As I was composing today’s post I started to notice that this blog has an identity crisis, because today’s post, at least in my head, was about the Clean diet. Then I stopped and thought back to the last couple of posts and realized that there was a bit of a conflict. Except, then I started to question is feminism and dieting mutually exclusive. I will admit that I fell prey to the mainstream dieting phenomenon at certain points in my life. I would say doing the South Beach diet falls under that category, but I learned from that experience. I then went and saw a nutritionist and a nutritional therapist and I started down a different path, which I named “that thing I do”. I did not want to call it a diet, because it was simply eating healthy and moving my butt more. That ‘thing I do’ made me fit, healthy and feel a lot better about myself. Plus I could fit into vintage clothing.
After my return home from Iraq I gained twenty pounds of feelings. I was so overwhelmed by the insanity and changes in my life that I did not know what to do with myself and so I ate. I made cookie dough and I ate it. I would scarf down the pint of Ben and Jerry’s. I would eat extra bowls of cereal after having dinner and dessert. I was also cracking open a bottle of wine on more than one occasion. I was afraid to sleep and having a glass, or two of wine seemed to help. That is, until all of those coping mechanisms did not work anymore. I was stuck with twenty pounds and a whole heck of a lot of feelings.
Then Poppy got sick and my world shrank to a pin prick of existence. Everybody kept telling me to take care of myself, but really at that point, what did that mean and what did it matter. My sleep was completely thrown off and so was my eating. Plus, I was having a whole heck of a lot of feelings. Within two months I gained another ten pounds of feelings.
Here is why I resist the word diet. It is not healthy to gain thirty pounds in nine months. No, I am not pregnant. I am not dieting because I want to lose weight, I am dieting because I want to feel my feelings and regain myself.
I was reading an article in Bitch magazine about fat acceptance and fatshion, fat+fashion=fatshion. The feminist part of me agrees with these women (and even as I type women I wonder about transgendered and transsexual people). I agree that there should be no discrimination based on sex, race, age, disability and even weight. Part of me knows though that it is possible to make changes in one’s lifestyle and shed some pounds. I also know how difficult it is to do and how hard it is to maintain. For me though, losing eighty pounds meant that I lowered my cholesterol, I was more active, I was able to fit in the airplane seat, I was a lot less self-conscious and a lot more self-confident and I found myself dressing in my own unique style, and not the one dictated by Lane Bryant.
I never reached my goal weight. Even if I had I would still be labeled as obese. Today I am morbidly obese. Those words seem so hurtful, yet, they need to be said. My weight was, and again is, killing me emotionally and physically. Except, this is my story and my reality and it cannot apply to everyone. So, for today I am going to eat an extreme version of healthy and at the same time I am going to advocate for fatshion and fat acceptance, because I am fat.
After my return home from Iraq I gained twenty pounds of feelings. I was so overwhelmed by the insanity and changes in my life that I did not know what to do with myself and so I ate. I made cookie dough and I ate it. I would scarf down the pint of Ben and Jerry’s. I would eat extra bowls of cereal after having dinner and dessert. I was also cracking open a bottle of wine on more than one occasion. I was afraid to sleep and having a glass, or two of wine seemed to help. That is, until all of those coping mechanisms did not work anymore. I was stuck with twenty pounds and a whole heck of a lot of feelings.
Then Poppy got sick and my world shrank to a pin prick of existence. Everybody kept telling me to take care of myself, but really at that point, what did that mean and what did it matter. My sleep was completely thrown off and so was my eating. Plus, I was having a whole heck of a lot of feelings. Within two months I gained another ten pounds of feelings.
Here is why I resist the word diet. It is not healthy to gain thirty pounds in nine months. No, I am not pregnant. I am not dieting because I want to lose weight, I am dieting because I want to feel my feelings and regain myself.
I was reading an article in Bitch magazine about fat acceptance and fatshion, fat+fashion=fatshion. The feminist part of me agrees with these women (and even as I type women I wonder about transgendered and transsexual people). I agree that there should be no discrimination based on sex, race, age, disability and even weight. Part of me knows though that it is possible to make changes in one’s lifestyle and shed some pounds. I also know how difficult it is to do and how hard it is to maintain. For me though, losing eighty pounds meant that I lowered my cholesterol, I was more active, I was able to fit in the airplane seat, I was a lot less self-conscious and a lot more self-confident and I found myself dressing in my own unique style, and not the one dictated by Lane Bryant.
I never reached my goal weight. Even if I had I would still be labeled as obese. Today I am morbidly obese. Those words seem so hurtful, yet, they need to be said. My weight was, and again is, killing me emotionally and physically. Except, this is my story and my reality and it cannot apply to everyone. So, for today I am going to eat an extreme version of healthy and at the same time I am going to advocate for fatshion and fat acceptance, because I am fat.
1 comment:
As I read this post, I am eating Ollie's frozen custard...is that bad? :-)
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