Fat Folx: You Are Not Responsible for the Re-education of Health Trolls

Last month I wrote a couple of blog entries about my experience living in a larger body, specifically about dealing with my somewhat clueless doctor and a ridiculously out-of-line massage therapist. These experiences resonated with many of my readers and I received quite a bit of appreciation from people who have experienced or witnessed fat bias and health trolling. Among such wonderful feedback, I also received this public comment from a somewhat estranged family-friend that was rather troubling. 

I love you and we are miles apart on this topic. I agree with much of what you say regarding the bias, but my training in Exercise Physiology (and my own history with weight gain and loss) is not on the same page with much of what you say on the physiology side of things. This topic and your history are complex, but I think we should chat sometime, so I can better understand your perspective and also offer you another viewpoint. 

I could hear the swish and flap of red flags waving as he breathed these words of concerned curiosity on my Facebook post. His commentary smacked of self-importance and the politely repressed anticipation of proving me wrong in the name of Science and the spirit of Dialogue. 

I was almost tricked into thinking this person actually cared about what I had to say and was interested in dialoguing further because while we may not see eye to eye, his response ended with an invitation to discuss these differences further. But if he was truly interested in understanding my perspective, wouldn't he have privately messaged me instead of very publicly performed his dubiousness surrounding my thoughts on being fat? Why perform this public display of dissent among so many affirming comments and shared stories?

As I composed my message to him, I realized that I had absolutely no interest in discussing any of this further with him nor to educate him about fat bias, mental health, and Health At Every Size. If my assessment of his personality and this situation was correct, he just wanted to tell me that I'm wrong and he's right and prove to me that he knows better than me. Here is how I responded:

I appreciate your offer and hope it will hold until I have the emotional energy to have that conversation. To be completely honest, I am just not in a place to fairly listen to the other side right now. Also, I feel like I've had the other side crammed down my throat for my entire life. However, if you can offer any readings you find helpful, I'd probably better be able to digest those. If you're truly interested in the viewpoints I mentioned, I'd recommend reading Anti-Diet and looking up the Minnesota Starvation study, as well as the 4th edition of Intuitive Eating. I also have an academic paper that has been recommended for sharing with health professionals. 

I figured if he was dedicated to showing me his truth, he could point me in the direction of the readings he found the most informative and maybe I would take a look. I doubted very much that he was as interested in understanding the work my perspective is rooted in; nonetheless, I offered him titles of the texts I've found most influential in my 2021 quest to deprogram myself from body shame and Diet Culture.

I sidestepped his passive-aggressive demand that I defend my experiences and I called his bluff on wanting to understand my viewpoint. I've been doing the work; if he wants to dive deeper into the beliefs, history, science, and studies of weight, diet, and exercise, then he is going to have to do his own work. So when he responded that he does not have any specific readings or research to recommend and that he does not have the desire to read anything, I was not surprised. A little disappointed, but not surprised.

It's so easy to fall into the trap of defending our experiences as people living in larger bodies in a world that is designed for those living in average bodies. 

But how can we begin to explain the isolation we feel when we have to wedge our substantial hips and bottoms between the constricting arms of waiting room chairs, wait as nurses search for the bigger blood pressure cuff that will actually fit around our biceps, and wince when we see the markings in our charts labeling us as "morbidly obese"? 

And how can we convey the frustration and anger we feel when we are constantly told that everything that ails us would be cured if we were not fat: that our pain, injuries, and illness are our own fault; that character flaws like weakness and lack of willpower are the reason we are fat.

We are constantly told that, if we just tried harder, we could fix all of our problems by shrinking ourselves. 

But we are people, not problems to be fixed. 

We are not broken, our healthcare system is.

We don't need to be fixed, the healthcare system does.

We don't need to be fixed, our society does.

Progress v. Perfection

How many of you out there came out of this past year thinking to yourselves if I could just stick with X or I did great doing Y until Z happened and then all bets were off or why can't I just get it together and [fill in the blank]?

I've spent most of my adult life raking myself over the coals for these sorts of "failings". Why can't I just put my ass in a seat and write more? If I could just consistently plan my grocery shopping and meals ahead of time each week, I would eat more nutritiously. I was doing a great job attending water aerobics classes until the kids took turns being sick and I was home with them for 2 weeks, now I just can't get back into the swing of things. Why can't I keep my fucking house clean and tidy?

Well, I've got news for you and me: this is life! 

If your life is at all influenced by family, friends, colleagues, etc, it is never, Never, NEVER going to be simple, consistent, or without interruptions and roadblocks. These inner attacks (as my therapist calls them) do us absolutely no good and invalidate any progress we make in the name of imperfection. All we can do is strive towards our ideals and do the best we can.

Ideally, I want to write every day. I restarted this blog in January 2021 to gather an audience of readers to help keep me accountable. On January 1st, I came up with this idea.  On January 2nd I wrote, published, and shared my first entry. On January 3rd, I ran errands and then slept like the dead for the most of the day before dinner and family time and then slept like the dead again for most of the night until 6 woke me up this morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready for "mama school" (that's what we call it when I teach him and I'm keeping him home this week because omicron AND let me also say here how awesome his teacher is for sending me home scripted instructions for his daily lessons and activities). And here I am, on January 4th, post mama-school, writing this entry. Have I written every day? No. Am I about to publish my second entry of the year? Yes! That's progress and that's awesome!

