Thick. Fat. Good. -The Toast

Skip to the article, or search this site

Home: The Toast

800px-Southernfood

“…my crew don’t mind it thick (Uh-uh) / Every woman ain’t a video chick (Nah) / Or runway model anorexic / I love what I can hold and grab on…” Posdnuos, “Baby Phat” by De La Soul

In the South, we’re known for appreciating a “thick” woman, and for a very long time, I was upset that I didn’t have the hips, ass, and breasts my people lift in praise. My mother takes great pleasure in telling stories about how my adolescent self used to stand in the mirror, wondering where my curves were. If I’d had three wishes, one of them would’ve been to give me a fuller, more desired figure. Then I went to college in a city with some of the best food in the country. I found the curves I’d been looking for, and then some. I could tell my then-boyfriend wasn’t thrilled with the weight gain either, but family and friends kept telling me I finally looked like a woman.

After college graduation, I felt good about my weight because I was working out, and the weight had settled more proportionately. My exercise playlists were filled with hip-hop and r&b songs that were dedicated to bodies like mine that didn’t get acknowledged in film and television, unless the women were promiscuous or prostitutes. Sometimes there may have been only one or two lyrics focusing on women with ample figures, but it would be enough. During a time when video vixens had become the cultural equivalent of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders of my youth, I could imagine myself in a hip-hop video. And so I’d kick a little higher, squat a little deeper, knowing I was worthy of song.

The confidence I had in my body was better than it had been in years. I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw, and so did others. Men called me “thick,” desire weighing their eyelids and shining across their lips. Then a few months after I turned 25, I had to have major emergency surgery that left me with a long scar down the length of my torso, ruining the shape of my belly button, and leaving me with digestive issues. My crop top days were over. Bikinis became a part of the past. At 25, this was supposed to be the time I showed off my body the most. Now I had to worry about explaining the scar to intimate partners, hoping it wouldn’t scare them away. It didn’t. They’d kiss the re-knitted flesh to show they didn’t mind, and I’d look away.

Years passed and I found myself involved with another man who didn’t like the weight gain I was experiencing as we’d settled into our Old Couple Routine- weekend dinners out, after-work happy hours, lazy Sundays in bed or on the couch. One night in bed, he ran his hand down the length of my side and discovered a roll of flesh. He kept rubbing his hand against it. Soon he began making comments about my weight, my goals, my habits… The break-up was messy, stressful. He was the first guy I’d “played house” with and with him gone, I couldn’t sleep well any more. I’d take Tylenol P.M. to close my eyes for more than 15 minutes at a time. And I didn’t want to cook. I’d eat at work because my coworkers forced me, but at home, there didn’t seem to be any point if there was no one there to share food with. I started to lose weight, but I wasn’t healthy. Needless to say, it was a difficult time, and I decided I needed to leave the city to move on. He and I saw each other before I left, and he told me I was losing too much weight. His comment reinforced the idea that there would always be something for him to nitpick, and I was grateful to be running away to Los Angeles.

“You were perfect before you went on a diet / You was way thicker / You think I don’t remember…” Andre 3000, “Dedication to My Ex (Miss That)” by Lloyd

When I lived in Los Angeles, I never felt more invisible. My weight was all in my hips, thighs, ass, and not in an acceptable J.Lo or Kardashian way. There was no denying I was a Southern Black American, with no exotic mix of ethnicities to make my shape worthy of attention. I’d also moved at the height of the latest recession. Most of my professional experience is in education. Job prospects were terrible. I ended up working at various non-profit organizations, which meant my salary was laughable. Some days I’d have to call in sick to because I didn’t have enough gas to make it to work. I was losing money because I didn’t have money. I was also in a relationship with an emotionally unavailable man would go through depressive periods where he didn’t want to have sex for almost a month at a time. If I brought up the lack of intimacy, he’d initiate contact, but it was clearly done to shut me up. Sometimes he would wait until I’d go to sleep before masturbating to internet porn. I have no problem with porn. I enjoy it with partners, just as I enjoy it by myself. It was the idea that he seemed to prefer the solo intimacy that left me hurt.

