All About That Bad Activism: Bodies in Trouble

Hello wonderful readers! It’s the BB here with some ideas that I’ve been meaning to commit to words for awhile, but it just took the right inspiration and research to articulate my feelings.

Our blog is all about breaking the fat glass ceiling; we want to show how successful, powerful, and worthy fat women are. Even though we operate through this lens because we identify as fat, feminist, cisgender women, we often open up the discussion to all bodies. This is an absolute necessity as part of the Body Positive Movement, because fat bodies aren’t the only bodies under scrutiny, and women aren’t the only group subject to body shaming, either. I reiterate these truths so that readers can keep in mind the expansive nature of the BoPo movement as we discuss the specific dimensions of body shaming that together form the need for body positivity. Overall, Gribbski’s Guide brings our lovely readers along on the many aspects of our journey to body acceptance.

Today, I’d like to write about an extremely important aspect of that journey: how I reclaimed my femininity in a fat body, and how those of us who consider femininity an important part of our identities (and I mean individuals of any body type, gender, or sex) are under fire.

When I first heard Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” I really wanted to be thrilled about it. Here was a sexy, curvy woman singing about how big women are desirable. In her music video she wears these unconventional outfits that show off her shape and she even incorporates a fat man in the dance crew. At first I thought this was great—she gives both fat women and men visibility as worthy and sexy. However, I quickly became skeptical of the video, lyrics, and overall message when I started to analyze the subtle body shaming within a song that is supposed to be body positive.

WAIT, WAIT! Pop culture throws fatties a bone and now you’re going to criticize it?!

You’re goddamn right I am.

If you haven’t already, please check out the video and lyrics here. As I said, it seems wonderful on the surface; but as much as I want to love it I just can’t. For weeks something about this song, and about various images I’ve been seeing online, have been bothering me. Finally, I figured out the specific aspects of the song that were problematic for me, and they line up with phenomena I’ve been experiencing in my own life recently. The following messages (lies) are steadily becoming more popular in the mainstream version of what masks itself as body positivity:

1. “Real Women Are Curvy.” There are so many problems with this statement. First of all, it’s an offensive backlash against the idea that fat women (or fat female-identified individuals) are often made to feel like they aren’t sexy or feminine. Instead of addressing the problems with that line of thinking, some have adopted the idea that curvier, larger women are actually more feminine and small, petite women aren’t. Instead of reclaiming femininity for all body types, proponents of the “real women” message only support one body type at a time, taking an extremely reductive approach to what can be feminine, sexy, and worthy. 

Check out Reddit’s Fat People Hate page here to get an idea of how fat women are reduced to sexless, identity-less objects of disdain. Reddit is by no means a scholarly source; what I'm trying to show is how fat hate, body hate, and body shaming are perpetuated at the cultural level by media from music to forums. 

The term “androgynous blob” is used in the comments to describe fat people. Fat men are berated for having prominent breasts while fat women are chided “you only have breasts because you’re fat; they aren’t real.” Statements like these spark the flawed activism of saying “real women have curves” and contribute to a body shaming cycle that doesn’t help anyone.  

For a long time I felt as though my own femininity was at stake because of my weight. I felt like I had to exaggerate and perform my gender in an over-the-top way to be taken seriously as a cisgender female who values femininity as a part of her identity. I would alternate between feeling like my over-performance made me look childish, to thinking that it was the only way I could be sexy. My immersion in feminism and body positivity is really what helped me realize that my expression of my own identity is not contingent upon anyone else’s biases, and certainly not upon their unfair and destructive stereotyping. If I feel feminine, worthy, and empowered, then I am, despite what Reddit users are saying.

I also don’t need to shame petite women as “sticks” or tell them that they are less desirable to men to make myself feel better about my own identity. Here’s a common internet photo that is, unfortunately, one of many adopting the “real women are X” fallacy:

Problematically, there has been backlash to the backlash by others adopting the idea that “Real Women are Skinny/Thin/Petite/” etc. It is incredibly dangerous to invalidate another individual’s femininity because it sends the cultural message that it is 1. okay to put certain types of women into neat, suffocating little boxes, and 2. it is okay for others to dictate how women should perform their gender. Check out this advertisement for a plus size clothing store: 

This ad says: “Well, real women are curvy BUT they also need to be modest and wear a certain type of clothing to be considered feminine, worthy, and attractive.” What is modest for a fat woman? No cleavage, rolls, or stretch marks showing? Covering up big arms and legs? A myriad of other body shaming dress code rules? I wholly reject that idea there is one particular way to perform my femininity as a fat, cisgender female, and I wholly reject that idea that there is any one particular way for any individual to perform their gender, sexuality, or identity.

