From the WW:
Preface to the letter
A week ago, the day after I graduated
from college, I was skypeing with one of my best friends. She lives eleven hours away and has never seen
my house or pets, so I decided to give her a tour. Unfortunately, with the graduation fun, I
hadn’t folded my laundry, and it was all over the bedroom floor. (Okay, let’s be serious, I almost NEVER fold
the laundry, graduation fun or not). So
as I was turning around in the bedroom to show this friend my desk and book
collection, my foot caught on a piece of laundry.
It is funnier to imagine this next bit in slow motion and
also if you are also listening to the first thirty seconds of this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHPYOcgde98
I could feel my toes catch on the laundry on the floor. My mouth opened as I (in the fashion of slow
motion dramatic moments) cried out. My
eyes widened as I lost the grip on my laptop and watched the face of my friend,
Spotify, and a Word document tumble to their death. My body unfortunately hit the clothes hamper
that I had taken down with me and I could feel the hamper crack as I bounced
off of that and onto the floor.
This is where the slow motion ends. All at once, I could feel the pain in my arm and hear the WhatJustHappeneds
and AreYouOkays from the friend on the other line. I lifted my head to make sure the computer
was okay. Ironically, it had landed on
the same pile of clothes that had tripped me in the first place, which is what
probably saved it.
Unfortunately, I now I have a very minor fracture in one arm
that means I am now in a cast. This cast
is the recipient of my Dear Someone Sunday letter. I hope you enjoy!
To my cast,
After twenty-two years of clumsiness, I’m surprised that
this is the first time I’m seeing you.
The nicest thing I can say to you, besides the fact that I like your
color (purple), is that you have decent timing.
You at least waited to show up until after I graduated. I’m eternally grateful that you didn’t show
up until after student teaching; my students would have loved you and you would
have been a huge distraction.
At first, and maybe even a little bit now, I would have said
that you are obviously forgetful because you seemingly forgot that I am
right-handed, not left-handed. Why else
would you have chosen my dominant hand?
At first, I would have said that you were irritating and a
little embarrassing because of the looks I got in public, and especially at
work.
At first, and maybe even a little bit now, I would have said
that you were determined to defeat me, because you blocked me from doing basic
things, like sleeping comfortably without Vicodin, brushing my teeth, fixing my
hair, driving my car, folding laundry (because you’re obviously a jerk that
appreciates irony), and basically everything else in my life.
I’d also say you’re a defeatist because at this point in my
life, I’m facing so many unknowns, and you add to the frustration of becoming a
real adult. I’m trying to decide what to
do with the rest of my life (or at least until I can find a teaching job), and
you’re smugly sitting there telling me that whatever it is, it has to wait
until you leave.
You keep me from hugging.
The BB will tell you I’m not an especially huggy person, which is
true. But when I can’t hug my wonderful
partner, my snuggly adorable pets, or my hilarious niece, it becomes a
problem. Sure, I can do the half-assed one-arm
hug meant for awkward situations. But
you, cast, are keeping me from the real thing.
You also make me feel worse about my body. Actually, I was
feeling pretty good about my body before you.
I felt like my body comfortably fit into the space it was allowed. But now, I can’t wear a lot of my
long-sleeved tops because you’ve changed the dimensions of my body just a
little too much. You know those toddler
toys where you have to put different shapes into the corresponding holes? Well I’m the square lodged firmly in the fist
of a toddler who is determined to mash me into the circle-shaped hole. Everything is off.
You have also kept me from washing my arm for a week, and I
won’t be able to wash it still for another.
Even when the rest of me is clean, you make me feel grimy.
You cause horrible itchiness, and when I thought I solved
that with the end of a spoon, you cleverly moved the itchiness to just beyond
the spoon’s reach.
But I guess that now, things are a little different. Do not take this as an invitation to
stay. I still hate you and want you
gone. But I can appreciate what you’ve
done for me a little more than I could at first.
You are healing me.
Maybe you like to pretend you’re evil and diabolical, but we both know
that you’re kind of a softy (figuratively…literally, you’re as hard as
concrete). You are dedicating your
existence to fixing me.
You are cheerful, with your purple color, flower, and movie
quote. (“Party on, Garth!” “Party on, Wayne!”)
You are forcing me to use a different part of my body that I
don’t use often: my left hand. You are
encouraging me to think outside of the box to do normal tasks, which is a great
exercise in creativity.