I felt undesirable professionally and romantically. I turned to food to punish him and myself. If he didn’t want to spend time with me in bed, well, candy bars would enjoy my company. My increasing weight gain would be his fault, the result of his constant rejection. Using my body against him when he didn’t seem to care about it, at least not sexually, grew old quickly, and when the relationship ended, I wanted to get rid of the weight as if I were getting rid of him.

But depression had already taken over. Getting out of bed was a herculean task. Friends advised me to join a gym. I couldn’t. That cost money I didn’t have, from membership fees to additional gas for travel, and the neighborhoods I could live in on my educational non-profit salary weren’t safe for runs. I couldn’t afford to drive anywhere but work and home. Soon I weighed so much that, when I’d go home for visits, family and old friends would rear back in shock and ask disingenuous questions to see if I were pregnant, which would send me down another spiral of fueled by depression and anxiety. I was getting older and had a history of reproductive issues like inconsistent periods and benign ovarian cysts. Comparing my weight gain with that of pregnancy had reminded me of more issues with my body that I’d worry about until I’d chew my fingernails into nubs.

Turning to exercise channels on YouTube, I tried to work out at home, but a train of self-doubt circled my thoughts. I was fooling myself about the possibility of losing weight. Even if I lost the weight, would anyone want me? How would a new size get me a better career? Could I handle being slim again and still unwanted? The songs on my workout playlists now mocked me. I could be thick, but fat meant I’d become a joke. I could still be in the videos of these songs, but maybe as the big girl chasing the men who don’t want her because she’s too big, her footsteps shaking the camera. My depression made me feel ashamed of the significance I was placing on my weight and physical appearance. So many people across the world have so much more to worry about. How my body looks is nothing compared to people without food, shelter, or medicine. How dare I worry about something so ridiculous as double-digit-sized clothes? I began a seemingly unending cycle of feeling guilty for feeling bad. I didn’t know how to stop the endless thoughts that I was awful, no matter how I looked at myself.

“Big thick plumber chick…” Manny Fresh, “Back That Azz Up” by Juvenile

I decided to go back home to Nashville because I couldn’t handle being depressed in Los Angeles by myself. That train of voices chugged along, spewing the thought that I was wrong, wrong, wrong no matter what I did. I became suicidal and tried to keep it from my friends. Nothing in my life was going well. Friends and associates were getting married, having children, being promoted, buying homes, achieving long-held dreams. Meanwhile I felt like everything in my life was telling me I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough to stop boyfriends from cheating or ignoring me for strangers on the internet. My professional experience wasn’t enough to find a decent-paying job. My creative talents weren’t enough to pull me away from the hell of a 9-to-5. The only thing stopping me from taking drastic measures was a vision of my mother’s face as she cried going through my stuff after my funeral. So I came home and felt like a failure. I was over 30, living at home, fat, with none of the material, professional, or personal markers of adulthood. I was miserable.

“She had the kind of body / That would probably intimidate / Any of ’em that were un-southern…” Andre 3000, “Pink Matter” by Frank Ocean

In the South, affection and care are shown through Sunday dinners, the exchange of aluminum containers still warm from the oven. If someone stops asking “are you hungry,” know that the love is gone. If you enter a person’s home and don’t eat what they offer, you may not be invited back. If you refuse to eat a dish because it was cooked with meat, there is a beat of silence as people weigh the insult you’ve tossed. A “thick woman” is healthy; she has an appetite, one that may be comparable to her sexual prowess.

People kept telling me that my romantic prospects would get better back home because Southern men love big women. What I heard was “at least the men who’ll accept any kind of woman will want you.” Stereotypes about southern men as big, dumb babies who like the women no one in “real cities” want hung in the air. I didn’t want to be a last resort, but I knew I couldn’t start a new relationship with so much insecurity crawling through me. Any physical intimacy I allowed myself happened when I recycled old lovers, preferring to deal with men I knew wouldn’t tell me no. I’d ask them if they thought I was fat. They’d politely call me “thick,” with a careful pat on my thigh before changing the subject.