These internet rants and ads bring us back full circle to “All About That Bass.” The following lines, meant to boost the confidence of curvy women, cannot do so without shaming thinner women, essentially invalidating the body positive purpose behind the song:

“I'm bringing booty back
Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that
No I'm just playing. I know you think you're fat
But I'm here to tell ya
Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top”

Although Trainor seems to recapture the BoPo message at the end of the stanza, the lines about “skinny bitches” and “I know you think you’re fat” go beyond ‘playful’ and prey on the insecurities of smaller women and invalidate their own worries about body image. This is not a productive way to empower any body type; if you have to shame one to hold up the other, then the activism isn’t effective.

Additionally, if you glorify feminine bodies by rigid standards, regardless of whether you purport small or large as more attractive, then you limit the power and potential of those feminine identities and bodies. Another limiting notion in “All About That Bass” links sexuality and attractiveness to self-worth:

2. Worth is intrinsically linked to ability to attract a mate. This statement has been perpetuated in pop culture for a long time. With songs, movies, and magazine ads pushing the “perfect” types of women for the pleasure of the male gaze, women have long been expected to live up to unrealistic ideals. "All About That Bass" has not created, but rather re-energized, the idea that curvier women are more attractive to men. Here are more lines that communicate this message:

“'Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places”

“Yeah, my mama she told me don't worry about your size
She says, "Boys like a little more booty to hold at night."”

There are no right or wrong places to have “junk;” the idea that there is a right or wrong way to have a body is one of the foundations of body shaming. It certainly shouldn’t be used in a song that has been championed as a mainstream big girl win. Further, it perpetuates the idea that having these curves is a good thing because it will help attract a mate. The myth that women in particular are only worth their ability to charm, entice, or keep a man happy, besides being extremely patriarchal and heteronormative, is completely reductive towards the potential and worth that women possess. The fact that a woman’s worth is still being connected to her attractiveness in so many pervasive cultural outlets is disturbing.

Lately I’ve been having conversations with a very close friend about body shaming and the need to find a partner. She is a small, petite, cisgender female who has been made to feel that her body isn’t attractive to others, and that her worth is based on her ability to find and keep a partner. It has been so rewarding and also challenging to help her see how smart, worthy, and beautiful she is both inside and out. It is an absolute atrocity that a strong, empowered, smart mother of three has been made to feel less in her identity because of the bad activism of others. The difficulty of changing our minds about ourselves lies in the cultural bombardment of body shaming and women’s prescribed roles that we experience and absorb everyday.

In every song that we listen to and movie we watch where body shaming and misogyny run rampant, we are being complicit in letting these attitudes control us if we don’t fight back and think critically about the cultural bullshit we’re being served. If we are going to reclaim our identities, whatever identities they may be, then we have to strike back against our culture. Every television ad, every lyric, and every happy ending to a whitewashed romcom is just another stab at body positivity and feminism. These stereotypes invade our media and culture and when we don’t see them, or when we see them and let them thrive, they are shaping who we become and how we think of ourselves and others.

Now although “All About That Bass” sparked my line of thinking and helped me articulate how I reclaimed my own femininity, I am by no means saying there aren’t other songs that contain the same fallacies. In fact, there are A TON of songs that contain the same fallacies, and even those that INTEND to offend or stereotype. I am simply using this song as an example of activism that could have been well-intentioned, but in the end falls short. I’m not being critical or oversensitive here; poor activism must be identified if we are going to remedy body shaming and other social injustices.

We can talk about specific experiences within the BoPo movement and specific identities WITHOUT shaming others by taking an intersectional approach where we acknowledge that we are talking about a particular experience situated in an array of unique experiences that acknowledge privilege and push back against offensive cultural constructs.   

Stay tuned for an example of productive activism in music from the WW coming soon, and in the meantime enjoy these empowering internet memes:

The Right Way to Have An Eating Disorder

From the WW

Warning:  In this post, I will divulge some things that I did before I began living with a healthier concept of myself and my body.  I have not done any of these things in over a year, and I rarely talk about them, but after an incident with a student today, I felt inspired to share and speak out.

For those of you who are new to our blog or who may have forgotten, I work at a residential treatment center.  Because our main focus is on relationships, I have certain freedoms in my job as a teacher that I would not have in a public school.  Among these freedoms is time to sit down with my students and "process," which basically means listening to what they're struggling with and showing empathy and care.  Today as I was processing with one of my students, she informed me that she has an eating disorder, but that she doesn't talk about it often.  She said that when she tries to talk to people about it, she stops because of the looks she gets.  As she started to tear up, she struggled to find the words for what the looks mean, but I already knew.  Finally, she said, "It is because I don't look like I have an eating disorder."

