So I just discovered this phenomenon called the Fat-O-Sphere, the fat person’s Blog-O-Sphere. These bloggers are people who preach a concept called Fat Acceptance, and I’ve gotta say I am shocked, amazed and dumbfounded. There are people out there… intelligent, creative, witty, downright amazing people out there who believe it is actually okay to be fat. They believe fat is not a bad word, and fat people deserve to be treated like people, too. Maybe this should be common sense, but I, like so many people, grew up with the knowledge that to be fat is to be less than human. As a fat girl myself… I have grown up with the firm belief that I am less of a person–less talented, less smart, less capable, less pretty or beautiful or attractive or sexy, less deserving of happiness–because I am fat.
Saying that out loud makes it sound ridiculous. It is. But such firmly embedded ideas don’t go away overnight. Since the year started I have been making a sincere effort to reevaluate myself and my views of myself, because I’m not happy, and I’m tired of not being happy. I know I’m the only person who can fix that.
Generally, I believe(d) that my happiness hinges on my size. I am fat. Because I am fat, there are hundreds of things I can never do. God forbid I, say, go dancing. No one wants to see some fat girl out there shaking things up on the dance floor. I don’t even want to let the Boychik teach me how to dance (despite his insistence that I learn), just because I am totally convinced I am too fat to be seen dancing, even by my best friend.
The thing is… I love to dance. I am terrible at it. I look terrible doing it. By all rights, even thinking about it is criminal at best. But I love it, and, seriously, why shouldn’t I do something I love?
I really believed that changing this one “simple” (ha!) thing would unlock a whole new identity — this totally fabulous, free-spirited, try-anything-once kind of chick who was effortlessly a magnet for interesting people and experiences. And of course, the dark side of that is that being fat then became an excuse not to do much of anything, because it wouldn’t be the real me doing it, so what was the point? If I wouldn’t find the right guy until I was thin, why bother dating? If I wouldn’t have a breakthrough on the novel until I was thin, why bother writing? If I wouldn’t be the life of the party until I was thin, why bother trying to make new friends? If I wouldn’t feel like climbing a mountain until I was thin, why bother traveling at all?
Seriously… this seems like such common sense, but I never could put it together. I have no reason to keep putting off the things I want to do, and, more than that, my insecurities are based on more than my appearance. My body is an excuse for ignoring my deeper flaws, like my total lack of social skills. I seriously don’t have the tiniest clue about how to approach people. Or my absolute need for approval. Among so many other things, but that’s… yet another blog.
With that in mind… I am going dancing. The weather’s keeping me away from the club tonight, but at the latest I’m going Tuesday night over Spring Break (said club’s Trash Tuesdays sound fantastic). But by God I’m going dancing.
Things have got to change, and if I don’t change them now, I never will.