Rise

Greetings, friends.  I’ve had a funny memory rattling around in my head for the past several days.  I’ve been thinking about it so much that I’ve decided it must be God telling me to write about it.  Message received, God.

Once upon a time (about 6 or 7 years ago) my mother was very ill and I had to take her to the hospital.  Her knees had been damaged in several car accidents over her life so she had difficulty walking.  Because of this, the hospital put a bracelet on her that said “FALL RISK”.  She looked at me and said, “They should put one of these on you” to which I replied, “There’s a difference, Mom.  I can get back up.”

But my mom was right.  I should have a bracelet that says ‘FALL RISK.’  This is a pic I took while waiting at the hospital after I broke my wrist in May 2015:

I think that was my 13^th broken bone.  There have been several more since.  That’s why my nickname is “Accident” Pirrone.  At this point I should probably skip the bracelet and just get the words ‘fall risk’ tattooed on my forehead.

The thing about that brief exchange with my mom that keeps it in my mind is the punchline.  ‘I can get back up.’ That’s somewhat a metaphor for life, isn’t it?  I’ve been knocked down, but I always get back up.  That’s the key; not the fall, but the rise.  Victims are knocked down.  They become survivors when they get back up.  They may be bruised or have a few scars, but scars are not signs of defeat.  They are badges of honor; war trophies that proclaim to the world that we have survived. 

The painful truth is that the world WILL knock you down.  I don’t care if you are fat, Muslim, black, gay, a teen mom, a recovering addict or some other group; people will find something, some way that you are different, and they will beat you down until you fit into a little box with everyone else deemed ‘different’.  They will convince you that you have less worth.  Eventually you’ll start to believe that those labels are right and just.  You’ll start to see yourself in terms of that label.  That’s the fall.  It takes great effort and patience to see beyond the label.  You have to stop seeing these derogatory words as anything more than adjectives.  If you can do that, if you can start to see the offensive as mundane, then you can take the power out of the bully’s hands.  You reclaim yourself and your identity.  You get back up.

It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?  But it’s not simple.  Trust me, I know.  It’s almost the hardest thing we will ever have to do.  Even as we try to reject surface judgments, the world will continue to tell us those judgments are true.  And to a certain extent, they are true.  But they aren’t the whole story.  They aren’t what makes us who we are.  We choose that by what actions we take and how we live our lives.  Our inner selves are determined by what drives us, what we are passionate about, and what we are willing to take a stand for. 

We will each fall many times in our lives.  We will face prejudice.  We will be humiliated.  We will be ashamed.  We will be broken.  We will be lonely.  We will be scared.  It looks insurmountable.  It feels hopeless.  One could look at that list and ask why try?  To which I say, because those thing are all temporary.  Because there are greater things to come.  Yes, you will hurt.  But you’ll learn to toughen up.  You will stop listening to the maddening crowds.  You will stop looking up and saying ‘I can’t’ and start looking back and saying ‘I did.’  You will stop discounting yourself.  You will love and be loved.  And, when you’re ready, you will rise.

Pretty Women

Greetings, friends.  We all have those days where we just don’t feel confident. I’m not talking about depression (that’s a topic for a later date).  I mean those days were everything seems cloudy and blah. I have a suggestion for surviving those days that some of you will totally agree with but some of you may find offensive. It’s very simple. Put on a dress. Or a skirt. Or even just makeup. 

I can already feel some of you rolling your eyes. You’re saying that this suggestion just feeds into antiquated gender roles and stereotypes. Do me a favor and hear me out.  That’s not what this is about.  I don’t believe anyone should be forced to wear a dress or heels simply because society says so. But while I’m NOT saying that you are required to play dress up, I AM saying that dressing sharply can, and usually will, make you feel better and more confident. I didn’t invent this fact. Your brain did. If you still disagree with me, go complain to your prefrontal cortex. 

There’s an old expression that I live by that says ‘Look good, Feel good.’ Sometimes all it takes to change your mood is a swishy skirt.  Even on those days where I’m going to be on the run and don’t feel like dealing with a dress, a little mascara and lip gloss will work just fine. I don’t know why it works, but it does. When I take a little extra time getting ready, I feel more confident and self-assured.  I become more productive, more friendly, and just more fun to be around. I must warn you though; in order for this to work you must adhere to one simple but crucial rule: Do NOT dress for anyone but yourself. Wear something that makes you feel sexy and adventurous. Dressing to please someone else completely defeats the purpose.