This was one of those moments where I had to fight back my own tears, because I have felt a similar hurt in my own way, and I wish I could protect all of my kids from ever feeling that way.  I've never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I firmly believe that I am living with one.  Eating disorders are terrible roommates.  Even with my recent acceptance and love of my body, I have days in which I feel the familiar pull of dieting and restricting, bingeing and purging.  This is something I have under control because I know how to live with it, but it is something I do not see going away anytime soon.

See, there is no "right" way to have an eating disorder.  I may not have been anorexic, and I have NEVER been underweight in the slightest, but as a teenager, I would hide and hoard and binge and then purge, either with a finger (not often) or with laxatives and/or a ridiculous amount of water.  I even made the water into a game.  How many times can I go to the drinking fountain to refill my water bottle during study hall?  Six was my record.

As a young adult, I have restricted myself to insane amounts.  One summer I lost thirty pounds by eating nothing but yogurt and nuts.  I'd tell myself the headaches and lightheadedness would go away eventually.  I thought I was smart enough to not use the "stupid" ways to purge, like the finger.  Instead, I'd drink raw eggs to make myself sick.  One time, I "accidentally" swallowed soap.  Muuuuuch healthier.

I was pretty good at covering most of my disordered eating by calling it "counting calories."  Don't get me wrong, counting calories is NOT bad.  In fact, it works for a lot of people.  Not so for me.  For me, it becomes a race to the smallest amount possible.  For me, it gets out of control.

But you know the biggest reason for it being easy to hide my disordered eating?  My body.  The common misconception about eating disorders is that they always make you smaller.  Unhealthy looking.  Anorexic.  But that is so, so, so false.  No matter how hard I tried to make it smaller, I only ever made it bigger.  It was an endless source of frustration, one that damaged my body in ways I may never be able to change.  It was one of the reasons that I never even thought of my behavior as disordered eating, and one of the reasons that I don't think anyone else really picked up on it.  When a fat person loses weight, our first instinct is to congratulate them, not think that they might have an eating disorder.  In fact, the summer that I finally lost thirty pounds, I remember getting a lot of compliments on my weight loss, but not a lot of comments on my diet, which only solidified my belief that what I was doing was okay.

I have never looked like I have an eating disorder, and I guarantee that I am not the only one.  Telling people like me that what we dealt with was not really an eating disorder only invalidates our experiences.  I'm not trying to say that my eating disorder was ever life-threatening, nor was it extreme. But telling me that my eating disorder was just poor self-control and uninformed dieting takes away the power I have in having pulled through those times, and sets me up to fall back into bad habits.

Please be mindful of the fact that there is absolutely not one way to have an eating disorder.  If you or someone you know is suffering from an eating disorder and is not receiving help, I urge you to check out places like NEDA who have helplines and other resources.  

Weight Talk is NOT Small Talk...especially in the Fat Galaxy

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had some “compliments” about my body.  People I don’t know well are the people providing me with these morsels. 

Please do not compliment me if you think I’ve lost weight.

I understand that it is socially acceptable (more like encouraged) to be cheerleaders for those of us who carry a bit extra.  I understand that you’ve never even considered the possibility that I liked and that I miss that ten pounds that I lost. 

This is my PSA.  This is me, making you aware.

My body is safe.  As a fat woman, I am less often the target for unwanted sexual advances than my thin friends.  As a fat woman, I am less often sexualized by society and by those close to me.  As a fat woman, I am often overlooked in certain discussions and in certain groups of people.  Sure, being fat has its own dangers.  I am constantly aware of the space my body occupies and how much is left for those around me.  I am constantly aware of how my clothes are falling on my body.  I am constantly aware of my public food intake.  But these are discomforts that are comfortable to me.  I have grown accustomed to these thoughts and worries; this is auto-pilot for my brain.

Weight loss is dangerous.  It makes me visible to people I have never been noticed by before.  It throws off my measurements on occupied space.  It makes me unsure of how my clothes are fitting.  It makes me hyper-aware of what I am eating, taking me back to a dark place I never want to see again.  It makes me a stranger to my body.

After a year of maintaining approximately the same weight, it is frightening to hear someone ask if I’ve lost weight.  It reminds me of that old ache I would feel when I weighed myself every morning, the ache that tugged at my health and my sanity, the ache that reminded me it was never good enough.  You know, that ache that I can’t resist, even now.  There’s a reason I avoid the scales, and it isn’t because I’m ashamed of my body.  It is because I know my mind is fragile, even though I tell myself almost every day that it isn’t.  It is because I am barely holding onto the reigns of that ache which dominated my life.  I’ve managed to harness the control I once abused on my body and redirect it in more productive and less harmful activities.  I don’t want to let that control take its old position back.