Ideally, I want to buy groceries weekly in preparation for a well thought-out weekly menu. This probably happens half of the time. The other half of the time, we do not starve. Those weeks, we fly by the seat of our pants and rely more heavily on simple meals and partially prepared foods.

Ideally, I want to hit the pool three times a week: twice for classes and once doing my own thing. Lately, I've been getting to the pool once a week; but hey, once a week is more than no times a week (which is how often I was going last January-May). Progress! And looking on the bright side, classes are now being offered three times a week at a more convenient time for me, so maybe I'll graduate to being a twice a week regular. More progress!

Ideally, I'd like to keep my home clean, tidy, and company ready (don't worry, I have fairly low expectations for what this means) at all times. In the past I've done Apartment Therapy's January Cure, Clean Mama's daily cleaning rhythm, among other things to help me stay consistent. I've got news for you, people. I could be as consistent as the sun and this place would still be in shambles 40% of the time because I have two teenagers who live so far up in their own heads they wouldn't notice if rats ran across their feet let alone that they leave a trail of clothes and other crap in their wake no matter where they are in the house or what they're doing. I've got a designated "landing pad" in my entryway, coat hooks and cubbies for each kid, routines aplenty for putting everything in its place during transitional times after breakfast, after school, after dinner, and before bed. So long as I have a husband with ADHD and enjoyment of my own sanity, I will never have the house in the shape I want it to be and that is okay. I'm a mom, not a maid. It's not worth my wrath and resentment to micromanage every living being in my home to keep my house in tiptop shape. NOT. WORTH. IT.

Instead, I lower my expectations and leverage my power. 

When I began my stay-at-home-mom gig, I learned quickly that a good day consists of keeping my family alive and feeding said family. If I am also able to keep up with the dishes and do a load of laundry, it's a very good day. Now that my kids are older, a good day consists of keeping everyone alive, getting them all to school, and providing them with tasty strength and growth food. If the dishes are washed and put away, the counters are clean, and a load of laundry has been done, it's a very good day. All of this plus doing something for myself (writing or swimming or napping or reading) is my definition of success. These are simple expectations and they are a challenge for me to meet, and I'm okay with that!

As I stated earlier, I am a mom -- not a maid. As we know, moms carry the heavy mental load of care for those we take care of, including our partners. I take the lead on almost everything in our household: food, clothing, childcare, education, play/entertainment, child-related communication with school/parents/friends, behavior expectations and discipline, household management and assigning of domestic tasks, healthcare oversight and appointment scheduling, oversight of petcare/grooming/veterinary, and on and on and on. My partner works many hours and provides for us (we can discuss how squicky this antiquated setup makes me feel at a later time) and makes a real effort to support our household by endeavoring to do anything I ask him to do. I expect my kids to do the same; frequently, 14 and 17 do not feel the same way. Therefore, it is necessary for me to remind them that we all have our parts to play:

Mom, I need clean clothes. When are you doing laundry? Well, I asked you to sort and deliver your dirty clothes and linens to the laundry room three days ago; you did not. You need to do that before I can wash your clothes. And, by the way, your problem is not my emergency, so I will not be ruining my Christmas holiday by doing four loads of 14 and 17's laundry. Thanks, bye!

Mom, what time is my playdate with Best Friend? It's at noon, but we can't leave until your room is cleaned up. Come on, you pick up your toys and I'll vacuum.

Mom, why am I locked out of my phone? Why do you have missing assignments in your classes? OR Why isn't your room picked up yet; I told you to do this two days ago. OR Because you're acting like an idiot and texting with people you don't know in real life and dude is trying to be slick using a shared Spotify playlist to show you a penis pic. OR whatever because the power of the electronics are strong in this generation, grasshopper. Let me also say here that you can similarly leverage hangouts with friends, money requests, and fun non-necessities to which said child feels entitled.

Mom, have you seen my [earbuds, hoodie, book, whatever]? Look in the Box of Doom.  The Box of Doom is a sanity saver. That trail of stuff my teens leave behind them like a snail's trail that I cannot convince them to pick up despite asking a million times? I don't have to pick their things up and put them away, but I also don't have to suffer with their junk all over my house and in my way and harshing my vibe. Any of their crap that's in my way or bothering me, I just throw it in the Box of Doom. They can be inconvenienced -- not me! -- by losing their stuff and having to dig through the box to find it. Then, whenever I feel like it, I demand they clean out the Box of Doom; leftovers will go straight to the Goodwill.

Despite all of my talk about lowering expectations and leveraging power, it is my goal to raise my kids to be -- as Michaeleen Doucleff writes in her book Hunt, Gather, Parent -- "accomodido": I want them to notice the things in their surroundings that need to be done and then help out by doing them without being asked. That is going to require me to approach things a bit differently with my kids. I need to better figure out my boundaries, limits, and higher expectations so that I can narrate and demonstrate noticings of what needs to be done before we are in a crisis situation (i.e. me freaking out or the dogs without water or 14 without clean clothes) and then providing my kids with the opportunity to demonstrate their agency.

I'm still working on this from my own end and, you know what? That's okay.