This post has been in draft for a very long time. I haven’t posted much over the past year, but I hope this addition to the Me and My Scales series will kick-start it off again. This builds on my philosophy that fat and size acceptance are an ongoing journey, not a destination.

Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3

I did not go forth and diet no more.

For a long time, I still weighed myself. I still rated my value according to the number on the scale. Yes, even though I let myself eat what I wanted. And after so many years of restriction and self denial, what I wanted was food and lots of it. And I still felt the need to binge – to consume vast quantities of ‘forbidden’ food in secret – although the binges became less frequent and a smaller amount of food over time. To the point that I have not binged in years, incidentally.

(No, I’m not claiming ‘good fatty’ status – just stating that for me food restriction, AKA dieting, was one end of a wildly tottering seesaw with binging on the other end. Allowing my eating to self-regulate eventually allowed the seesaw to balance.)

Clearly, this wasn’t self care, but strangely, I feel it was a part of my path being able to care for myself.

I really don’t know how to describe the ‘in between years’ when intellectually I understood that my body did not deserve my hatred, but I hadn’t come to the point where loving my body was natural to me.

But, at some point, the scales disappeared.

I am not sure when, exactly. You would think I’d have a suitably dramatic memory of tossing the scales out the window, or running them over, or some similar angry, defiant act. But I don’t.

Nevertheless, I was somewhat anxious when my partner John commenced home dialysis a few years ago and I had to allow a pair of scales into the house (so he can work out how much fluid is removed each night – ‘dry’ weight vs his pre-dialysis weight).

They sat ominously in the corner of the bathroom: THE SCALES OF DOOM.

I worried that I would be tempted (or perhaps ‘compelled’ is the word?) to re-enter an obsession with a kilo lost or a kilo gained, that I would be on the whole diet merry-go-around again.

But, after about 15 or so years of actively not dieting, and instinctive eating, I found that I was sufficiently at ease with my size and weight to look in the mirror and enjoy my shape, not for its potential if I lose a few kilos, but as it is now.

But I still have ‘bad’ days of course. Doesn’t everyone?

Accepting one’s body as it exists today is a challenge, particularly if one is DEATHFAT.

I remember one particular ‘bad’ day a few years ago relating to the production of one of my partner’s art works. We were sourcing most of the costumes for a 70s tableau from a costume hire studio – and all they had to fit my size were hideous mumus and caftans. I was reduced to humilated tears. It worked out fine in the end – I ended up wearing a black corset over one of the groovier caftans and it looked great – but the humiliation and SHAME OF BEING FAT burned deep that day, even though I declared myself ‘pro-size acceptance’ and had for some time.

That’s part of what I mean about size acceptance and fat acceptance being a journey. We have an idealised goal in mind, but we are human. We have doubts and failings and slips and stumbles. My weight has gone up and down during this time, but that is a natural thing which doesn’t bother me either way. I haven’t been on a scale in a long time, and could only guess at what I weigh (approx 115kg +/- 5kg). At the moment, I am on a downward cycle (My jeans from last year completely slip over my hips), but that is not through any conscious decision to lose weight. I don’t feel like I am depriving myself of anything – quite the opposite in fact! However I am sure that at some point, I will be on a gaining cycle again.

We are battling against anti-fat propaganda and pressure to be thin. In fact, I believe it goes further; it’s a pressure on women in general to be aware of the *beholder* (you know “beauty is in the eye of…”, etc.) That is, we judge ourselves (and are judged) by external things – how we dress, our make up, whether our hair is professionally coifed or tousled, our size – things that are basically superficial.

The realisation that we can base our self-esteem on things other than our appearance is a big one, but very, very hard. I don’t think anyone can perfectly achieve size acceptance 100% of the time, but being aware that it is a path we can choose is a really important first step.

I haven’t posted for a while, but I came face-to-face with the dreaded OMG! DEATH FAT! WHY AREN’T YOU DEAD ALREADY? talk from a doctor today. A 70 year old, paternalistic, condescending, old-school, doctor-is-god doctor who was the only doctor available for me to see. Today, at any rate.

He asked me “Do you think you are overweight?” in a condescending manner. When I responded, “Yes, I’m fat”, he smirked like he had scored a point (fatties never know they are fat and need to be told, often).

He ridiculed me when I repeatedly asked for a larger blood pressure cuff (what would I know, I’m only a fat female) and ignored me when I said that the metal fastener was cutting into my arm (fatties deserve pain). He stated my blood pressure of 120/90 was “high” and was a warning that I was about to drop dead (and clearly, it had nothing to do with the too small cuff or my
stress and ANGER temporarily going through the roof).

He quoted discredited actuarial tables at me to prove that I was a walking, talking death bomb. He listed every disease on the planet from stroke to kidney disease to scare me into compliance. He told me it was for my own good. He refused to believe I am healthy. Afterall, hadn’t my blood pressure just proven him “right”?

He refused to listen to me at all.

He wrote on my medical record in CAPITAL LETTERS that he had WARNED this fatty she was going to DIE, while telling me what he was doing his duty and “No-one could say I haven’t warned you”.

I tried, really I did, but by this stage, I was just too weary and sick to convince this aging, bullying doctor that even fat women deserve respect and may not, in fact, be walking timebombs.

He finally dealt with what I had actually gone to see a doctor for in the last 2 minutes of the appointment, but even then had to have a for-my-own-good snark about my weight.

On the way out of his office he told me he was a very kind doctor, because he hadn’t insisted on weighing me. I just smiled and said, “Oh, that’s OK. I know how much I weigh, thanks”.

I am now gainfully employed in a quaint little not-for-profit organisation. I won’t say too much, as I am very aware of the dangers of blogging about work, but I’m loving it, especially after 10+ years in the corporate world. Oh, and I’ll enjoy my first pay packet when I get it, too :)

Everything is fine, just taking a short break from blogging to deal with life issues. I’m still job hunting, and on top of that, our landlord has given is a termination notice so we have to vacate our rental property. Finding funds to move (rent, bond, removalists) is a bit challenging but I keep telling myself it will turn out. Anyway, suffice to say that although I am keeping abreast of the fatosphere, I am not finding the mental energy to post on my own blog. I shall be back, though.

Sorry, Ms Rudstein, I know your job as his lawyer is to put the best spin on things, but a “devoted and loving father” doesn’t throw his young daughter off a bridge. His actions automatically negate that description.