As a general rule, there are some staples that every woman should have at the ready.  I feel that every woman’s closet should have at least one dress appropriate for weddings, one for funerals, one for interviews, and one for dates. There may very well be some overlap, but your wardrobe should always be prepared to accommodate each of those occasions.  I know a woman who has 1 dress that covers all 4.  Lucky jerk. I’ve been trying for 20 years to find a dress like that, but it’s somewhat like searching for the lost city of Atlantis. Realistically you know it just doesn’t exist, but your heart drives you to keep searching.

In addition to having the perfect dress for any occasion, you should also have the perfect underwear.  I can’t tell you how many women have told me that they don’t have any sexy, fun lingerie.  Seriously, ladies?  Come on!  A pretty bra is the simplest path to Look good, Feel good!  A good bra will lift and separate and make your boobs feel like they did when you were 18!  I know lingerie can be expensive, but you deserve at least one pair of panties that didn’t come out of a 5-pack.  This is one area that you deserve to spend a little on. You moms out there need this more than anyone. Once you have kids, it’s like you stop being a woman and suddenly transform into this asexual ‘Mom’ being. You deserve something that reminds you that you are still a sexy, fun, wonderful woman.

It can be really hard to maintain a positive disposition all the time.  Actually, I’d venture to say that it’s impossible.  Not only does the world heap expectations on us, but all too often we do it to ourselves. We expect to be the perfect mothers, wives, employees, neighbors, and friends. We set standards that are unattainable, then feel defeated when we come up short.  With all that pressure, we need certain tricks at our disposal to help us keep it together.  That’s what Look good, Feel good is all about.  It’s not about antiquated gender roles or meeting society’s expectation. It’s about finding ways to remind ourselves that we are fun, sexy, desirable women.  Even on the cloudiest of days.

Snake Oil and Desperation

Greetings, friends.  This is another one of those topics that I've gone back and forth on.  Do I keep quiet about this subject to protect my dignity, or do I open yet another drawer in my closet labeled 'Horribly Embarrassing'.  In the end, I AM attempting to help others and write for the greater good, so I guess 'embarrassing' it is.

The picture above shows SOME of the diet pills and vitamins I've used over the past 6 years in a vain attempt to lose weight.  SOME, not all.  These are the ones I haven't already consumed or thrown away.  There's easily a couple grand invested in that box.

I can hear some of you now. You think I'm stupid, gullible, lazy, and/or looking for a quick fix. And to a certain extent you'd be right.  But I think the adjective most of you skipped over, the word that never occurred to you, is 'desperate'. Desperate to lose weight. Desperate to be accepted. Desperate not to die at a young age.

The common consensus of the public, be it TV, radio, internet, or other media platform, is that if fat people don't want to be fat, they should just stop being fat.  To the "normals" it's just that easy.  Wake up, say you don't want to be fat anymore, problem solved. We don't take that approach to those suffering from other addictions.  That's why heroin addicts go to rehab instead of just saying 'I don't want to use heroin anymore'. Not only is that a ridiculous suggestion in both circumstances, but there is a big difference between food and other addictions. You can live without heroin, you can't live without food.  Maybe you can in the short term, but it's not a viable 5-year plan.

Losing weight is a battle. Keeping it off is a war. Members of the plus size community put on armor every day hoping that today goes better than yesterday. It doesn't help that the opposing team is yelling slurs at us and trying to psych us out. Given that environment I ask you, does it seem like such a cop-out to resort to diet pills?  Can you see why individuals would try anything at their disposal to get a leg up? The entire world is screaming at you to be thin yesterday so, yeah, you go to great lengths.  We're lucky that today's elixirs are special teas, or green coffee bean extracts, or mysterious roots found only in the most remote corners of the rain forest.  It wasn't that long ago that tapeworms were the recommended diet cure-all.  And I bet if that was still an options, I'd probably have tried that, too.

