So much of it hit nerves – although hardly any of it is me, not any more, because I have long since accepted my shape and that it is FINE – but it is true of other people that I love, or like, or admire or even see in passing on the train.
You get a group of women together (I’m sorry guys, for not including you, but it is still mainly women that do this), and invariably the topic turns to diets.
My body is a fabulous thing. It is. Honestly. I don’t care if nobody else thinks it is. I want it to continue to be a fabulous thing.
If my weight impacts on my health, and I can tell when it does, then I know what I need to do, because I KNOW MY BODY. I eat plant and protein based, essentially, for a few weeks, and I feel better. Note FEEL better, not LOOK better.
I do not want to fit into society’s ideal. Because society is totally fucked up with regards to female body image. Of course, every so often, I think I would like to have a slimmer figure, because buying clothes might be easier – though I doubt it – but you know what? I DON’T have that slimmer figure. I’m a big girl, with a big frame, and in order to change
it, I have to go to silly extremes, and I am not going to do that just to conform. Just like those naturally skinny women. Why should they start to eat tons of everything just so they might look like…what? A totally different person, with totally different genetics to them?
I went to a gym for 6 months, for two hours, three times a week. Did I lose weight? Nope. I did have fun though. I was the only person in that place smiling. And why? Because my body was letting me do stuff. I can still go out and dance for 5 hours, if my back lets me, should I so choose.
I am fed up with seeing gorgeous, intelligent, wonderful women reduce themselves, their whole remarkable, living, breathing, child-raising, child-teaching, nightclub running, law practising, engineering, science experimenting, music playing, truck driving, bike-riding, company running, techgeeking, game playing, language learning, absolutely-fan-fucking-tastic selves, to a figure on a scale, a comparison to an ideal that so often isn’t even what it looks like on the page.
Enough already, Society, enough.
Our bodies are miraculous. No matter which bit is broken, or which bit has hair, or ‘too much’ fat, or spots, or stretch marks, or wrinkles or saggy boobs, or chunky legs, or ‘too big’ hips, the rest of it keeps us here, and breathing and living and loving.
And thank whatever deities we choose to believe in, for that. And you.