I started working out again, but the weight wouldn’t move. Concern about my physical health began to keep me awake at night. Various doctors had assured me that my reproductive issues were normal, but what if now they weren’t? Maybe the weight gain wasn’t my fault, that there really was something wrong with me that didn’t have to do with depression or failed relationships or financial worries or professional stagnancy. Maybe something was physically wrong.

In the past, when I requested to have my thyroid and hormone levels checked, doctors would say I was on the edge of too high but not enough to receive treatment. Now home with good insurance, I was able to go to a doctor who was attentive and thorough. She diagnosed me with PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome) and put me on a diabetic medicine that’s been known to help women with the disorder. I lost over 30 pounds in the first year I was on the medicine. As I researched PCOS, I discovered studies linking it to various psychiatric complications like depression, anxiety, and eating disorders. I worked my way through the internet, reading as much as I could, relieved to know that I wasn’t an awful person, unworthy of life. My body and mind were working together to gaslight me. With my doctor’s help and a new resolve, I knew I could get better.

Even though I’m still not the size I’d like to be, I decided to stop allowing myself to be trapped by my body. I began accepting invitations to parties, no longer caring if old friends will be shocked by my appearance, and started dating again. I’m learning to separate desire and worth from the body. For so long it was easier not to approach anyone because of my weight. I would have rather been rejected because there’s too much of me and not because I’d never be enough. My body has been connected to how people saw me or didn’t see me, and I want to reclaim myself. It’s a slow process. I still don’t have most of the visible markers of adulthood, and my career isn’t where I’ve dreamed it would be, but I’m making progress. I’ve accepted that I’m more tortoise than hare. Now I look at myself in the mirror, hoping that if I had three wishes, I would use them to keep the voices out of my head that tell me I’m not enough.

“If models are made for modeling / Thick girls are made for cuddlin’…” Andre 3000, “Pink Matter” by Frank Ocean

Nichole Perkins is a freelance writer, based in her hometown of Nashville, TN. She began writing about pop culture, race, gender, and sex at the website Postbourgie.com and has written for BuzzFeed, Think Progress, Talking Points Memo, and rogerebert.com. Nichole also writes poetry, fiction, screenplays, and is currently working on a collection of personal essays.

Add a comment

Comments (35)

Loading... Logging you in...
  • Logged in as
I really, really loved this. I hate that weight and appearance being inextricably tied to self worth is basically a cliche because it feels so useless.
When I was going through my worst bout of depression in college that was replete with insomnia and repulsion toward all foods, I came home about 15 lbs underweight feeling the lowest of the low and being told that I looked great, never better by friends of my mother. It's only been a few months now, many years later, that I can look in the mirror and not hate what I see.
Wow, this piece gave me so many feelings about different body issues. I remember "thick" from growing up in Memphis! I also remember liking to hear it said about other women (and men too, if I recall), but feeling like it wasn't for me. It was the 90s and all the women I admired in TV and movies had slim, androgynous, angular bodies; I felt like other people could be thick and perfect but my failure to have lean, straight lines was a failure, period. That's why body diversity in media is so important.

I also have experience some thyroid-related weight and mood rollercoasters. (Side note, I've discovered that different doctors have different ideas of what constitutes the "normal" range for thyroid, so one doctor may recommend treatment where another wouldn't. And "normal" range looks different for different women, too--I had a long struggle to get a doctor, any doctor, to raise my dosage when I was in that in-between range but experiencing physical pain and crippling depression. Those symptoms vanished a month into my new dose.)

It has taken a year or more after the last dramatic weight gain to get comfortable in my new body, which is pretty much the same shape as my old body but with more of everything. But I think I'm there. And I've thought a lot about those old days and circles where "thick" was a compliment. I know that many people still do feel that way, plenty of men find this thicker body attractive. But what's more important is that *I* do.

tl;dr, This piece really resonated with me and reading about your process helped me think about my own.
I rrrrrrreeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaalllllly liked this piece. A lot a lot.
This hooked me right in the heart. All of this, every bit of it, but especially:

"For so long it was easier not to approach anyone because of my weight. I would have rather been rejected because there’s too much of me and not because I’d never be enough. "

Oof. Yeah. I feel that, right at my core.