Last night ABC aired an episode of the show 'What Would You Do?' that was particularly apt for this discussion  If you haven't seen the show, I highly recommend it.  They set up ethical dilemmas, then film to see if anyone will intercede.  One of the dilemmas on last night's episode centered around teens using diet pills.  ABC loaded up a public restaurant with hidden cameras then had two thin teenage girls (actors) pressure their chubby friend (also an actor) to take diet pills.  The mean girls tried very hard to convince their friend saying things like 'Don't you want to be pretty?' or 'Don't you want a boyfriend?'  Then they let the unsuspecting public do the rest.  I gotta say, I am so proud of those unsuspecting patrons.  Time and time again they approached either the group or just the lone girl begging her not to take the pills. They made the girl aware of the negative side effects that pills can have, but more importantly they warned of the negative side effects of keeping such crappy friends. They told her she was beautiful.  They told her she was valuable.  I was almost in tears.

I no longer use any of the pills in potions in the above referenced box.  I finally woke up and realized that, if ANY of those pills worked, the world would not have an obesity crisis.  I stick to watching what I eat (when my willpower allows) and letting Yolanda kick my ass in the gym.  But not everyone has gotten to that point yet.  I implore all of you to be more like the restaurant patrons and not the shitty friends.  Encourage your friends.  Praise them.  But never, ever, ask them to comply with some arbitrary standard.  Don't worry, they'll discover beauty on their own.  Even if it takes them 30 years to get there.

Us and Them

Greetings, friends.  I've been thinking a lot about prejudice today.  I realize that I spend a lot of time on here talking about the prejudice that I have experienced.  I don't apologize for that.  Social awareness is one of the reasons I created Life in the Fat Lane to begin with (that and the fact that it's really fun to say Life in the Fat Lane).  What I DO apologize for is coming across as some poor victim that the world has eviscerated and everyone should love me and feel sorry for me.  Screw that jazz.  I'm no victim.  I'm a survivor.  A victim wallows in their misery.  They rest in a pocket of despair and grief that has been carved out for them.  A survivor builds a rope ladder and climbs the heck out. Please understand, I'm not attacking those still trapped in the 'victim' stage.  Anyone who has ever suffered hardship starts off at that checkpoint.  It just takes some longer than others to move on.  Even those who HAVE made it past the 'victim' stage will occasionally backslide.  That's what happened to me yesterday.  I heard terrible jokes made at my expense and I backslid all the way back into my hole.  But I prayed about it and I sought help from others and I reminded myself that other people don't get to define me.  Only I get to do that.

Another thing I feel it's important to interject is that not all prejudice is inherently bad (go with me on this).  There have been times when I have found myself walking alone at night (which is a stupid thing to do and none of you should EVER do it). If I see a man coming towards me, I will probably cross the street or change directions.  Now, I KNOW that there's a 99% chance that the guy is an upstanding citizen and I'm just being a bitch, but I'm okay with that.  I'm thrilled every time I make it home without being raped and/or murdered.  I'm really sorry if it hurt your feelings strange, scary man, but I care a lot more about my feelings than I care about yours.  I think self-preservation is, at times, an acceptable reason to display prejudice. Now if I had yelled something like, 'Stay away, [insert racial slur]! I've got mace!" That would have turned it into a completely different situation.  But, as long as you quietly go about the business of not being raped and/or murdered, you get a pass.

Back to bad prejudice.  Yes, I have experienced a great deal of it.  But I'm sure I could be accused of doling it out as well.  I once made a comment that deeply offended a gay friend of mine.  Granted, I was 17 and incapable of controlling the words that came out of my mouth (heck I'm 37 now and I still can't) but that doesn't make it okay.  First off, you don't make jokes about the LGBTQ community. You just don't.  Period.  They've been persecuted enough.  They deserve safe zones where they can be themselves without being afraid or uncomfortable.  Second, this person was someone I loved as if they were family.  You don't do that shit to family.  Family deserves so much better. That was 19 years ago but I'm still ashamed about it. I don't think the other person even remembers this happening. I'm not sure. We lost touch in college.  If they DO remember and happen to be reading this, I am so very, truly sorry from the bottom of my heart.  Although I still feel shame, I'm somewhat grateful for that mistake. It makes me humble. It reminds me of what words can do. It stops me from saying things that might hurt the people I love.  At least most of the time.

