Iíve been writing a lot, lately, but not actually posting anything. I dug up a few things that I started writing, but never posted. So, if you want to see them, go back a couple.
Iíve been having some body issues. I know that I should probably be beyond over it at this point. I suppose this is living life in a culture that carries thousands of years of patriarchy around every day, and then puts it in commercials.
Iím not sure why itís been a problem, lately. It might be that I have more time to sit around and worry about frivolous things now that Iím not always exhausted from karate.
Do I actually believe my body composition is changing? Well, if it is, Iíve come down on it with a sledgehammer. Iíve added tae bo (yes, remember that?) to the routine, and Adam showed me some exercises that will combat muscle loss. By the time I go back to karate, Iíll probably be in better shape than I was when I left.
Itís possible that he only showed me to the exercises because heís worried that I might start starving myself again (I had anorexia over ten years ago, for those who arenít in the know).
I tried to complain to him about my fat, but his reaction was along the lines of, ďAre you freakiní kidding me? If any other women knew that you were saying this, theyíd be so mad at you, right now.Ē
Hey, I live in the same world as everyone else. That world where the most beautiful people are airbrushed before they are presented to the public. Sue me.
I read a lot of fat acceptance blogs and the general feeling among fat activists is that all calorie restriction is a form of self-hatred. I can get behind that concept. However, I can also get behind the concept that considering the aesthetic climate that we live in, calorie restriction could also be a form of self-preservation.
No one wants to be discriminated against. Just because we all recognize something as unfair, that doesnít make it non-existent.
My problem can also be partially traced back to my beautiful, tiny mom. She was crazy as all get out, but no one could deny that she was also beautiful woman. A beautiful woman whose exercise regimen consisted of lifting a cigarette to her lipsÖ or a fork full of something.
The woman ate like a 6í5Ē trucker. Actually, she ate more like a 6í5Ē trucker that had a candy addiction. She also weighed about 90 pounds. She comes from a family with 3 other women; all naturally-underweight waifs.
(Even though I am speaking in the past tense, she is still alive, but I havenít seen her in awhile, and I donít know if her metabolism has been working quite as well for her, lately.)
Anyway, before the age of 10 or 11, that was my entire exposure to familial women. The women that I could expect to grow up to look like. Unfortunately, by the time I was 10 or 11, it was pretty obvious that I wasnít going to grow up to look like them.
I was never huge and I never became huge. I always felt huge, though.
Of course, then I got older and reality took over.
My experiences didnít match up with my perception of myself, so I changed my perception of myself.
In that realm, I guess we all have our own row to hoe.
Itís all about perspective. I could whine about how itís both disrespectful and silly that I get treated like the human equivalent of a bunny rabbit. Conversely, I could appreciate the fact that if it were really my goal, I could probably never do a single act of physical labor ever again for the rest of my life.
Iíve integrated it into myself. Thereís always that subconscious drive to prove that I am not a weak and delicate little flower, whether I recognize it or not.
Just the same, I see my friendsí subconscious drive to avoid the stereotypes that might be inflicted upon them.
Well, in me, Iíve recognized it, anyway. Iíve realized that I donít care. At this point, it doesnít matter whether outsiders think Iím one thing or another because I am happy with who I am.
That still doesnít mean that I want to get fat, though.
|Thursday, Jul. 31, 2008 at 10:40 PM|