Thank you for writing this.
"As I researched PCOS, I discovered studies linking it to various psychiatric complications like depression, anxiety, and eating disorders. I worked my way through the internet, reading as much as I could, relieved to know that I wasn’t an awful person, unworthy of life. "

Please think again before saying things like this. Fat and depressed woman here - no convenient PCOS or thyroid or any diagnosis to make. So I guess that makes me an awful person and unworthy of life?
10 replies · active 526 weeks ago
I can't speak for Nichole, of course, but I read that section more as an honest, unvarnished look at the kind of self-loathing tactics those voices in your head use against you when you're feeling your worst, rather than an indictment of other women. I don't think that she, at her truest self, believed that she was awful and unworthy because she gained weight -- or that any other woman would be -- but she's granting us a look at the voices in her head that told her she was.
I really can't imagine why you came to that conclusion from that passage. This is someone finding out that an endocrine disorder contributed to their depression, it is hardly implying that anyone who is depressed and without a metabolic disorder is unworthy of life. Or further, there is no reason to assume that the author is implying that if she hadn't been diagnosed with PCOS that she would have been unworthy of life. Finding out that one is not uniquely burdening everyone around them with their life, regardless of whether they realize it through a symptoms of depression checklist or from a thyroid panel or whatever should not be construed as an attack on those who don't share the same diagnosis.
Thank you for articulating my thoughts perfectly (billion, zillion thumbs up).
Yes! I'd also toss in that PCOS is notoriously difficult to diagnose and treat so it's particularly uncharitable to characterize it as convenient.
Yes yes. I've had PCOS for 12 years, but I wasn't diagnosed until a year ago. Not a week -- sometimes, not a day -- goes by that something about what PCOS is doing to my body (depression, miscarriage, infertility, skin problems) doesn't make be cry. Weight is a piece of it, but it's much more complex and devastating than that. Having a diagnosis doesn't make any of those things go away, but it means I know what I'm dealing with instead of my body feeling like a hopeless medical mystery.
Disease not convenient, of course, but diagnosis is.
No, sorry, I don't think this is a matter of reading in implications as much as it is reading the actual written text. She literally says that it was the PCOS diagnosis that made the difference between her feeling awful and unworthy, and feeling okay. This is the "good fatty" story all over again. This position is not later disavowed or distanced from. It seems to be the essence of this story: I got fat and it was the worst; then I realised I was certifiably sick, so I started to become okay with being fat.
Hi. Nichole, the author, here. The quote you pulled there is a direct reflection of how I felt about *myself* as I struggled through depression that was aggravated by a previously undiagnosed physical medical condition.

I would caution against labeling PCOS or thyroid issues as "convenient," considering the havoc they can cause in people's lives.

Depression is a terrible thing to deal with, regardless of its identifiable sources, and I wish you well on your journey.
6 replies · active 526 weeks ago
Hi Nichole. I do understand that, but I also wish you would (later in the piece?) distance yourself from that position for the sake of those whose world you create with your words. Knowing that even my allies, my sisters-in-arms, can unreflectingly imply that I am awful and worthless because I don't have a good medical excuse for my depression and fatness is pretty damn terrible. You can obviously write what/how you like - I just wanted to flag that this might be something to be more sensitive to in future.
"It seems to be the essence of this story: I got fat and it was the worst; then I realised I was certifiably sick, so I started to become okay with being fat."

I say clearly at the end that I'm not okay with my weight and that I continue to struggle with the other factors that contributed to my depression like professional & relationship stagnancy. It's all still in progress.

I don't know what you mean by "good fatty" story, but I am offended that I have to fit a certain kind of narrative for you to find the story of *my* battle with body image and depression acceptable. You have belittled my experience and what I have one through for decades because it's not your story or because it doesn't fit what you see as a proper narrative for an ally or sister-in-arms.

