh gosh, that changes all the time. I guess Watership Down is plenty long, right? But what if it was a stressful desert island? What with the desert — no food, no water? Then I would want something comforting like Noah’s Beverly Cleary collection.
32) And … what are you reading right now?
I brought That’s How it Was by Maureen Duffy to reread on the trip but there hasn’t been time to read it. It’s a green book only it has a black cover.
Ummm, I tag everybody. That’s right — every single person on the internet.
Tags: essay, green books, meme, memes, Noah
