*If I was your teacher in your youth, I’m sorry you had to read these harsh words If I taught your child, I’m sorry you had to see these harsh words. But, they must be said.*
I went to church today. My wonderful Pastor was talking about “Breaking Out of Your Rut” in life. Evidently during my gallivanting (Defn: to go about in search of pleasure) last weekend, I missed part one.
Today’s sermon focused on the last 3 steps to escaping your Rut. The point we are discussing, indeed the catalyst for this rant was Exercise Your Body. His main point during the sermon was, Movement of your body inspires you to do more in your everyday life. My rant, however, is not about my Pastor’s words. It’s about a complete stranger’s way of dealing with them.
Episode #1: As my Pastor is talking, he says, “Now say to your Neighbor, Movement is Good.” My Neighbor to my left says, “You should really listen to what he is saying.”
Who Bitch What?!?!?!?
I didn’t say anything, because I knew that if I punched this random Skinny Stranger Bitch in her fucking face, I would probably be asked to leave. So I just said Amen, and went back to listening to my Pastor.
Episode #2: My Pastor stated something to the effect of, “Y0ur homework for this week is to get up and move. Walk 15 minutes.” The Skinny Stranger Bitch then gave me the Holy Helpful Stranger arm rub and said, ‘Now I know it’s hard for you to lose all that weight. But you have to try.”
Who. Bitch. What?!?!?!?!?
Episode #3: My Pastor then stated something to the effect of, Movement will make you feel better about yourself. Again with the Holy Helpful Stranger Arm Rub, “I have a niece that’s bi— Full Figured like you, and I tell her all the time, You have to try.”
First of all, stop touching me heaux, I don’t know you like that. Second of all, all fat people are not the same. Third, my thighs touching is not an indicator I Hate My Life. You Don’t Know My Story. You don’t know SHIT about me. You look at me and see a Fat Girl. And that, is the Mother. Fucking. Problem.
I have never met this woman in my life. She doesn’t know that I’ve lost 60lbs in the last 13 months, and I am working toward losing another 30 before June. But HOW DARE YOU . . . My Fat is not your business. Even if I was 600lbs, you don’t have the right to give me advice about what to do with my body. You have enough room on the bench, my fat is not touching you – so kindly Shut The Fuck Up.
I think her compulsion to save me is actually part of a bigger issue – that is, the need to help those we deem less fortunate than us. Of course this assessment of need is based solely on outward physical appearance.
I call what she did Skinny Bitch Privilege. The Skinny Bitch feels they are the media’s (read: the USA Media) representation of ‘Beauty,” so this means they have the right to ‘help’ people get like them. They ASSUME anyone who isn’t like them, just hasn’t had the right motivation to Get Like Them. Their Mindset seems to be, “Oh Woe is You. Please allow me to help you on your journey to being a better person.”
Fat DOES NOT EQUAL Unhappy/Sick/Lazy. If there is one constant annoyance in these past 13 months, it has been the perception/assumption that my weight loss happened because I was finally tired of being fat. It didn’t. It happened because someone told me I couldn’t do it. A 60 day challenge turned into a lifestyle change.
Do I feel better now that I’ve lost weight? Yes. Do I have more energy? Yes. Do rainbows now fly out of my soul every time I work out? No. Do I know feel complete and whole? NO. I wasn’t miserable at 378lbs. I’m not ridiculously happy at 318lbs. But however I feel about my body, you will NEVER have the right to tell me your opinion about it.
Listen Skinny Bitch, I’m good. I eat what I want, I don’t suffer from any sort of guilt/shame about my size. I’m a grown ass woman. I like food I know isn’t good for me, and if I feel like it, Imma eat that shit! I don’t need your help or your Pity.
Please, go on with your eating of Salad, I eat that too. Continue to prosper as you use the elliptical to get an ass that looks like mine. Further your journey into the land of Thighs Don’t Touch, I hear it’s cold and dry there . . . but that might just be a rumor.