I Am Not You and You Are Not Me: Why Judgment Of Others’ Bodies Needs To Fall Away

Being able to be real about things is as sexy to me as self-confidence. Reclaiming words is awesome.

“Reclaiming the word fat was the most empowering step in my progress. I stopped using it for insult or degradation and instead replaced it with truth, because the truth is that I am fat, and that’s ok. So now when someone calls me fat, I agree, whereas before I would get embarrassed and emotional.”
— Beth Ditto of Gossip

In his article, The Obesity Era, David Berreby outlines a multitude of factors that can contribute to obesity, from the overly simplistic law of thermodynamics (i.e. put down the fork), to the starvation of previous generations, industrial chemicals like BPA, artificial light, viruses, bacteria, thermoneutral environments that don’t make the body work to maintain homeostasis (air conditioning, for example), differing qualities of calories, and the one which he appears to most favour: the machinations of Capitalism, a theory set forth by Jonathan C. K. Wells. I like this theory because it’s far-reaching, makes sense as it was explained in the article, and also because I’m biased against Capitalism. Heavily so, so to speak.

In reading the comments section (yes, I know! and I did it anyway!), it really brings home the fact that there is no one true cause of anything and that if everybody did the same thing, there would be n results, where n=the number of participants/everybody. By which I mean that an individualized and holistic approach needs to be considered because what works for me isn’t going to work for you. Every body is made differently. We are not robots created in a factory setting, but too many people think and respond as though we were, without taking metabolism, illness, injury, medication, genetics, or overarching societal and economic machinations into account. All that one-size-fits-all approach does is shame people who don’t fit the prescribed norm of what a human body is supposed to look like.


What is a human body supposed to look like?

This made me cry: real women by Hanne Blank, someone whose writing I was introduced to over a decade ago. I haven’t really kept up with her, but I have pretty much always loved what she has written. It was the part where she said, Real women are fat.  And thin.  And both, and neither, and otherwise.  Doesn’t make them any less real. It was the ‘both’ part that did it. If you’ve read other posts of mine, you may have noted that I’m ‘pear-shaped’. My top is more slight than my bottom. My life from the point at which my hips lurched out to either side — and I swear that’s what they did, it happened so fast. I only got to wear those awesome batik parachute pants twice because I suddenly couldn’t fit them over my hips, and I was absolutely devastated. Yeah, that’s right. Parachute pants. Batik. Devastated. I’m still a bit upset about it, to be honest. — From that point forward, I felt very much like a person from one of those books of people, the pages of which are bisected at the person’s waist, and you can mix and match jeans with blouse with skirt with male with female with suit top with pyjama pants with overalls, etc. I’m two different people, top to bottom, bisected at the waist. An extra small on top and a medium on the bottom. And prior to pregnancy, there was a 12″ difference between my waist and my hips.

Hanne continues:

There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla:

There is no wrong way to have a body.


I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.

And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.

You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis.  All human beings are real.

Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised.  It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel.  But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem.  Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me.

This, my friends, is a thing of beauty. And you know what else? So’s your body. It is a thing of beauty and it is real and it’s what a human body is supposed to look like.

And just as there are plenty of ways we fat-shame, there are ways we thin-shame, too. Being 5’1″, I’ve been relegated to the category of tiny and cute, or at least that’s how it appears people think of me as being. I’m also about 120-ish* lbs and my ribs show across my chest. I’m thin and have a difficult time putting on weight and an easy time losing it. I often don’t feel like I’m ‘qualified’ to talk about fat acceptance because of these things — because I’m on the outside. *(I don’t have a scale, or rest assured, I’d have the exact number for you. Why don’t I have a scale? Because I have two young boys with poor impulse control who will bounce on it until it breaks. That’s why.)

Thin-shaming vs following Wheaton’s Law: How Not To Be A Dick To Your Skinny Friends by Beulah Devaney via xoJane.


