Miscellany Tea

My fat body is far too valuable to be treated like a car whose worth is lowered because of some wear and tear. It’s far too astounding to be a metaphor or a political statement. It’s far too complicated to run on the same formula used to fuel a lawn mower. It is far too profound to be reduced to a ratio of weight and height. And it is far too amazing to be judged by anyone.

My fat body is not a representation of my failures, sins, or mistakes. My fat body is not an indication of my level of health or fitness. My fat body is not up for public discussion, debate or judgment. My fat body is not a signal that I need help or input to make decisions about my health or life. My fat body is the constant companion that helps me do every single thing that I do every second of every day and it deserves respect and admiration.

If you are incapable of appreciating my body and treating it with respect and admiration that is your deficiency not mine; work on it or not, but I do not care. Nor am I interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter so, if you want to be around me, you are 100% responsible for doing whatever it takes to keep those thoughts to yourself. If you are incapable of doing that I will stop spending time with you – I spend my time with people who can treat me appropriately.

I will wield my beautiful fat body like a weapon. I will love it, I will care for it, I will move it, I will show it in public, I will viciously defend my body against anyone who seeks to classify it as anything but amazing. You’ve been warned – back the fuck off.

—Ragen Chastain: Back Off My Fat Body (via bodyacceptanceorbust)

(via peachesandpussy)

laurenzuni:

Today at 2:45pm my daughter called to tell me her after-school program was cancelled and asked if she could walk home. After I agreed and hung up, the first sirens went off. My kids and their classmates were ushered into the hallway and told to line the halls, crouch down and keep their hands over their head - the usual drill. Once I realized what was going on, I called the school and told them not to let them walk but they were already released. I drove to the school as it began to hail and the second sirens went off. I could see the kids panic and start running toward home. I honked, got the kids in the car and drove to my mom’s to watch the news. I complained that they should reserve the sirens for times that we actually need to be in our safe places. Kavi and Briam told me how proud they were to not cry like the other kids or like they had two years ago. I told them they were really becoming Okies.

Yesterday, during the Pride Parade, the severe weather sirens went off three times. We just kept marching with our rainbow flags. We were drenched and smiling, finishing the parade just as the sun fought through the clouds. We felt like champions. Okie Pride means not being afraid of sirens. It means standing on your porch looking for a funnel.

Ten minutes south of us, in Moore, students were not released. The parents could not get to them. The whole town is leveled. Kids were buried under concrete slabs. Kids drowned under their school. Teachers huddled over them. Some survived, bloody and battered, stumbled home to find they had no home. People who were in their storm shelters had the doors blown off. Some were sucked from under the ground. The cell towers were down. We can’t call our loved ones. The news can’t get any accurate information. I-35 is shut down. We don’t know what to do. The sky is glowing grey. Air smells eerie wet. Ambulances sirens everywhere. Thousands of people emerge and walk dazed on the highway to find shelter. 

In the kitchen, I can’t pull away from the television. I begin to sob, holding my children so tight they are uncomfortable. My daughter says, “But Mom, we’re alive, and we’re Okies. It’s okay.”

I kiss her confused sweet face, “You are right, baby. But some kids are not alive. They are Okies too.”

We leave the television to go play cards and take deep breaths. I tell them it’s okay to be sad and still do stuff. We can be sad and still laugh at Grandpa’s bad jokes. We can cry at dinner and wait until we are told how we can help. Part of being human is learning how to grieve and how to get to work in the thick of it. 

My children and I are safe in our beds. I have walls and photographs and electricity and water. I can’t sleep. I keep seeing the faces of survivors covered in bloody debris. I see my children running scared in the hail or huddled in the hall way. How do we ever think huddling with hands over  heads in a damn hallway will save them? I am so tired of breaking news and devastation and trauma. I am angry at people who joke on the internet that this is red state punishment or call Oklahomans stupid. I am too tired to be angry. So grateful to be alive. I will rest now. Tomorrow we will get to work.

(via infinitejessie)

lovely-lace-and-fishnets:

Five years old, hospital, lungs in danger, use my machine every four hours every day, can’t go out to play, she says ‘you were so tiny your ribs poked out’ and I swear I hear nostalgia there

Because I was skinny

Seven years old, matching outfits with best friend, he says ‘you’re both wearing the same thing but she looks good and you look fat,’ stomach flips, and now I don’t deserve these clothes or my friend

Because I am fat

Eleven years old, weight of a grown woman, stuffed into a school uniform, forced invitations to slumber parties, they call me ‘pig’ but say it is code for nice, and I want to believe them oh how I want to

Because I am fat

Twelve years old, cruelest years, laughter, name calling, gum spit in my hair, inside jokes about me in my face, let them cheat for a moment’s peace, bully cusses and threatens and pushes me into corners, and I just want to go home to my dog, my only friend

Because I am fat

Thirteen years old, he says ‘Fat women try to dress up and hide it but there’s no way to hide fat and they can never look good,” lump in my throat, and I can never again feel like Daddy’s ‘little’ girl

Because I am fat

Fifteen years old, somehow in the popular clique, dress like them, crop top, a shout of ‘gross put your shirt down,’ no date to homecoming, and I am not even surprised when the group dumps me

Because I am fat

Sixteen years old, sitting on the bedroom floor, my almost-boyfriend, tongue pierced, blonde curls, easy smile, everyone wants him but he is here with me, she passes by, ‘why don’t you get her to lose some weight,’ I am not the daughter she dreamed of

Because I am fat

Twenty-one years old, hits me, breaks me down, terrible threats, constant fear, drop out of school, can’t deal, two words over and over, ‘fat bitch,’ and I don’t leave because otherwise I might be alone forever

Because I am fat

Twenty-two years old, want a new man, no carbs, exercise two hours a day, a nip and tuck, congratulations all round, I’ve made it to the human club, she finally looks at me like I’m beautiful, buys me clothes, and everyone loves my new body even though it is scarred and painful

Because I am not fat

Twenty-four years old, it comes back, ‘need to lose it for your health,’ terrified, doctors say obese and diabetes and heart attack, so much shame, make him look away when I am weighed, and I suspect he might wish I didn’t look like this

Because I am fat

Twenty-seven years old, a joyous time, but books say I shouldn’t be pregnant like this, other women panic about being half my weight, and no one says ‘congratulations’ because they are afraid they might have it wrong

Because I am fat

Thirty-three years old, self-loathing and shame for as long as I can remember

Then, these women, fat accepting, obesity glorifying, proudly showing their bodies, bodies like mine, talking about love and sex and clothes and food and just living

Above all, the radical idea that I AM ALLOWED TO EXIST AS I AM and others do not have the right to be critical or superior or cruel

Because I am fat

Forever, I am her world, I think what if, what if she lives what I lived, too soon to tell, have to stop it before it ever begins, explain it all to her, respect and kindness for everyone, she gets it, Mommy I am skinny and beautiful and you are fat and beautiful, and I know I was able to teach her this important thing

Because I am fat

Every day now, look at their pictures, read their stories, understand their sorrow, their anger, their joy, not alone, adding my pictures, my stories, my sorrow, anger, joy, adding my VOICE, DON’T GIVE A FUCK, and I begin to inspire some people myself

BECAUSE I AM FAT

(feel free to reblog; just keep source: lovelylaceandfishnets)

(via queermerooooar)