When I get those weird looks or people laughing in public
(yeah, that happened…not sure why a sling is so funny, but it is!), you are
forcing me to think about how people with physical impairments might feel, even
though it is just a fraction of that and even though it is clearly temporary.
Above all, you make me grateful for the things I always take
for granted, like being able to shower by myself, do my hair by myself, cook,
clean, and of course, fold laundry.
Along with that, you have made me step back and realize I don’t have to
do everything. I have other people in my
life who can and will help me with things.
And finally, you are a hurdle in the journey towards body
acceptance. Body issues are not always weight-related. You have been a constant source of
frustration with my body. Remember that
toddler? Even though hurdles can be
annoying, I think it is vital to face the challenges, because otherwise, I will
be complacent.
Here’s to another week of itchiness! (But seriously, please leave and stay away
after that.)
Much love (and hate),
The WW
From the Bigger Blogger:
Dear Protruding GUT,
Hi there! I
can see you peeking up at me right now, with my laptop sitting on top of you.
True to your purpose, as my self-proclaimed fat shelf, you provide the perfect
spot to rest my book, soda, or snack no matter where I’m sitting. To begin my
letter to you, a little comedy to soften the hateful blows that come later:
If our relationship was an ice cream flavor—because we both
know that ice cream has certainly helped your big, protruding cause (along with
genetics and metabolism, of course!)—it’d be rocky road.
Enough of that. Time for a little hate mail—since we both
know that I came out O.K.—that I no longer feel this way about you. But there
was a time when you were the most hated part of my body. There was a time when I
would not even acknowledge you as a part of my body—you were just the fleshy,
pale, protrusion that ruined every outfit.
I used to sit in front of the mirror and look at you in all
your GUSTSY GLORY. Proudly hanging over the button of my jeans, stretching my
body to proportions that others said were ugly—that I believed were ugly.
I even used to punch you, because you were that non-part of
me that was STUCK to me. The part that no diet, no physical blows, and no
praying, wishing, or weeping could get rid of. You caused many self-hate
sessions, many teasing, bullying nicknames at school, and many sleepless nights
and self-reflective fights.
Despite the violence I did to you—did to myself—you stuck by
me. You literally hung in there (fat GUT humor!) and helped me learn to
appreciate you, and by extension, myself.
It started with the souffleuuuh, the
adorable nickname that I started referring to you by. It came about because, as
I discovered and others agreed, you have a striking resemblance to a deflated soufflé,
which would of course be phonetically spelled as “souffleuuuh.” With the
adoption of this nickname—and my increased comfort in using it in front of
others—we became closer. I began to see you as an irritating extension of
myself rather than an abject abscess of cellulite
.
Our connection grew from tolerance to acceptance when I met
the Wider Writer. That shit I wrote yesterday about fat people
solidarity—eating cake and having secret handshakes and shit—is no joke. Fat
solidarity is the best, and the Wider Writer introduced me to her GLORIOUS GUT,
and for the first time I had (and have!) a friend my size to go shopping with.
I had a friend my size to honestly judge how clothing looked on my body—which she
has always thought of as nothing less than beautiful, by the way. I had a
friend who shared the same experiences with fat shaming, fat struggles, and fat
culture and empowerment. So, PROTRUDING GUT, you can thank the Wider Writer for
my increased acceptance of you—she has always loved and appreciated you.
Now, cue the Marvin Gaye soundtrack because things are going
to get a little sexy. To the reader, no apologies (you are reading this of your
own volition, after all!). To my GUT, you were there, but let’s recap:
One of the single most empowering experiences between myself
and you, my GUT, has been every caress, reassurance, and compliment from my
wonderful partner. There is no better feeling than to be loved for exactly who
and what you are. My partner finds you, my GUT, attractive, arousing, and
indefinitely a beautiful, sexy part of me. Writing THAT STATEMENT with
CONFIDENCE, is empowering. When my partner’s hands run over you, my GUT, when
he showers you with kisses and soft touches, we both feel his true love and I realize
that you are, truly, indefinitely, part of me—and one that is not so bad.
Okay. Let’s all take a cold shower and bring it back down to
earth. To sum up, my GUT, I have hated you, tolerated you, and even come to
love you a little bit. I’m not perfect (and neither are you!) so I know there
are still moments when I disappointedly stare at you when a shirt doesn’t fit,
when I hide you from my partner’s gaze or suddenly become self-conscious around
people SANS-GUTS. However, despite all of that, I think we have come to a
wonderful understanding, and of course our journey will continue…
Sincerely,
The BB
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