There is no wrong way to have a body

The body you have and/or the body you are working toward having, is a good and worthy body. And you are whatever gender you say you are. And if you identify as a man, then you’re a real man. And if you identify as a woman, then you’re a real woman. This graphic says it best:

people are people whatever their parts

Don’t even get me started on radical feminist transphobia. OMFG. And yes, I am an ardent feminist because I believe that women are equal to men. And I believe that women who were born with penises are still women. Exclusionary bullshit always feels bad. Do humanity a favour and quit being so insecure about yourselves, ok? Same goes for all the insecure men who’ve sexually assaulted… well… anyone because they feel the need to prove themselves more manly and more powerful than cis-women, trans-women, and trans-men. Give the world a break, folks. No one needs your bullshit. Save it for therapy, k? In the meantime, this about sums it up as to how simple it is:  Continue reading

Weighty Matters

I was just rereading this article on Ways We Body Shame Without Knowing It, which I linked to in a previous post and I realized there was a point made that I had wanted to write about.


6. Congratulating People for Losing Weight
You don’t know a person’s circumstances. Maybe she lost weight because of an illness. You also don’t know if she’ll gain the weight back (about 95 percent of people do), in which case earlier praise might feel like criticism. If someone points out that a person has lost weight, consider adding something like, “You’ve always been beautiful. I’m happy if you are happy.” But if a person doesn’t mention her weight loss, then you shouldn’t mention it either. Think of something else you can compliment.


Now, I gained a LOT of weight when I was pregnant with my first son: I was 72lbs heavier than when I started. I ate what I wanted to eat and didn’t worry a bit about weight gain — I only monitored how fast I was putting it on because if there was a sudden and large gain in weight, it could point to gestational diabetes. I didn’t have that. The weight gain started early and was quite steady.

A few days before I went into labour, I was 195lbs and a towering 5’1″. And no, I wasn’t polyhydramnios, either: a few days postpartum, when all the excess fluids suddenly leak out of the body, where you wake up and fully 1/4-1/2 of your pillow is drenched in drool and sweat (motherhood is so glamourous!), I’d only lost 12 pounds and 8.5 of that was baby. Typical weight loss with poly is 25+lbs with just the birth, so it was primarily just fat that I’d put on. That was in 2007. Without trying, I’d lost all but 10-15lbs by the time I got pregnant with my second son in 2009. During that pregnancy, I’d gained about 50lbs or so: all baby and fat. I grow good sized babies (8lbs, 8oz and 9lbs, 1oz), too.

Last summer, I went through a weird mental spell and was hypomanic for a few days on two separate occasions. Over the course of about 4 days, I barely slept and I barely ate — just enough to almost keep at bay the nausea from low blood sugar. I never fully recovered my appetite. Over the course of the following few months,

I ended up losing about 15 lbs because I just stopped eating. This is, like, the worst way to lose weight.

Don’t do this, please, if you can help it. And no one stopped to ask about that before they fell all over themselves to congratulate me on how great I looked. This is all kinds of shitty. Wanna know why?

Because I was pretty happy with how I looked before the weight loss and then, suddenly, I was tiny again. I had finally felt much closer to the sort of body I think of myself as having and then, for whatever reason, I lost it all. I will likely have to wait until I’m menopausal to gain any bit of weight because that appears to be the trajectory of my genetic makeup. And yeah, I’m kinda looking forward to it, to be perfectly honest. I’ve always felt a little dysphoric in my body, and for the most part, have always felt bigger than I physically am. Maybe it’s my personality…

But really, it’s also shitty because they were basically saying I didn’t look as good with a few extra pounds on my frame. And you know what? Fuck. That. Noise. I looked just fine, thank you very much. I’d already made peace with my arm flab and the junk in my trunk. Not having my ribs show on my décolletage? Awesome. And now, ribs. Which is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. It’s just different from how I think of myself.