I will almost always say “no” if you ask if I’ve lost weight because it is easier and it ends the conversation very quickly, which is ideal.  If I’m feeling sassy, I might respond with a simple, “That’s a personal question.”  You will never again hear me say, “Thanks” when you follow up with something like “well, you look great!” or “keep doing whatever you’re doing because it is obviously working!” because why should I?  I know I look good to me and I know that what I’m doing is working for me, and that my looks are not contingent on shrinking.  I would also prefer a comment on something not about my appearance, like maybe my attitude.  But if it has to be my appearance, at least compliment my t-shirt or shoes, which reflect my taste and not my personal struggles with my body.

Please be more mindful of this in the future.  Please do not automatically assume that people you don’t know well who appear to have lost weight have done so intentionally.  There are many reasons for a person to lose weight outside of aesthetics.  Perhaps this person needed to lose weight in order to get an important surgery.  Perhaps this person lost weight as a result of medication or an unhealthy eating habit, or even disorder.  Perhaps this person lost weight due to illness.  Perhaps this person is me, who is comfortable in her own skin and is frightened of losing that comfort. 

Regardless of the reason for the change, it is not any of your business if someone else has lost weight.  We do not have the authority to make judgments or criticisms about another person’s body.  We are not and should not ever be body police for each other.

It won’t hurt anyone if you don’t say anything, but there is always a possibility of doing some damage if you do.

-WW

Six

Hey guys, this is the WW.  I am stealing the blog for a post not at all related to body positivity, but it is still about something important and close to me.  All names have been deleted for privacy, etc.  

Please give it a read!

Six

To Hannah

Six years ago, I returned home from a weekend trip to Osage Beach, Missouri.  I think that’s why I feel so inspired to write this after so many years of simply acknowledging the day; I’m in a place that will forever remind me of grief and loss.

Six years ago last Wednesday, I had a Goodbye Summer party in the park by my house.  I remember thinking that no one would show because it seemed like that happened a lot when I made an event.  I was not very confident at seventeen. 

Six years ago last Wednesday, that boy with the big hair (all names but yours have been excluded for privacy) showed up first, and I didn’t know him well, so I remember us sitting awkwardly in the pavilion while we waited for others to arrive and relieve the awkward tension.  You were the first.

Six years ago last Wednesday, you hopped out of the car, perhaps with a “Bye, Mom” tossed behind you, but I can’t remember details like that.  What I can remember is the relief I felt that YOU had arrived, someone I loved and could talk to, someone who also knew and loved the boy with the big hair.

Six years ago last Wednesday, we played on the playground (I probably got stuck on top of the monkey bars because that happened a lot) and we wrote our names with a suffix of –butt in chalk all over the pavilion and we climbed trees and we ate mystery chips.

Six years ago last Wednesday, you stood suddenly from the picnic circle, declaring that you had to go hang out with some other friends, and despite our pleading for you to stay, you went anyway.

Six years ago last Wednesday, I gave you the laziest hug, because who ever thinks to do a real, love-filled, fierce hug at every goodbye? 

Six years ago last Wednesday, my party ended and we all split up.   I remember doing stupid things, like playing the five-clicks game on Wikipedia.  I also remember doing exciting, important things, like planning activities for the Gay-Straight Alliance, the group that a mutual friend and I would be co-presidents of in our upcoming senior year of high school.  I remember walking home at the end of the night in my bare feet.  I remember sliding my cell phone under my pillow like I always did.  I remember listening to my family go to bed.

Six years ago last Wednesday, I was falling asleep in my bed when my life jarringly changed forever.  It was the vibration under my pillow that woke me up, and the voice on the other end telling me that you had died.

Six years ago last Wednesday after that phone call, everything was a haze, with only flashes of memory returning now as I write this.  I remember…

            Waking my parents as I clutched my cell phone with your name still lingering on the other side, still clinging to the word death

            Walking into the living room of the friend who called to see everyone sobbing and clinging to each other and the tv was on

            Spending the next who-knows-how-many days at our friend’s house with everyone else, crying and remembering and missing you

            Going back to the park to see our names written by you in the chalk and immortalizing them with film

            Going on long walks with our group

Six years ago, I didn’t stay for your funeral.  I agreed to continue with my prior plans to come to Osage Beach to visit my Missouri family.  I remember feeling lost in the airport and trying to cover up my face as I cried so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone about it, but then no one asked, so I cried freely.

