I basically have an infinite number of drafts I have not posted, because, let’s face it. Nobody wants to read a blog post from an upset/bored blogger. Collin’s been gone and every time I go to blog, it’s typically in one of those moments where I find myself with nothing else to clean or fold, and no more songs to attempt to butcher with the guitar.
You guys know what I mean. The whole, I’m taking a moment for myself to do this one thing for myself, yeah, perfect, gonna do it because it’s going to make me feel good about myself right now this very moment, nothing else to do yeah, awesome….
Whether you’re picking up your paintbrush or sitting down with your laptop, we can all get in a bit of a forced-feeling creative rut.
Okay, so here I am. Sitting on my couch, eating orange chocolate and waiting for the UPS man to possibly arrive with clothes I ordered off of an online clearance from ASOS. (Couldn’t resist finding something for a wedding video shoot! 🙂
Sitting on my couch feeling rather passionate about a certain topic that’s made it’s way into my life in several ways lately.
I’m talking about the F word. Not the fun swear word you use every time you walk your hip into something or right before you honk your horn at that person who doesn’t know they can turn right on red. Not the word that “rhymes with hug me.”
I’m talking about FAT. Ugh. It almost feels as if it gags me and partially gives me heartburn with its potency.
Literally makes my eyes water like I’m chopping a white onion. Only it’s the onion of insecurity and body-image. Twenty-million complex layers of hate, love, and confusion all pulled from a soil rich in twisted words like FAT. This is so hard to blog about. I don’t know why it’s evoking such an emotional reaction from me, but I don’t want this to be an aggressive post or a sappy post.
(Does that simile make any sense? I know food analogies are kinda eh whenever I’m talking about something so touchy like weight and body image, but it’s all about the onion layers, people.)
Anywho, we all hear it. Most of us probably hear it everyday, I know I do. Every. Single. Day.
I hear it thrown around by men at work, talking about celebrities and fellow coworkers of mine. I hear it in passing from innocent family members and friends, pinching their arms and smacking their full bellies after a meal. I hear it through smiles, laughs, frowns, pleas. I see how to blast it on magazine covers and how to shed it over the span of three days on popup internet articles.
I hear it and I hear it and I hate it. I am genuinely hurt when people I love feel like their bodies are less than flawless, and I’m deeply offended when I hear guys say things about girls they don’t even know.
I’ve been called this word countless times in my life. I remember the first time someone said it to me. I was in first grade and I was walking around the edge of the playground, balancing on the boarder that kept the little wooden chunks separate from the grass. A boy named Andre deliberately walked up to me, pointed at me and said I was fat.
And so the seed was planted, and from that moment on, I knew the word to be a part of my identity.
From that moment on, I began the battle I still face with how I see myself in the mirror. With how I see myself as a woman, and how I see myself as a person.
From that moment, I began to put up barriers between myself and other people. Barriers that prevented relationships and connections with people and friends who didn’t give that word value.
I used to weigh a lot more than I do now. Numbers will never matter, and I’m hesitant to show pictures, because I don’t want to possibly trigger anyone into thinking my weight loss is something they want, or something they envy. I’m showing this because this is a part of my story and a part of my struggle.
This is a photo from when I was sixteen and again when I was eighteen.
This is a post to share the psychological effects of bullying as well as the emotional and physical effects.
This is not a post to say one word matters and defines you. Quite the opposite! If only I had known whenever I was younger that those kinds of words hold no merit in my life and speak no truth. However, whenever you’re a kid, combined with other psychological traumas and the ever-present puberty you must survive, it’s borderline impossible not to let those words affect you!
Though I am happily engaged and plan on starting a full and incredible life with my insanely gifted and perfect future husband, I still struggle when I hear the F word.
I think of the daughter I might have some day. I think of someone whispering about her across the room.
I think about my mother and everything she overcame and struggled with as a young woman and adult.
I think about all of the women existing, applying society’s beauty standards to themselves and feeling as though they never measure up.
I’m hear to proclaim an end to the power of the F word. There’s no way to erase it from anyone’s tongue, or to yank it from every Webster Dictionary on the market, but there is a way to rob it of it’s glory.
I am healthy and I lead a beautiful life. I am grateful for this body I feed and clothe everyday, and I finally treat myself to a balanced lifestyle with food, exercise, and love. God intended everything to happen the way it did for me and I’ve grown in every possible way and don’t see it ceasing anytime soon. I don’t feel sorry for myself and I don’t plan on ever taking anyone else’s negative words about me to heart.
It’s a word. It doesn’t describe who you are, and it doesn’t define who you are!