Nonetheless, I'm human. And I make judgments of people based on stereotypes and gut feeling.  For example, my 8 year old nephew wants to play in the NFL when he grows up.  Now, I love my nephew very much. But he's a tall, rail thin, Irish kid from the 'burbs.  It's very hard to tell that adorable, pasty, freckled face that he hasn't suffered enough adversity to make it to the NFL, if you know what I mean. Instead I just tell him that he'll be a great astronaut some day.  Let his mom teach him about racism.

As far as I know I haven't been overtly prejudiced against anyone. I try not to be. I firmly support both Black Lives Matter as well as Blue Lives Matter (I don't understand why people think you have to pick a side). I'm not blind to the fact that I benefit from white privilege, but I try not to go out of my way to milk it for all it's worth (I figure my boobs will gain me more favor than my pasty skin).  I firmly believe that women should be included in the military draft and should be able to serve their country in whatever capacity they desire.  As for my nephew...well...I'm buying that kid an astronomy book.

The Great Joy Heist

Greetings, friends.  It’s good to know you’re still around after yesterday’s intense lesson.  Today I thought it prudent to adopt a lighter tone so today we will talk about joy.

There’s an expression we’ve all heard over and over again to ‘Never let anyone steal your joy.’  That is so, so true.  It’s definitely a mantra I have to repeat in my head daily if not hourly.  All too often we plus-size people fall into the trap of letting other people steal our joy.  For example, you could be having the most amazing day at the beach, but let just one teenage douchebag make a “beached whale” comment and the party is over.  Fold up the chairs, grab your towel, we’re out of here. 

But why?  Weren’t you having fun?  Did you build a sand castle?  You can’t leave without building a sand castle!  Sand castles are one of the two funnest architectural structures to create (the other being blanket forts).  Then there are always shells to collect, and waves to play in.  There’s boogie boarding and surfing if you have any shred of balance or agility (which I do not).  So, why are you leaving?  Oh right.  Because the douchebag said you were fat.  The guy that you will never, ever, not in a million years ever see or hear from again.  It reminds me of a lesson that my dad taught me a long time ago about life in general.  He said, “Your success or failure in life will depend on your ability to deal with a**holes.”  When you suffer from low self-esteem, regardless of whether it stems from body issues or something else, it can be very hard to find yourself in a positive situation where you feel happy and fulfilled.  So, for those fleeting moments that you DO feel joy, don’t waste it!  ESPECIALLY on a**holes.

Now, as important as it is to protect your joy and never let anyone steal it, it’s not the whole story.  The crucial part that always gets left off of that life lesson is, ‘Do not expect anyone to create your joy.’  It’s just like how the Declaration of Independence endows the right to the PURSUIT of happiness, not happiness itself.  I missed out on so much of my life sitting in my room waiting for others to come to me.  I waited patiently for someone to invite me to live.  I did manage to do SOME living.  I’ve had slumber parties, went trick-or-treating, visited the beach, even went horseback riding in the Appalachian Mountains.  Those moments of joy are mine to keep forever.  But they were fleeting.  I listen to people talk about their crazy exploits during high school and college and feel like I really missed out.  They all had so much fun together!  They had fun while I waited patiently for someone to invite me to live.

Now I’m a grownup.  The days of impetuousness have passed me by.  Now we all have jobs, spouses, kids, responsibilities.  We schedule in coffee around Little League games and dance recitals.  We promise to have dinner as soon as I’m back from my next business trip.  Most of our conversations end with, “We should get together sometime!”  But then we never do.  We mean to.  We truly want that time to connect.  We might even pencil it in on the calendar.  But then that day rolls around and the dog goes missing, and Mikey comes down with the chicken pox, and your boss needs you to put in some extra hours on the Feldman case.  Next thing you know, that window you created for joy flies away, not to be seen again for another hundred years.  It’s Just. Not. Fair. 