Six years ago, I thought it was my fault because it was my party that you left. 

Five years ago, I really came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t my fault, but I still hated that lazy hug I gave you.  I remember blowing up 99 red balloons because that was the thing we did to honor you.  I numbered each one so I wouldn’t lose track.

Four years ago, I wrote you a letter that I never sent.

Three years ago, I probably wrote a facebook status about you and cried that day.

Two years ago, I looked at your pictures and thought about your family.  I missed you, but I also couldn’t remember everything about you.  I realized that even though we were friends and I knew you, I didn’t know you as well as I should have, considering how much your death impacted me.  I felt some guilt for publicly acknowledging the day, like I wasn’t allowed to grieve for as long as everyone else because our connections when you were alive were not as deep as the ones they were talking about.

One year ago, I started student teaching.  I remembered you, but I remembered you from a distant and detached point.  I thought about how the seniors I saw in the hallways could have gone through something similar.  I watched other students deal with grief and loss and I thought about how I did the same when I was their age. 

Last Wednesday, I didn’t even realize what day it was until I got home around 8.  I had a long and wonderful and emotional day at work, but I don’t think there’s ever a day that isn’t emotional when you work with traumatized teenagers.  My girls put on a play and I cried because I was so proud of how hard they worked and because of the support they offered me when I was stressed at the beginning.  After I got home and I logged in to facebook, it hit me.  All kinds of remembrance posts.  Sad, but also fondly reminiscent.  I spent the rest of the week thinking about what your life would have been like, about that day six years ago that stole your future from you, and about the ways we grieve.  I realized that I was still operating under the delusion that I was not allowed to post on social media about you, because that would be attention-seeking and not at all validating or comforting.  I tried a million times to compose a status that captured everything I felt, but I’m wordsy and it was impossible.

I realized that even though we may not have been the best of friends during your life, your death was intimately connected to my growth.  This is not to say that if you hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have grown.  This is to say that there should not be social rules about grief, like who is allowed to grieve, for how long, and in which way.  Death affects us all, and everyone has a different way of dealing with it. 

I will always remember you, even if I can’t remember exactly what you sounded like when we shouted at that cat (Mr. Love Kitty!) or exactly how you felt when we hugged.  I will always wish that day six years ago had never happened, that somehow I would have been able to persuade you to stay.  I will always feel a little broken when I think of that phone call.  I will always think of your family in the summertime and hope they are healing and well and surrounded by people they love.

Hannah, this is something I thought every year on that day, even if I haven’t always said it: I will always remember you.

LAUNCHING OUR NEW VIDEO BLOG

Got that Summertime, Summertime Fatness

Dear Summer,

While we have learned to love our bodies and we welcome the thigh-chafing temperatures that you bring, we do not welcome the body shaming, slut shaming, and strict dress codes that are socially imposed upon us during the season. They are a glaring reminder of what happens more subtly all year long.

We used to dread the gifts you would bring - the excessive heat, crippling humidity, and above all, the awful sweat you would pour on us.  You didn't care that we needed long pants and sleeves to tastefully cover all the bits that bulged instead of caved.  Summer was a bad time to be fat.

UNTIL NOW.

Now, we are feeling stronger every day.  Now, we wear tank tops that reveal our fat arms and back fat.  Now, we wear shorts that expose that weird bit of fat on the side of the knee.

BUT, now we are also uncovering more problems that we never even knew existed.

1) Body-shaming:

Of course, we were always victims of this before, but we were also perpetrators. By hiding our fat and being ashamed of our bodies, we reinforced the idea that fat bodies should be disguised. By comparing ourselves to other fat women by saying "at least we aren't THAT fat," we perpetuated stereotypes about women shaming women and the idea that criticizing another person's body makes yours better.

Now, we are seeing this phenomenon through a completely different lens.

As body positive activists we now know that body shaming is wrong on every level, and that hiding our bodies for the wrong reasons is an act of body shaming in itself. If you don't like wearing shorts and tanks in the summer because you prefer pants and long sleeves, there's nothing wrong with that. However, if you are only wearing clothes that cover up your body because you are ashamed of it and you feel that it is unworthy in the eyes of others, you are wearing those clothes for the wrong reasons. (This obviously excludes those who have undergone emotional trauma related to clothing choices and are still processing those experiences). We now know that we can be beautiful no matter what we wear, and that as fat women we prefer the comfort and coolness of shorts and tanks. In turn, we do not tear down women for their clothing choices, regardless of how they are dressed or what body type they have. In fact, if a fat woman wears long pants in the summer we don't automatically assume that she is ashamed of her legs...we assume that she enjoys wearing long pants. (What a radical notion!) At the same time, if anyone chooses their clothing on the basis of feeling that they will be shamed, then we do hope that they can overcome this.

