*****Warning:May contain moments of disappearing up own arse. If it's going to get all intestinal there'll be a row of asterisks to alert you to skip ahead if you so wish*****
Sitting down to write a blog about ones relationship with food and body, especially if you're female and somewhere on the rainbow-glitter-shitting sexuality spectrum is such a cliche. It can also be pretty tiresome reading someone’s self-obsessed lamentations. Nobody wants to be that does-my-bum-look-big-in-this gal. Sometimes all you want to do is slap them in the face with some perspective. Nevertheless a bit of self-examination and a bit of sharing might be helpful, and go some way towards booting the self-obsessed lamentations up their emo arses.
I’ve had a chequered history with my feelings about my body and my attitude and behaviour towards food. After an extended good spell of eating sensibly (albeit with some appetite loss during stressful times) and feeling pretty bloody pleased with my figure, things are now resembling a poorly bound roly-poly. The odd thing is I find rounded or even rather portly women attractive. Politically and socially I think there’s more than one way to be beautiful or healthy, and if you decide to make a change self-hatred is a terrible start. Fat people and those they get involved with shouldn’t apologise for being sexy whole human beings*..Nor should there be the rather strange self congratulating talk of ‘real women have curves/substantial figures’. Are straight up and down or thin ones somehow make-believe women? Nevertheless, I’ve felt some rumbling issues amid the positivity.
There was even an amusing episode in this vein recently where a bedfellow of mine was once again waxing poetical about how beautiful my arse is. Said bedfellow was coming out with some absolutely corking dirty talk about how gorgeous, round and diverting this suspender-belted rear out-thrust above the bed was. ‘Your skin’s just so soft and smooth..that arse is so hot and gorgeous and f-…’ breaking off abruptly without saying the dreaded f word. This was really quite unjustified as I’m not only comfortable but happy in having a fat arse. I missed its protruding shelf like curve when I lost weight. It’s my overall size and body fat in other areas, and above all else the way that I know I’m misusing food at the moment that bothers me.
INTESTINE ALERT! RHECTAL DISSAPEARING ACT!
*****When I was thinner recently I often felt quite vulnerable and had a sense of anti-climax. Being the ideal weight and size I’d made myself ill to try and become as a teenager, which I’d imagined would make me into the perfect person with a wonderful life didn’t actually happen. The world didn’t explode in glitter cannons, I just wore slightly narrower skirts. A lot of people told me how great I looked (‘What as opposed to like crap before?’) and insistently asked me what the secret was. In hindsight a lot of the slow-burning stress of the latter phase of my relationship probably accelerated the weight loss too. As we all know the people who feel a need to be on guard and fight the whole world are the most insecure and at times last year I had a constant refrain of ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough’ in my head. When feeling scared at a guy looking at me strangely when I was on my own on the street and thinking through how I could run fast in heels, when feeling like someone was talking down to me or labelling me as a slutty airhead or all kinds of times when feeling cornered.
Ok, scoffing down cake produces a chemical high and is a distracting way of keeping difficult feelings contained. Plus at the best of times I’m quite a greedy person who enjoys food. Nevertheless I suspect there has been an element of using food as a way of bulking out. Of building a sofa fort around you to feel less fearful of being got at, which feels kind of fucked up.******
I dutifully read and greatly enjoy the Queer Fat Femme blog and tumblr, and the message of self expression, sexy visibility and a flat refusal to just blend in. I really need to engage with the following pages and the thoughts of the gorgeous folk therein
Enjoying life and all it gives including sex and sexual expression (which incidentally has been rather good recently, perhaps this is finally coming with age) shouldn’t wait ‘as soon as’ a certain weight appears on the scales. For me, I’m confident that being healthier and losing a few pounds from my smallish frame would improve some things and is a worthwhile endeavour for me through changing long term habits and without deprivation or ‘being good’. Upcoming surgery and recovery is going to be a less than bona experience for my body but in the long term for the best, so doubly important to feel that bit more shiny to start off with.
* I felt utterly furious when my landlord came out with yet another comedy statement of ‘I really wish I was into fat girls. They’d be so grateful’