Category Archives: BMI

[cranky] CFF manifesto (in progress)

CFF became a place for me to understand that there is more than fat shaming — there is skinny shaming too, and that I’ve participated in it. Today, I do post mostly about fat shaming, but I make a point of never skinny shaming.

gabourey sidibe

I’ve also reflected a lot on how I’ve felt fat since probably the age of 9 or 10. I hit puberty early (period came at age 10) so I was extra tall and hairy early. I’ve always had wide shoulders, and by 6th grade I was a 36C. I was always bigger than every other girl, and most of the guys. I told myself constantly that I was fat. Middle school (the years of self hate, mean girls, exploring make up, leg shaving, girl on girl hate…) only made my fat feel fatter.
Since then I’ve realized that almost all of us felt fat (regardless of how little we may have weighed). I want this page to be a community in which everyone who has ever felt fat — ever — to feel safe and realize that we must love our bodies. Even if you want to change your body (weight, gender, tattoos, clothes) you have to start by loving your body.

You only get one body.

strong women

Every day when I check CFF I’m reminded that I MUST love my wonderfully imperfect body. I am reminded the true meaning and importance of intersectionality, looking through comments and looking at all of the countries and cities the “likes” originate from.

This then reminds me that all over the world fat means different things. When I was in Ghana fat was a good thing (although personally traumatic for the first six weeks). We must accept our bodies, love our bodies, and remember that maybe it’s your society that does not “approve” of your body — but it’s not the world that does not approve.
she dares to take up space

I love messages from other CFFs, and posts shared on the wall. It helps open my eyes more to the world outside of my little ass-backwards southern city.

I somehow was incredibly sheltered from the fact that men have body image issues as well. Having CFF really opened my eyes to this, and I’ve worked my hardest to include all genders in body image conversations. My own father’s body image problems have also been eye opening. He weighs much less than me, but is desperate to lose 20 pounds. His doctor hasn’t asked him to lose weight, it’s just for him and the man he sees in the mirror. While I don’t understand it, I still have to respect him.

pretty

Always a work in progress, respect and choice are essential to feminism.

[fat] a new diet begins

I’ve joined weight watchers this week. The online food diary from last semester helped me figure out what I should and shouldn’t eat, but somehow weight watchers feels more legitimate?
I have metabolic syndrome, meaning that I have elevated cholesterol, elevated blood sugar, a slow metabolism, elevated blood pressure, and a knack for not ever being able to lose weight. The carrots and hummus diet did nothing. The protein water diet did nothing. So now I’m on to the most legitimate thing I can find online. I weighed in this week at a whopping 220.5 pounds. Standing at just 5 feet and 6 inches tall when I bother to stand straight, my BMI tells me that I’m obese, and that my ideal weight is 125-155. That’s 65.5 pounds to lose. And according to my doctor if I don’t lose it, I’ll be diabetic just like my grandmother. I inherited the huge boobs and bad blood, way to go.

My cortisol levels aren’t terrible right now, but stress and anxiety are words that would best describe the inside of my head. My younger sister has borderline personality disorder, my parents are going through a nasty divorce, and things spiraled out of control over four and a half years ago after my sister was drunk, drugged, and raped by a friend. At the age of 14. Chocolate and beer have been great coping mechanisms, but coupled with stress and a predisposition for diabetes, I backed myself into a cave I’m not sure I can find my way out of.
Cortisol levels screwing up means that my fat doesn’t amass on my arms, legs, belly, and boobs in a somewhat proportional manner. My legs are still as skinny and muscular as when I was swimming and weightlifting at 140 pounds. My arms have a little more fat on them than back when I could bench 95 pounds, which is pretty great for a girl. My boobs now look proportional, now that I’ve had three pounds removed at the age of 16 and they’ve grown back.
My belly looks like I’m pregnant. I bought maternity jeans because they’re the only thing that will fit me besides sweatpants. I don’t get to walk around with a sign that says “I have a thyroid problem. I have severe anxiety. I have a predisposition for diabetes.” I get to appear as the fat blob in my university classes, the girl no one can share clothes with. My weight has begun to affect the way that I can sit and move, and as a former dancer it kills me to feel unable to move easily. It feels as though no matter what I do, what I eat, what I don’t eat, my weight is slowly and surely inching up, and spiraling out of control.
Hopefully the new diet works. Right now my goal is just 209.5, 5% of my weight. And my challenge for the week is to drink all eight glasses of water every day.