Just as we fully believe "Other women are not [our] competition. [We] stand with them, not against them," we believe that Other bodies are not our competition, either.

It took a long time for the BB and the WW to stop body shaming themselves and others. As with all parts of the BoPo movement, it is a journey, and it is very personal. We write from personal experiences so that our readers can empathize and hopefully gain insight and ideas in how to proceed with their journeys, but at the same time we acknowledge the personal and private nature of the BoPo path. Thus, we consciously stop ourselves from comparing our bodies and our own ideals for our bodies to other people, because it is always bad activism to make yourself feel better by belittling someone else.

Finally, we just want to add that we write through the lens of fat feminists, but we also acknowledge and appreciate the plights of fat men, as well. During the summer especially it can be difficult for fat men to be respected when people make fun of their "bitch tits" or "man boobs." This is a great example of why men need feminism just as much as women and all other genders do. Fat men are demeaned by being called women when they have visible breasts. Even in jest this is body shaming and it needs recognition and activism, too.

2. Slut Shaming:

Summertime, you are infamous as the season of slut shaming, but even all year 'round women of all ages are judged for their clothing. Why is it ever okay to make a judgement about someone's sexuality, lifestyle, personality, or personal preferences based on their clothing? It isn't!

If women wear their bikinis in the summer they even face judgements at the beach sometimes...unless, of course, they are participating in a wet t-shirt/bikini contest. Then it's all good!  This conditions women to compare themselves to one another and forces them to consider their bodies as objects for the male gaze.

During other seasons young girls are taught to be ashamed of their bodies by public school dress codes. Dress code rules are typically much more strict for girls than they are for boys, and instead of teaching students to embrace their bodies and respect one another's bodies, girls are instead taught that their cleavage is disruptive and their short shorts are distracting. In turn, boys are taught that a woman's clothing can identify her as a "slut" as opposed to a person dressing for the temperature.

All-in-all, slut shaming is another form of body shaming that is also related to rape culture and victim blaming, and Summertime brings many of those issues out into the open as women dress *gasp* for the weather.

Despite these challenges, we will continue to be proud and fat feminists who dress for the weather.  We will embrace the tan lines that will now be on our thighs instead of our ankles.  We will swim in public places in our cute swimsuits without worrying about everyone judging our bodies.
   
Most of all, we will not discount the importance of discussing issues like these. Because there are so many facets of body politics it sometimes seems frivolous to some to focus on something like clothing. However, as Body Proud activists who have lived as fat feminists, we know that clothing choices go so much further than a piece of cloth covering the skin. Clothing choices reflect identity and often how we communicate that identity to others. Clothing choices also reflect the implicit cultural shaming of othered bodies as well as the counterculture that seeks to reverse those stigmas.

So thank you Summer, for giving us a reason to wear our shorts confidently and our swimsuits smugly. Oh, and to completely subvert the idea of "dressing for your body type."

Sincerely,
The BB and WW

Return of the WW

Today’s post will be a solo post by the WW.

It is good to be back!  I have been extremely busy adjusting to my new life, so apologies for not writing much.  In fact, the adjustments I have been going through are part of what I wanted to talk about in today’s post.  So, without further ado…

As you probably know by now, in February, my partner and I uprooted our lives in Illinois and moved over to Missouri for work.  We split up our small family, complete with pets, after two-and-a-half years of living together.  At the time, we thought that we’d be able to find a place to live pretty quickly.  After three months of hard searching with only a few leads here and there, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t.

BUT.  This is not about that.  This is about the feelings that this change brought about.  Since moving, I have questioned a lot about myself and what I believe about my body.  My journey into BoPo Land had only just begun before moving, and when my partner and I left our home, I also left behind everyone I ever felt safe around.  The BB and I would be living in entirely different states for the first time since the beginning of our friendship, and not living on the same street was going to be a difficult adjustment, especially since we had leaned so heavily on each other during the first few steps of acceptance.  My few solo posts since then have taken a more contemplative turn, which really reflects what has been going on in my head for the last three months.

Recent events (both personal and national) have inspired me to recognize what was happening with me, so of course I have to write about it.  In true Gribbski fashion, I present you with a list:

1.     Safety

2.     Activist Burnout

3.     #YesAllWomen and Cyber Activism

Yes, that’s right.  We’re going to talk about that hashtag that almost everyone is talking about.  You’ve probably seen it on Facebook, but if not, I will happily explain what I know about it.  Patience.  We’ll get there.