You are scolding me because my depressive thoughts weren't pretty. You are scolding me because I don't end the essay saying it's okay to be fat without a medical or "convenient" reason. If that is your story, then I look forward to reading it.
Okay, I did not intend to belittle or scold - so I am very sorry that I did that and made you feel crap. My bad for poor communication. I am genuinely glad for any woman who finds some kind of body peace. Yay for happier women having full lives!

And sorry too, this from Shakesville is the good fatty story I am talking about: http://www.shakesville.com/2014/04/notyourgoodfat.... The essence is: "It's essentially the fat equivalent of Playing the Exceptional Woman — exceptionalizing yourself to gain acceptance with the privileged class."

Upholding the principle of medical exemption from fat culpability is like lobbying for a rape exemption from abortion restrictions: honestly, hugely fantastic for those who squeak by, but a) that's a tiny minority of those who need it, and b) it actually works counter to the overall principle, and throws everyone else a little deeper under the bus.

I wish you the best with your process, and hope that in time you can see that at the same time as you are hurting and healing, you have the power to hurt other women, and make their worlds that tiny bit more inhospitable, if you present your ongoing fat hate as above criticism or reflection. And you also have the power to help them that tiny bit with their own healing, just by trying to make it really clear that you don't actually believe (together with literally everyone else in the rest of the world) that they are worthless.
Hey there DaneJoeCT, I am sorry that all you've received are defensive responses to your totally valid critique. It's disappointing to see this in a space that usually makes you feel like part of a supportive community.
I know what you mean when you say "good fatty story" - someone is fat, but it's not their 'fault', because it's due to an illness or something out of their control. When we set up one group as 'good' we are setting up an oppositional group as 'bad'. "bad fatties" who don't have a diagnosis to justify their appearance, who people can look at and blame self control or whatever else.
Autostraddle and Black Girl Dangerous are places that you might like to check out, both are really good on fat shaming.
Big hugs!
Thanks, sanjeewani. I am shaken and bewildered. Really struggling to grasp how my reading of this situation is so clearly failing to correspond at all with that of people with whom it does on almost every other issue to date, but I accept that it somehow does and I will back off of course. Fed my (pale) fat baby feminism up on Kate Harding and Shakesville, and more recently live on BGD (aah and thanks for reminding me to get back to Autostraddle more often), so maybe I've just grown too used to spaces where fat=worthless doesn't get to operate that way. Anyway, thanks the third.
I am not tossing you out (I also do not plan on wielding Ultimate Power over the Butter commentariat), but your rape exemption comparison is getting very close to the line for me, and I definitely think continuing to tell a WOC she is upholding a form of privilege over you in her very personal narrative is making you look like a real schmuck. I would back off at this point.
Crying at work, and I mean this as a compliment.
Thank you so much for writing this, even though I'm having to pretend my sniffles are the allergies and not the feelings.

It took me so long to decide that I get to decide how I feel about my body and what I do or don't do with it, and that I get to like it no matter what shape it takes. Most of the time, I feel good with myself and my body. But sometimes I feel such regret at spending so much of my life just handing other people power over me, many of whom either didn't give the least shit about it or who gave shits in exactly the worst ways. Other times I feel a big pang of HOW COULD ANYONE LOVE THIS?!?!? and it's like all that work didn't matter. In those moments, I feel like a total failure. I've figured things out, right? I should know better, right? Sometimes I forget what a giant heap of work it is to try to own your body and how you feel about it, especially when other people are actively Not Helping.

I wish I could say this more eloquently, but somehow this essay showing me the giantness of that heap was exactly what I needed to hear. It could seem discouraging in a certain light, but it makes me feel decidedly less incompetent an adult for feeling so sick and tired of this particular Sisyphean task and not executing it perfectly all the time. And also, this is essay is just beautiful.

Thank you a thousand times over!

P.S. Screw the markers of adulthood. Many of them are nice things to have, if they are things you want and you can get them. But how is it that most of have to do with laying down significant chunks of money? This game is rigged. When those markers are more in the category of "treats people justly and kindly" and "shows up when it counts and often when it doesn't", I'll play.
Totally separate from the weight-theme of the piece, this one sentence hit me right in the gut:

" I’ve accepted that I’m more tortoise than hare."

