Fat People Need Allies Too

People of colour have allies, LGBTQ have allies, fat people need allies too. Someone once told me you are only oppressed if you let yourself feel oppressed. I'm calling bullshit. No one is made of steel; even Superman had kryptonite. Anti-Fat microaggressions happen daily, if you are not a bigger person these may come as a surprise to you:

• People innocently commenting on someone else's weight loss and how they look so much better.
• Eating at a restaurant and innocently a friend pushing their plate away when they are done saying, "I can't eat anymore, I don't want to get fat."
• Friends innocently saying you know it's all about moderation or I don't care what they do as long as they are healthy.
• Flipping through channels on TV and pausing at Dr. Phil or Dr. Oz spouting their horrific anti-fat rhetoric.
• Being ignored when you go clothes shopping at clothing stores that don't offer plus sizes.
• Being approached at my gym constantly to buy into their nutrition program.
• My limited options for clothing.
• The comments, hushed whispers, and the stares at my grocery cart. People say well they are probably not talking about you. I have been a fatty for a long time, I am not stupid.
• Rejecting a cat call and being told you're too fat to reject a man's advances.
• Asking for directions and being told I don't think you will make it up that hill that's on the short cut. 
• Sitting and listening to anti-fatties in the mall food court about how disgusting fat people are and how they can't control themselves. I look down to my own tray and start the internal self demoralizing dialogue.
• Riding on the bus and getting stares and harrumphs as my fat ass pours over into the connecting seat.
• People who have never had weight issues in the life offering me unsolicited advice.
• Watching a sitcom and fat jokes are so commonplace no one bats an eye; just canned laughter pinning me down.
• Always wondering if I'm going to fit in places, seats, planes, rides, etc.
• People treating me differently. I have been on both sides and yes there is a big difference. 
• Building up the courage in a restaurant to order what I want versus what I think I "should get" to avoid stares or judgements from the serving staff.
• Guy on the plane insisting the arm rest goes down between us even though it clearly hurts my leg. He gets pissy that I am fat yet our legs never touch. 
• People asking me for weight loss tips because clearly I have tried dieting before. 
• Being someone's "safe friend" because I am not a perceived threat.
• Dancing at a club and a guy wants my number, I say no and he tells me in a condescending tone, "You are rejecting me? I was positive you were a sure thing. Seriously, you are rejecting me."
• Leaving my house in yoga pants because how many times have I heard, "Wearing yoga pants is not a right it's a privilege." 
• Everyday leaving my house and stressed out about what will happen today on the fat front?

If you have done one or more of these things above I am not calling anti-fat. I am simply expressing what you may not know.

People tell me to ignore the haters. I can't, I have to say something.  If I don't say something, who will? Who will call people on their shit? Who will call out the cowards behind the keystrokes? Who will be brave enough to stand up against the anti-fat people and say no when we are treated (at times) like 2nd class citizens? Anti-fat people rarely abuse fat folks in front of others but will say something if given the opportunity being 1 on 1 or if there is a diffusion of responsibility. For the longest time I accepted that people are just mean and they have something going on in their own lives. This still holds true but now I have a voice and have something big to say. People need to be held accountable for racism, sexism, gay-bashing, and anti-fat rhetoric. It is unacceptable. We deserve it.

                                                  

People of colour have allies, LGBTQ have allies, fat people need allies too. Allies that don't throw out "in moderation" or health rhetoric. Real allies love accept and care for each other's happiness. Trust me, fat people are not unaware of their size and how they are made to feel subpar. If you want to be an alli just love, just accept, just care without all the other crap. It is really that easy.

Softball Culture & Co-ed Sport

As I write this I think to myself, this blog will polarize people. You'll either nod furiously in agreement or fight me on it point by point.

I have been playing softball since I was 8 years old. I am hardly new to the game. Years of playing in  sport taught me so much about camaraderie, skills, sportsmanship, and team work. It wasn't always so full of sunshine and rainbows as it is a team sport; male or female drama happens. I played fastpitch as a young girl right into adulthood. At the age of 24 I stopped playing women's fastpitch and moved into a world of co-ed slo-pitch. This is where it began; my fight to be heard.

On a co-ed playing field I have experienced the following things on more than one occasion:

- Men jumping in front of me to catch balls
- Men calling each other pussies and other anti-female inflammatory language
- Men telling me where to stand on the field as if I've never played
- Men calling me a fat bitch
- Men and women in drunk debauchery to the point of it being dangerous
- Men yelling out, "Heavy hitter... literally!"
- Men mocking female players
- Men saying you are only as good as your female players
- Men making sexual assault jokes
Among other sexist, misogynistic statements

The truth is in all my years of playing female sport I have only had a handful of people I have come across who have been disrespectful or unsportsmanlike unlike in co-ed, where it is at almost every game.

