Who deserves pleasure?
Sex, size, peace, and pleasure
CW: Unhealthy body image, Sizeism, Liberal use of the word “fat”
Fat. I want to say the word over and over again and wear it out until it loses all its sharp edges and dissolves into a million pieces. If you had no paradigm for “fat” and you read the statements below, what meaning would you make of the word?
Things I’ve heard guys say: “Fat girls are great in bed because they’re so grateful to be getting fucked, they’ll do anything.” “You can fuck fat girls, just don’t tell your friends.” “You can fuck fat girls, just keep the lights off.” “She probably gives great head; you know how I know? Because she’s fat.”
By god, who are fat girls? Am I? How do we sort ourselves and where is the line? All of us feel fat sometimes, but what does it mean to feel fat?
I’m having my first PMS in two years and yesterday the scale crossed my self imposed maximum acceptable weight. Red. fucking. alert. This is a serious situation. There will be the wearing of ugly clothes, there will be fasting, and most of all there will be ruthless self-loathing. Everytime I pass a mirror naked I will pinch the fat on my tummy to remind myself. And I will not have sex.
To feel fat is to feel out of control and sex compounds that feeling. And if I have sex while feeling fat, I’m subject to all the awful unwritten rules about so-called ‘fat girls’: be grateful, focus on them, be invisible. To feel fat is to feel unworthy of pleasure. If I can just fast and restrict for a week or two and I don’t have sex or socialize much until I’m back below my maximum acceptable weight, then it’s like my fatness didn’t even happen. Right?
But daring to live fully while feeling fat breaks the rules. What if I become officially fat? Self-acceptance while feeling fat feels dangerous. It feels like a slippery slope. Feeling fat is an invisible line and many of us live life on the razors edge. Feeling fat feels unsafe. Feeling fat is a deeply shameful state of feeling worthless. And fascinatingly, for myself and many others, feeling fat is often non-concordant with weight.
.
I’m not talking about whether other people think you’re fat; that’s slightly more consistent but equally toxic. Today I’m talking about whether you feel fat according to your own rules. I’m talking about the tyrant within.
I mean sure it hurts to be considered fat by others, but it hurts much worse to feel fat internally because it changes the way we live. We turn down invitations. We don’t eat until 7pm. We reject sex. We hide our bodies. We keep the lights off. We avoid eye contact. We no-show to the pool party. We wear a sweater over our arms in 95 degree heat to cover our fat arms. And no one can watch us enjoy food. Every woman I know does these things when she is feeling fat, whether she’s a size 2 or a size 20.
When we pull this nasty ball of dirt, dust, and poison out into the light for examination, it becomes plainly absurd; blatantly toxic. We can deliberately disentangle the putrid threads of media messages, maternal messages, and what that boy said in middle school; but letting go of it feels terrifying, doesn’t it?
If I don’t live my life under constant threat of self-flagellation, will I not be completely out of control? Adrift? Too big? Unhinged?
If I don’t life my life under constant threat of self-flagellation, will I not be…free?
Maybe I could use the mental energy I used to spend counting carbs to solve world hunger. Maybe I could use the freed up willpower to accomplish my dreams. Maybe I could take the money I used to spend on diet groceries and put it in my retirement. Maybe I’ll be safe from the tyrant within if I believe in my heart of hearts that I am good and worthy and treat myself with compassion not cruelty, no matter what. Maybe.
I don’t claim to have the answers, but I’m onto the lie that’s been allowed to live rent free in my mind for too long. I’m pulling it out into the light. And it’s losing its hold as I poke and prod and expose it for what it is: a really shitty attempt at keeping me safe. It’s a maladaptive strategy that equates social norms with safety. Safety for who? This idea sure doesn’t feel safe inside me; and when I don’t feel safe inside I don’t live well.
The monster is always there, but we don’t have to feed it. In fact, we can transform it by acknowledging the message inside: lizard brain wants me to stay safe and be socially accepted. So thank you lizard brain, for trying to keep me safe. I see you. I will keep myself safe in ways that are healthy for me instead of misdirecting the drive into self-hatred. We’ll meet again, but until next time, I’ll enjoy some peace.