Case in point: Several weeks ago, I was having chest pains that were upsetting enough that I decided to go to the emergency room. If you know me, you know it must have been significant because I typically stay the hell away from hospitals, but that’s a whole other set of topics. Anyway, they couldn’t find anything, but I bring this up because while the doctor was talking to me, she called me ‘thin’. It took me by surprise because in my head, I’m still in the same body I was in before I suddenly dropped a bunch of weight. “I’m thin?” “Yes. You are.” Remembering that the outlines of my ribs now show in places, I replied confusedly, “…Oh, I guess I am…”

Honestly, though, I was seriously astounded at all the compliments I got, and during the onslaught, only one person bothered to ask how I felt. I admitted to being scared because I didn’t know why I’d lost my appetite nor whether I’d keep losing weight and revert to being underweight like I was in my early 20s. I really didn’t want that to happen. I found it disconcerting and said as much. That weight-loss was not something about which I wanted congratulations, but because of our heinous societal norms, we automatically default to thinking thinner is better. It’s not. It well and truly isn’t: I have four beautiful friends who are rail-thin. In the past, they have worked so hard to put on weight and their metabolism just refuses to do any such thing. Now, they work just to maintain and not lose anymore. I listen to them and I learn. They are not “lucky” to be so thin, as society would have us believe. Neither are they less womanly for being so thin (so none of this Real Woman crap, either, people — which I write in full awareness of having participated in that mode of thinking for many years). My friends are striving to maintain their health. They are working towards body acceptance just like many of the rest of us, no matter our size.

Another gorgeous friend of mine has been working to lose weight and she’s been successful. She’s made posts about it, feeling happy and satisfied. That’s what I focused my comment on — how happy she appeared in her photos and that I was glad she was happy. That’s the thing that matters — whether you’re happy with how you feel in your body. If you’re not, then the only thing I can say is that it’s worth exploring why you feel unhappy — would you feel sheer relief if society wasn’t cramming a different body type down your throat, and you felt fully accepted in your current birthday suit? What if cup-size didn’t matter? What if waist circumference didn’t matter? What if upper arm or ankle circumference didn’t matter? What if hip-to-waist ratio didn’t matter? What if clothing size didn’t matter? What if weight loss or weight gain didn’t matter as long as you felt healthy and your body was working well enough?

We don’t get to choose what our bodies look like (for the most part), but we get to choose how we relate to them.

I’m learning that it wouldn’t be right to tell you to love your body. That’s your personal journey. I can only speak for what I’m doing, which is working on being at home in mine. It’s what I want for myself because I’m tired of looking at my reflection and critiquing it all, feeling like I’m coming up lacking some integral quality to being beautiful. I’m not. I don’t lack anything and what I do have doesn’t diminish. There is nothing about my body that makes me unpretty. There is nothing about your body that makes you unpretty. I’m beautiful as I am, and I believe you are, too, even if you don’t think so. The thing is, contrary to nearly all the messages marketers and media put forth, it’s not really the look or size of bodies that matters. It’s how we feel inside them and how others feel around us. Those are what count. And this is what we lose sight of if we’re congratulating someone on changing their body without checking in with them to see how they feel about it. Keep your sights on target for what really counts. It’s not clothing size or numbers on a scale. It’s not quantity or lack thereof. It’s quality of existence and recognition thereof.

Body Shaming and Making Assumptions

I have managed to lose all track of time. I kept thinking it was the 17th for the past several days, and, lo, it is nearly the 22nd. I leave for a week on vacation on the evening of the 23rd and have been working fairly steadily on a post I hope to make between now and then. It’s long with lots of citations from different articles and a book. I like where it’s going; still lots left to do on it. Between that article and prepping for a last-minute getaway, I’ve been a smidge preoccupied.

Last weekend, I went to a function in my community and was wearing a form-fitting tank top and some fancy festival-type pants that look like a skirt. I felt pretty awesome about how I looked. I was there with my younger son, and while he was busy eating some pineapple, a woman I didn’t know came up to me and introduced herself, asking where I lived and how long I’d been there. Then she took a focused, concerted look at my belly and asked, “Are you —”

I say with an I’m-going-to-attempt-to-brush-this-off sort of laugh, “No. I’m not pregnant. I’m all done having kids. That’s my youngest there; he just turned 3.”

Meanwhile, in my head, I’m repeatedly punching her in the face, calling her all manner of unprintable expletives. And then marvelling at WHY it’s SUCH a TERRIBLE thing to look like I’m pregnant when I’m not…

Is it because society
a) hates women’s bodies,
b) hates mothers, or
c) hates children

If you answered d) All of the Above, you get a cookie.