So what are you saying then Court? Men are bad? Men can't handle themselves while playing sports? NO, far from it. What I am saying is in sport especially slo-pitch, to start off with the rules are sexist. It already sets us apart with advantages. I am sure in the beginning the divide in the rules were set out to make it a move even playing field. However, it sets a tone for the game. Rules that may have been once needed are now just plain offensive or super offensive to begin with.

I have been told by numerous men that in friendships and in sport jabs at each other are commonplace. Each to their own. Where I interject is where the insults offend fat people, disabled people, people of colour, and women. The following are common co-ed slo-pitch comments:
-You're such a pussy
-Sexual mother jokes
-You throw like a girl
-You run like a girl
-Your team is as only as good as your girls

First off... I am a woman. "Girl" is used for females under the age of 12. Let's break it down shall we?
When you say you throw like a girl, you are insinuating that your throws are lesser than your male counterparts. When a woman is complimented in saying wow you throw like a man, this implies you are better than. So, my super oversimplified example is to demonstrate that sexist language and ideals in co-ed slo-pitch is rampant.

I have also heard by many well-intentioned men, "Well its true, you are only as good as you female players." Whether you think it is true or not the comment is suppressive and sets a tone.
Lets beak this down shall we..

In softball, women are treated like a golf handicap. If your women perform well then your team will have more wins according to that statement. I didn't sign up for that kind of pressure or ass backward thinking. You can show me all the stats in the world to prove it is true, my point does not change. Once again women are put in a negative light and are then by proxy more responsible for losses and mistakes. Am I taking it too literal? No. Women are not responsible nor should be a collective consciousness punching bag for differed responsibility. You are only as good as your team, full stop.

Since the slo-pitch ratios are always less women then men, we feel we have less of a say.  I am not pitting men against women what I am saying is that women in co-ed sport are less likely to speak up. First off we are out numbered and secondly we are treated like we know less about the game. It is the ole "boys will be boys" mentality when sexism occurs. I am outspoken, I point out injustices when it is needed. I can't sit idly by. As a fat woman playing sport I am constantly told where my place is. I have less of a voice and the times when I do speak up I am not supported as if a man said the exact same thing.

Softball culture is drenched in booze, misogyny, sexism, and oppression. Until people speak up and stop being apathetic nothing will change. It’s scary to be that person to say what in unpopular especially when it’s always been that way. For a moment, instead of breaking apart my argument, let’s just say that this is true. How does that make you feel to be a part of something so oppressive? It’s the frog in the pot mentality we have become used to hearing it therefore it desensitizes us. These attitudes are not right, plain and simple. We need to rip out of it and choose different ways of playing in co-ed sport. I know its not on every team or with all men, I am saying that we are all a part of the problem when we don't speak up. Language is important.

Hugs N Shit
The Momma

Premenstral Dysphoric Disorder PMDD - WTF

I wake up and there is a familiar, yet oddly comforting, thundercloud looming over my head. I think to myself ah yes, there it is; I guess I just finished ovulating because here it comes, the progressive two week downhill trajectory of depression, rage, sadness, invasive thoughts, and conflicts. I take my morning Zoloft in hopes that it takes the edge off. It feels like the pill masks the PMDD but its still there. As the days get closer to my period my mind gets darker, the cloud gets closer and soon I will be not myself for the lack of better words.

Let’s fast forward to the day before I bleed. I wake up and I feel the blinding headache ready to morph into a full blown migraine. My only motivation to get out of bed to to pop 600mg of Ibprophan before my head explodes. I swallow down the 3 pills with a mangy cup full of pipe stagnant water but I give zero fucks to whether the cup is clean or if the water is tasty. My thundercloud follows me back to bed but my angels on earth pounce on me and reminds me why I need to get up today. I am welcomed by snuggles, love, laughter, and kisses. I am blessed, truly. My thundercloud waits in the wings. My committee of assholes has been temporarily silenced. Then I am hit with the reality of everyday life. It is time to get the kids ready for school.