1.  Safety

I’ve been thinking a lot about safety lately.  Actually, I’ve been thinking about almost nothing else.  I currently work in a teen residential treatment center where safety is the number one concern, and in my three months there, I’ve learned quite a bit about how important it is.

Obviously I’ve always known that safety is important.  From a young age, we are generally taught that we need to do certain things to stay safe, like avoiding strangers and holding your parent’s hand while in a parking lot.  But after working with the population of kids that I work with, I’ve realized just how much I’ve taken my personal safety, especially emotional safety, for granted.  My privilege of being white, middle-class, and with a family gave me that allowance.  Emotional safety is the slightly invisible cousin of physical safety; you don’t tend to think about your emotional safety as being at risk unless it already has been.  We don’t have any rules for small children on protecting their emotional safety.

Now that I am becoming more aware of emotional safety and its importance, I am starting to recognize its importance in my personal life.  I had grown comfortable with my life in Illinois.  I was living with my loving, supportive partner, and I was down the street from my fat writing partner who shared the same experiences with me.  People there knew I was fat and happy.  It was home, and I was emotionally safe. 

Moving to a new place and being distanced from everything and everyone that made me feel safe with my identity of happy and fat completely derailed me.  It took me this long to put into words just how all of the pieces fit together.  But man, it has been rough.  I cut off all my hair, and at the time, I told myself it was because it would be easier to take care of, but I think its because I was too upset to bother with the long hair.  I’ve cried a lot.  I’ve slipped back into unhealthy habits.  I’ve tried covering it up again.  I’ve even started having panic attacks, which is new for me.  There have been some nights where I feel so hopeless that I can’t even sleep, but I don’t know what to do about it.

But after three months, I am rebuilding.  I am starting to feel secure in my identity again.  Here’s a funny story:  I always told myself I wouldn’t care if a student called me fat, but until it actually happened, I wasn’t quite sure.  When it did happen (more violently than I expected), I had to hold in the giggles because I was so relieved that it didn’t sting.

I saw the BB a couple of times, and we discussed all of our life changes.  My partner and I are so close to getting a place to live.  We’re checking one out tomorrow!  I’m growing my hair out.  And after about three weeks of having panic attacks and telling myself that nothing was happening, I finally told someone about it and I’m coming to terms with it. 

I have one final thought to add to this safety section, but it requires a bit of back story, so bear with me.  In fact, I probably could have made it a subsection of safety.  Let’s call it “Support.”

I may have written about this before, but if not, here it is.  My parents and I have struggled a lot with conversations about my health, which I often confused as conversations about my appearance.  There was a lot of miscommunication that made these conversations strained and extremely stressful for both sides.  It wasn’t until the BB and I started this blog that I was finally able to have a healthy conversation with my parents about my body.  I sent them an email and crossed my fingers, hoping for the best, and I got more than I could have asked for.  My parents have been very supportive of my BoPo journey, and if I could tell teenage me that, I would go back in time and save us all a bunch of tears and frustration.

I received an email from my Dad recently that I really wanted to share with everyone.  With his permission, here it is:

Hello, [WW]. Our first disc golf club outing was pretty cool yesterday. [Your sister] came along, and we had five total people. It’s a start!

That’s not why I’m writing, though, and I know email is damn informal, but I want to tell this to you right now while the feeling’s here. For some time now, I have been jotting down phrases in a Kahlil Gibran fashion: little thoughts of big ideas. Short phrases fit well in my short attention span. Anyway, I just found one I had written down and don’t know where it came from, though it reminded my of your blog’s message. Here it is:

Define your own Beautiful.

I really like what you and your Friend are doing in cyberspace. The two of you are sharing thoughts that need to be thought of. Maybe the line I wrote down came out of something I read of yours; I don’t know. However, I wanted to share it with you, because I think of you when I read it.

You are a strong, independent woman. Who cares what other people do? You achieve what you want, and what you want is nearly always for the good of others.

I’ve got hundreds of pages of writings lying around: poems, stories, songs, etc. No one will likely see or hear the majority unless someone goes through my things someday. If you can find a use for this little thought, please share it. You inspire me, and I love you for that. Most Parents are so busy trying to turn their Children into themselves that they don’t take time to learn from the people that are often the smartest in the room. You, however, have taught me much, and I thank you.

Have a great weekend, Abri. You are a Beautiful, Beautiful person.

