I haven’t been feeling great about my body lately. It’s because I’ve been spending so much time at my desk or hunched over a book (thanks, finals). But it’s also because I haven’t been able to wear my favorite pair of jeans since I got back from my time abroad (where I ate everything I wanted because cultural experience!). I’m telling myself not to let a pair of pants make me feel this way about my body, but I’m feeling it. Continue reading
fat-shaming
Family Ties
LOVE!
This Thanksgiving break, I went to visit my family in Webster, New York. We do this every year, making the six-hour drive from Annapolis to the upstate NY area, right on the edge of Lake Ontario. It’s beautiful, and it’s cold. Apparently, I am also cold, because I find it really difficult to connect with my cousins, even though I love them to pieces (as you can see in the photo above).
Girlhood: Repressing an Angry Body
From my high school 365 Project.
My friend and I had been talking about assault. I was talking about how if anybody ever approached me violently, I would use my entire body against them. I would kick them in whatever sensitive areas I could perceive, rake my nails into their skin, and use my teeth like a sabertooth tiger gripping the haunch of a primordial deer. I would make them regret ever thinking I was somebody weak. I would make them regret ever thinking I wasn’t prepared. I was excited for that aggression. That excuse for the energy I can exert, the dominance I can show, the unbridled aggression that can finally be released. And that concerns me. Why do I want to rip off some poor fucker’s ear? Sure, if they assaulted me, a defensive maneuver or two is probably warranted, but why would I want them to bleed. Why am I so excited by this visceral urge? Why is my being able to service my aggression so enthralling? That’s what I really want to talk about. The embodiment of aggression.
Yo Mama’s So Fat…
Working at a restaurant gives me the chance to people watch. It’s almost as if people forget they are out in public and say things in conversation, with each other or even myself, that often catch me off guard.
My body and me: the original arranged marriage
As long as I’ve been alive, I’ve been some version of overweight. I was my mom’s biggest baby. There was the “baby fat” phase (which I tried to ride to middle school, much to my embarrassment); the “I’m gaining weight because of puberty but it hasn’t decided where to live yet” phase of middle and early high school; the “I may not actually be overweight but I’m so disgusted with that tiny bit of belly fat that I’m pretty sure I’m obese” phase that seems pretty rampant in American high schools; the “shit, now I really AM overweight because I decided to take birth control and I put on 50 pounds in 3 months” phase of panic, terror and depression; the “I’ve stopped trying to stop gaining weight” phase where I saw numbers over 200; the “I had a baby and despite gaining hardly any weight with pregnancy I’ve managed to get even bigger postpartum” phase that’s pretty popular with new moms; and my personal favorite, the “oh my god, this is the biggest I’ve ever been ever in my life and I’m completely freaking out” phase of morbid obesity that has consumed my adult life.
Basically. Though my scale isn’t this clever. And I have better toes.
Sensing a trend? Continue reading
Unruly Bodies 