 I put my hair in the messy bun, throw on some clothes, and remind myself to brush my teeth and I was neglectful last night after my sauce and cake binge. A sugar hang over feels like I want to throw up, cry, and do it all over again so I cannot feel. Like any addict I want the fix. Sugar for me has the magical ability to temporarily give me a high so I don't have to deal with emotions. As I head down stairs I hear the familiar committee of assholes in my brain. "Today is Monday, you know what that means you fat fuck. You can't even move down the stairs without pain because you're so fat..." I don't have the energy to silence them today. I merely mumble, fuck off under my breath. I go downstairs and I see the pile of dishes from last night, I am instantly filled with resentment and rage. A tidal wave of memories come flooding back of any relatable resentments. Like little vignettes the stories play out in my mind only adding to the PMDD fire. I want to snap, I want to run away, I want to be in a cave and hibernate like a mother fucking momma bear. I hear Rhys ask for breakfast I have to remind myself that he is not to blame. I turn around and I say what do you want my dear. He clings onto my leg like a sloth as I prep his breakfast with a literal weight tided to my leg. I make myself a cup of tea and I sit. I watch the world around me and resentments, rage, committee of assholes, and my thundercloud occupy my thoughts. I know this isn't me, I know this is temporary, I know I am bigger and better than this but it drags me down into the depression rabbit hole. 

I walk my sons to school in hopes no one sees me so that I do not have to make conversation. I don't feel I can lie at this point if someone asks me how I am doing I am likely to burst out into tears. It is best to leave early and be stealthy. I get back home with my 4 year old and I look at my house and think fuck I have so much to do. I try to write out a to-do list to keep my hands and mind busy. I think about how I am going to exercise my body today with out too much input from the committee. I think about how I want to eat as healthy as possible so I don't exacerbate my symptoms. And then I hear it, a song, someone sent me a song that reminded them of me. The song is True Colours by Cindy Lauper. I burst into tears, good tears. It is a reminder that I am loved however, my committee, has other plans. I am flooded once again with self deprecation. I attempt to rip myself out of it by doing some dishes when it hits me. "You should just kill yourself you know." There it is; the evasive suicidal thoughts that I cannot control. I have zero desire to act on them, but they scare the fuck out of me. I sit on the ground with silent tears flowing down my face. My four year old comes over and sits on my lap and says don't cry mommy. I cry harder of course and hold him close. He asks what is wrong and I say sometimes I get sad, and its ok. He sits with me and holds me with his cute little fingers playing with my tears. I tell him thank you for the hug, it always feels nice to get a hug. I then force myself to be completely present during a rousing game of charades. I am telling you watching a 4 year old act out a snake is the best therapy you can ever imagine. As my day progresses from doing chores, crying, internal rage, screaming into my pillow, and playing with my son I get moments of clarity. I think to myself, no more of this bullshit. I need to take better care of myself. But anyone who deals with depression the fight is neither easy nor comfortable. I struggle between the light and dark. I see my thundercloud I see my committee of assholes and I think they are not me. They follow me.

What the fuck did I just read? PMDD is like PMS but on steroids. What a headache is to PMS is a migraine to PMDD. There are similarities but both PMDD and migraines take on a life of their own. They are debilitating. Here is what web MD says about PMDD:
Symptoms of PMDD include:

• Mood swings
• Depression or feelings of hopelessness
• Intense anger and conflict with other people
• Tension, anxiety, and irritability
• Decreased interest in usual activities
• Difficulty concentrating
• Fatigue
• Change in appetite
• Feeling out of control
• Sleep problems
• Cramps and bloating
• Breast tenderness
• Headaches
• Joint or muscle pain
• Hot flashes
• Suicidal invasive thoughts  

Treatment and Solutions
First of there is no cure. Treatments include: the pill to regulate hormones, anti-depressants, exercise, good diet excluding processed foods, wheat, sugar, alcohol, and caffeine. A supplement cocktail including b6, b12, magnesium, evening primrose oil, macca root, iron, vitamin D and so on. It is also suggested some cognitive behavioral therapy, counseling, and of course support. Lately, the antidepressant route is not working anymore and I am seeking alternative therapies. The last a final treatment for PMDD is a hysterectomy. I will be discussing this option with my doctor.

For years I didn't; think much of it as I thought it was normal and ever woman went through it. It wasn't until I started taking the pill that I realized that this was bigger than me. I am in a transition phase from one treatment to another. It is always a time of turmoil and grief. I have an incredible about of guilt for the chaos I have caused around me. I know I shouldn't feel guilty but anyone who knows me, knows that I am a big ball of light the other half of the month. I'm a Jekyll and Hyde character with PMDD. .

Today was a particularly bad PMDD day and I decided to do something different. I posted on Facebook for help and I was blown away at the kindness and generosity. I plan on thanking each person individually and I have screen shot pages of responses and have saved them for the next time I am in the throws of PMDD. Thank you so much for the support. I am inspired to start up a PMDD support page on FB and blog the shit out of my impending recovery.

“If you’re feeling helpless, help someone.”

Aung San Suu Kyi, politician/Nobel Peace Prize winner