BOOM.

So true for me.... :(
Hi. Nichole, the author, here. The quote you pulled there is a direct reflection of how I felt about *myself* as I struggled through depression that was aggravated by a previously undiagnosed physical medical condition.

I would caution against labeling PCOS or thyroid issues as "convenient," considering the havoc they can cause in people's lives.

Depression is a terrible thing to deal with, regardless of its identifiable sources, and I wish you well on your journey.
6 replies · November 26, 2014 18:52:09
Hi Nichole. I do understand that, but I also wish you would (later in the piece?) distance yourself from that position for the sake of those whose world you create with your words. Knowing that even my allies, my sisters-in-arms, can unreflectingly imply that I am awful and worthless because I don't have a good medical excuse for my depression and fatness is pretty damn terrible. You can obviously write what/how you like - I just wanted to flag that this might be something to be more sensitive to in future.
"It seems to be the essence of this story: I got fat and it was the worst; then I realised I was certifiably sick, so I started to become okay with being fat."

I say clearly at the end that I'm not okay with my weight and that I continue to struggle with the other factors that contributed to my depression like professional & relationship stagnancy. It's all still in progress.

I don't know what you mean by "good fatty" story, but I am offended that I have to fit a certain kind of narrative for you to find the story of *my* battle with body image and depression acceptable. You have belittled my experience and what I have one through for decades because it's not your story or because it doesn't fit what you see as a proper narrative for an ally or sister-in-arms.

You are scolding me because my depressive thoughts weren't pretty. You are scolding me because I don't end the essay saying it's okay to be fat without a medical or "convenient" reason. If that is your story, then I look forward to reading it.
Okay, I did not intend to belittle or scold - so I am very sorry that I did that and made you feel crap. My bad for poor communication. I am genuinely glad for any woman who finds some kind of body peace. Yay for happier women having full lives!

And sorry too, this from Shakesville is the good fatty story I am talking about: http://www.shakesville.com/2014/04/notyourgoodfat.... The essence is: "It's essentially the fat equivalent of Playing the Exceptional Woman — exceptionalizing yourself to gain acceptance with the privileged class."

Upholding the principle of medical exemption from fat culpability is like lobbying for a rape exemption from abortion restrictions: honestly, hugely fantastic for those who squeak by, but a) that's a tiny minority of those who need it, and b) it actually works counter to the overall principle, and throws everyone else a little deeper under the bus.

I wish you the best with your process, and hope that in time you can see that at the same time as you are hurting and healing, you have the power to hurt other women, and make their worlds that tiny bit more inhospitable, if you present your ongoing fat hate as above criticism or reflection. And you also have the power to help them that tiny bit with their own healing, just by trying to make it really clear that you don't actually believe (together with literally everyone else in the rest of the world) that they are worthless.
Hey there DaneJoeCT, I am sorry that all you've received are defensive responses to your totally valid critique. It's disappointing to see this in a space that usually makes you feel like part of a supportive community.
I know what you mean when you say "good fatty story" - someone is fat, but it's not their 'fault', because it's due to an illness or something out of their control. When we set up one group as 'good' we are setting up an oppositional group as 'bad'. "bad fatties" who don't have a diagnosis to justify their appearance, who people can look at and blame self control or whatever else.
Autostraddle and Black Girl Dangerous are places that you might like to check out, both are really good on fat shaming.
Big hugs!
Thanks, sanjeewani. I am shaken and bewildered. Really struggling to grasp how my reading of this situation is so clearly failing to correspond at all with that of people with whom it does on almost every other issue to date, but I accept that it somehow does and I will back off of course. Fed my (pale) fat baby feminism up on Kate Harding and Shakesville, and more recently live on BGD (aah and thanks for reminding me to get back to Autostraddle more often), so maybe I've just grown too used to spaces where fat=worthless doesn't get to operate that way. Anyway, thanks the third.
I am not tossing you out (I also do not plan on wielding Ultimate Power over the Butter commentariat), but your rape exemption comparison is getting very close to the line for me, and I definitely think continuing to tell a WOC she is upholding a form of privilege over you in her very personal narrative is making you look like a real schmuck. I would back off at this point.
I know it's a cliche to call self-love or self-acceptance a "journey," but that's really what I thought about while reading this piece. It's different for everyone, and each person has a twist or a turn or a speed bump (or many!) to contend with that's uniquely theirs. Reading about these experiences is so important, so thank you for sharing!
It is hard to be fat in this world. I'm one of those people who decided one day to get healthy and I started exercising and stopped buying bread and, well, I already ate mostly vegetables so that was about it, but anyway, two years in a row I didn't lose weight, I gained a bit. My doctor tested my thyroid and I was hopeful but no, nothing. Luckily my doctor is pretty great and instead of shaming me, he said "well, you're family's large, looks like your body just wants to be large. Keep exercising, keep eating mostly vegetables, that's good for you." So now I'm all HAES and also into fat activism and body positivity.

