Fat Girl, Talking
Pattern of wrong behaviour with disregard to criticism + widespread or deep offense = no reconciliation for me. No forgiveness. We are not okay.
Read MoreYou don’t have to be okay.
You’re allowed to be sad.
You’re allowed to cry.
You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.
It’s okay. Really.
Not being okay is okay sometimes.
You don’t owe happiness to people when you don’t feel it.
You don’t owe happiness to people at the expense of your emotional and mental and spiritual health.
It’s okay to take care of you, and sometimes that looks like not being okay.
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These cultures, these systems of thought, are pervasive. Good people with good intentions perpetuate these systems unknowingly without understanding the consequences.
But these systems do have consequences.
Read MoreNeither being fat nor being female is shameful. My feminine body doesn’t have the magical mythical ability to strip away the logical thought-processes of men, making them into helpless hormone-driven apes. My fat body is still my body, and it’s my vehicle in this life. It doesn’t belong to anyone else for their commentary, critique, or approval. It belongs to me. It harms no one.
These concepts may seem really simple and obvious. But I’ve struggled with them subconsciously for all of my life. And as I sit here in my skinny jeans and fitted top, for the first time in my life I am fat, female, and unashamed.
Read MoreI want to believe, but at the same time I have to find joy even when I don’t. I have to know that it’s okay not to believe. Good things happen, good things exist, even in doubt and uncertainty. And if they exist in doubt and uncertainty, they will exist still in belief.
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What’s so wrong with attention? Does my wasting body not tell you about my wasting soul? Do the scars on my arms and legs not tell you about the scars on my soul? For the girl with the words, the girl who was going to write books some day, I never ever had the words for the pain. And I still don’t, even though I’ve long left the starving and cutting.
Read MoreMom,
You know how you always say that a letter is better than a gift, because it’s something you can read over and over again through the years? Well, I thought that maybe I’d make my letter to you public, so other people can enjoy how awesome you are, too.
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Trigger warning: sexual assault, rape.
When someone tells you that they have been sexually assaulted, harassed, molested, raped, or anything of the sort, the proper response is to say, “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault. What happened to you was reprehensible, and no one should be forced to go through that. What can I do to be there for you? Do you want to report it to the police? I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what you do. You’re not alone.”
If you have any doubts about whether or not they are telling the truth, the proper response is still the same as the above. Do not voice your lack of concern. Do not voice or otherwise show your incredulity. Be nothing short of supportive.
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My grandfather passed away this morning. He died in his recliner, coffee cup beside him, half-empty packet of tobacco sticking out of his pocket (with a wad in his mouth), watching the WVU pre-game. Heart attack — his fourth one, though first in over a decade. He was 78 years old.
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