Love,

Dad

This email is just one of the many kinds of communications I have with Dad, and I think it really ties in well with this idea of emotional safety.  It feels so wonderful to have such an important person in my life validate my thoughts and feelings about something we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on.  This email came when I was just piecing things together again, and it helped solidify my identity as a body-positive activist again.  Which bring us nicely into my next point…

2.  Activist Burnout

One of my oldest and greatest friends, who happens to be a regular reader of this blog, shared an article on facebook a while ago and tagged both the BB and myself in it.  At the time that she posted it, I didn’t read it, and it turned out to be pretty ironic.

Here’s the article.

At the time, I was in the midst of my busiest week at work so far: the parent retreat.  This is the time when the parents from each gender’s community come out to have a couple of great therapeutic bonding days with their kids.  I was so exhausted from work every day that I would barely even look at my Facebook.  SO when I saw this post, I read the title, thought about how interesting it would be, and promptly fell asleep. 

I read the article for the first time yesterday and I was amazed at how much it would have helped me if I had read it sooner.  Note to self, never put off reading something again.  The whole thing is about self-care and how easy it is to get activist burnout if you don’t take care of yourself first.  This whole time, I’ve been wondering if I’m really as BoPo as I claim to be, or if that was just something I forced myself into.  I never realized that I just wasn’t doing the self-care thing properly!  The last three months have been like a recovery period. 

Seriously, read the article, because realizing that it was okay that I didn’t want to write blog entries all the time made me feel a lot better. So much better that I even started looking into the whole #YesAllWomen thing that I kept seeing on Facebook…

3.  #YesAllWomen and Cyber Activism

There are so many things to talk about here, but since I’ve already made this post pretty long, I’ll narrow it down a bit.  #YesAllWomen is a conversation about the persistence of misogyny in every woman’s life.  You know when a man does something terrible and then men around the world say, “well not all men are like that”?  This is sort of a response to that.  Sure, not all men are rapists, but yes, all women have a one in six chance of being raped.  That sort of thing.  #YesAllWomen are targets of misogynistic practices such as street harassment.  #YesAllWomen are taught to never leave drinks unattended at parties, but #NotAllMen are taught to not rape.  Make sense?

You probably heard about Elliot Rodger by now.  If not, here’s a link.

Basically, this guy felt entitled to sex, and when it didn’t happen, he killed a bunch of people and blamed it on women.  This was a punishment for ALL WOMEN who never slept with a guy who was kinda good-looking and nice to them.  What really is getting a lot of people is the fact that before this shooting happened, Rodgers’s therapist called the police.  When they arrived at his house, they decided that everything seemed okay and that Rodgers was lucid and not suspicious, so despite his therapist’s warnings, they left.  But what is really blowing my mind (and a lot of other angry feminist minds) is the fact that we’re blaming this entirely on a mental illness rather than even a little on misogyny and entitlement.  Even though this guy outlined his misogyny-based reasons in a manifesto, we can’t talk about that.  Instead, we’re going to focus on how there’s nothing we can do because he was crazy, and there’s going to be a bunch of arguments about gun law reform. 

Instead of reading my rant about it, you should check out Laci Green’s video about it.

The part of this that I really want to focus on is the Cyber Activism piece.  While the BB and I do practice BoPo in our lives outside of cyberspace, we really push it on the internet.  A lot of people call this kind of activism cowardice or lazy activism, but the #YesAllWomen conversations have been showing why Cyber Activism has a really important place in today’s society.  The internet is a place where women are regularly abused, objectified, harassed, and terrorized, and part of the reason for that is that it is anonymous and easy to do.  The internet is not a safe place for anyone, but especially not for women.  People like Laci Green and Arthur Chu (author of this masterpiece) are making their voices heard in the fight for making safe spaces online for women, but it is certainly not lazy activism.  While Cyber Activism may seem like cowardice, it is really about the medium.  It would not be effective to stage a protest on the street about creating safe spaces online because that isn’t where the violence is happening. 

But the coolest thing about Cyber Activism is that it is more convenient than anything else.  If you can find something that you can really get behind and support online, then do it.  This is an easy step towards implementing some activism into your actual life, like the BB and I did.  We started out with writing about our BoPo journey online, and then we started bringing it up in conversation offline. 

Here’s a small paragraph summarizing what I hope you get out of this (I hope you’re not saying to yourself, “Why didn’t I just scroll down to get the summary?!” but if you are, I won’t be mad about it): Sometimes finding your voice online can help you strengthen it offline, which is what I am rediscovering.  Don’t be afraid to take some time off for yourself, either.  Surround yourself with the people who love you and support you.  Take care of yourself and then take small steps back.  That’s all it takes.

Thanks for being patient with me, readers!  We’ll be back again soon.