Which doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden free of weight-based anxiety/insecurity. Here is a project I recently contributed to - others in here may as well. It was really cathartic. http://iamthisfat.tumblr.com/
3 replies · active 526 weeks ago
I <3 your tumblr
Love that Tumblr, love your sensible compassionate doctor, love you. And love HAES and body positivity! I just love everything in this post!
I decided to stop allowing myself to be trapped by my body.

YES. Yes yes yes yes yes. This is something I've been working on for years. I'll never be all the way there. There will always be bad days. But yes. My body is not my jailor. It is not a prison. It's not punishing me. It's simply trying to survive, the best it can, with the resources it has.
I loved this article. It's amazing. Thank you. Now I'm going to continue chopping onions just like I was before I read it.
" My body and mind were working together to gaslight me. "

Well, shit. That exactly describes the past 12 or so years of my life. My personal gaslighting was a combination of major depressive disorder, an undiagnosed case of Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, and some very severe vitamin deficiencies. Once I stopped sleeping all the time because of the depression, I realized I was STILL sleeping all the time, despite feeling pretty good emotionally, to the point I would sleep away the weekends, only waking up to eat something or maybe watch something on tv. My psych said "that is NOT normal" and got me into a really excellent endocrinologist who listened to me and helped me normalize my hormone levels.

It's a strange feeling to wake up on a Saturday with energy and think "hey, maybe I'll go for a walk!" or "let's go run a bunch of errands!" and have the energy to do it. I like it, but it's still strange.
2 replies · active 526 weeks ago
Me whenever someone else mentions having Hashimoto's:



Glad you're feeling better! Let's be friends.


Yay! New Hashi friends!
Oh, my heart. I was diagnosed with PCOS at 16 and so much of this is familiar. I winced at, "I'm learning to separate desire and worth from the body," because understanding that you have worth regardless of what your body looks like or how others value it is vital to survival, but it's also true that your body has worth and is desirable. This is not a criticism, more of a painful acknowledgement of a struggle I have with this particular nuance of body-having.

I try to be gentle with myself and my body -- I don't think they deserve half the grief I give them, or that they get from others -- but it's fucking hard.
I currently have a tab open: Hypothryroidism Symptoms.

Welp, guess I know what my next doctor's appointment is going to be about.
So many feelings! This was really well-written and I would love to see more both from this writer and about this topic.
I am fat and have depression, both seem to be genetic. I don't think I have PCOS as I don't have any of the other symptoms but I can relate to so much of this.
Beautifully written, Nichole.

I have feelings about this topic. Not to take away from the bravery it takes to talk about body issues and self esteem...I guess I just feel impatient for a world where fat acceptance is the norm (ever the optimist I) and we have reached the point where we celebrate and love our fat bodies because why should they be celebrated and loved any less than thin bodies? It's the only body I've got and it's amazing, if not perfect.

I re-read this piece today (did someone else link to this on The Toast already? if so, apologies):
http://kateharding.net/2007/11/27/the-fantasy-of-...

Post a new comment

Comments by

Skip to the top of the page, search this site, or read the article again