Why am I not allowed to be at peace with my body and how it looks?

Why do people need to ask if a woman is pregnant, as if it’s any of their business?

Why do people need to come to my rescue and assure me that I don’t look pregnant?

Why is looking pregnant when I’m not such a terrible thing in the first place? And yes, I just asked that a few lines up, but it bears repeating.

Furthermore, and this is unfortunately the easiest to answer, why do beans bloat the human body? Because every time I have even the smallest bit of legume, I look like I’m 4-6 months pregnant. You can argue with me on that matter all you want, but having been that pregnant twice in my life, rest assured, I do know what I look like. I’m just annoyed that it’s supposed to be avoided at all costs.

Ways We Body Shame Without Knowing It

I love this article. I used to do so many of these things and I found that I just don’t anymore. Having taken on the strident belief that every single person on this planet is beautiful when they let their soul shine outwards, it no longer matters what we actually look like. Yes, I can be attracted to certain combinations of features, but that has no bearing on whether I think someone is less beautiful or more beautiful. And what does my opinion about another person’s appearance matter? Because really, it doesn’t.

It doesn’t matter.

What I think about how you look doesn’t matter. I’m far more concerned with how I feel when I’m around you.


With regard to the article, I will take issue with #5. I don’t mind being pear-shaped. Have you ever bitten into a pear? A ripe, juice-running-down-your-chin pear that is so utterly delectable that you just can’t find the words and can only make sounds of satiated pleasure? Yeah, that’s me. That’s my awesome body. I don’t mind being compared to food. Bite me. If I like it, I’ll bite back.

I also hereby move to change the adjective “apple-shaped” to “peach-shaped” because biting into a ripe peach on a hot summer’s day, bursting with flavour, the soft fuzzy skin tickling your lips, providing a curious friction for your tongue… proves absolutely unparalleled. I admit I like apples as a fruit better than I do peaches, but peaches are so much more undeniably poetic and women’s bodies are too lusciously inspiring not to be creative with positive analogies.

Besides, when do you ever see canned apples and pears? No. It’s always peaches and pears together, flavours mingling and bolstering each other. Much better than tearing each other down, yes? YES.


Speaking of pear-shaped, #8. I was told for most of my post-pubescent life that I had ‘childbearing hips’. Wanna know something? That gave me a hell of a lot more confidence about the idea that I could successfully birth babies on my own. And I did. Twice. This is tricky though because I don’t want to make anyone feel bad for having a different birth experience. I’m just saying that I felt like being told I was made to do this thing I wanted to do made it easier for me to do it. Yes, it’s problematic as hell because not every woman wants to have kids. Not every woman who wants to is able to. Telling us that having certain features will make it easier to do a thing backfires on other women who don’t have that same feature who also want to do that thing. I have no idea how many women feel like they can’t birth a baby. The self-doubt is horrific. And I’m going to stop there because I have FAR TOO MUCH to say on the injustices surrounding pregnant people, labour and birth, postpartum, breastfeeding, etc. There are so many ways we shame bodies. Post pregnant bodies that retain evidence of having been pregnant get a hell of a lot of shame thrown at them.

For anyone interested, “A Beautiful Body” Book Project is up on Kickstarter, if you would like to back it. The video is NSFW because of nudity, but it’s just gorgeous. I see those bodies and I think, ‘hey, I look like that! And she’s pretty! And if I look like that and she’s pretty then I might just be pretty too.’ I like my hips/ass combo, in case that wasn’t evident already. I am still working through a lot of self-acceptance issues about my belly.

The US and Canada need to see more postpartum bellies positively represented in the media. I have no idea what the rest of the world’s general attitude is on the matter, but I am painfully familiar with how it’s handled here.


We get so hung up on how we look when how we feel about ourselves is far more important. When we’re able to look at ourselves in the mirror and say, “Fuck, I’m gorgeous!” and really mean it, and be able to say that, honestly and truly, even on the days we’re unshorn and wearing sweatpants, because we know we’re awesome people through and through, then then we will have arrived. We will have become more ourselves, relaxing into the beauty of who we genuinely are.

Go be your beautiful self. Help others to see how beautiful they are. Find ways to feel good.