I have a friend who is a relatively new mom.  Her world currently revolves around identifying which part of her baby is leaking fluids and plugging the leak.  Then there’s me.  I have my own child.  He just happens to be 68 and named Dad, but he’s every bit the challenge for me that the infant is for my friend.  Despite the roadblocks, we are making an effort to be there for each other more.  Believe me when I tell you, it feels pretty damn good spending time with her.  Being with girlfriends heals you in a way other relationships won’t.  You feel stronger, prettier, and more capable just because you spent time with them.  So hire a babysitter (or force dad to be alone with the kids for once), call in sick to work, and go see your girlfriend.  Create a moment of joy for yourself and don’t let anyone take it away from you.  Not even yourself.

The Phoenix

This will, in all likelihood, be the hardest, scariest, most painful truth that I've ever put online.  I really hope those of you reading these words will share them with the world.  These are real statements from real people that have had real impact.

WHAT WE SEE/HEAR ONLINE

 “I can't even find a normal human-shaped person to date around here. Everyone is fat, especially females. I've tried dating them but their naked bodies are SICKENING. They don't even look like humans.” – Anonymous

“The Crusade against Fat People has written time and time again on the problems that fatties cause in our society, and why they are sub-par humans for it. “– Anonymous

“To the overweight people, no, I am not going to accept you for who you are with that bullshit excuse 'you should love me because I am beautiful'. Your personality may be beautiful but your body is not. It's not OK to be overweight.”-- John Burk

“Excess Body Fat Is Repulsive”—John Barban

“Tell me how fat chicks aren’t among the worst human beings on the planet.”—Edward Thatch

“They're grotesque. Those rolls of fat hanging off their bodies are not attractive. They're disgusting. Fat people are more of a parody of humans than actual human beings.”—Anonymous

HOW IT MAKES US FEEL

“No matter where I go I am ashamed of who I am. I don’t like to eat in front of people, even if it’s healthy, because I feel like people give me dirty looks. Like I’m not allowed to be hungry because I’m fat. And I’m scared to walk the neighborhood for exercise because I’m worried about getting dirty looks or mean comments. Same at the gym. I’ve been getting them my whole life.”—Destinee

“One day while on my daily walk, someone screamed out of their car “you’re still fat”. I was so discouraged, it’s like I was trying and still some random stranger had to put me down. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. It’s very hurtful when people think it’s their right to tell you you’re fat or not trying hard enough.”—Dawn

“I do hate myself. I’ve starved myself, but only gained weight, dieted, and done just about anything to lose this weight; to no avail. I’m 20 now and I have absolutely no motivation to try anymore. My body is beyond repair and so is my self-esteem. I am afraid to go outside, because of the ridicule I face, so often I just hole up in my room.”—Amelia

“You can’t possibly suggest that it doesn’t hurt, and you should think twice about saying that we deserve it to hurt.”—Jay

There’s one more I need to add.  I’ve separated it because it has meaning to me:

“Can you kill yourself already?  This school will be a much nicer place without you.”

I separated it because it’s my story.  It was said to me.  I was 16.  I wish I could say I didn’t consider her suggestion.  I wish no one EVER considered that type of suggestion, but they do.  Some do more than consider it.  I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.

It feels strange to call myself one of the “lucky” ones.  I was tormented every day at school. Then I would go home and hope I didn’t get beaten up by my dad. I took to cutting the inside of my arm and then my thighs with really sharp scissors.  I wasn't trying to kill myself.  Physical pain is just much easier to handle than emotional pain. 

I barely had any friends.  I joined various clubs and activities to try to make more friends, but no one wanted to be associated with the fat kid and I was quickly edged out of the groups.  I was a smart kid, so I started doing homework for the B-List’ers hoping to eek my way off the D-list by association.  That didn’t work either.  I was even ostracized at church because all the kids in the youth group came from families with more money than mine.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I survived high school or the decades that followed.  You see, bullying doesn’t go away after graduation; it just relocates.  It follows you from job to job, city to city.  It creates a monologue in your head telling you that you have no worth.  It whispers in your ear that you are too ugly to be around the "normals".  The voice is so powerful that you begin to believe that the world would be so much better without people like you in it.  You lose hope.

It has taken me almost 30 years, from ages 9 through 36, to start to appreciate myself.  Now I know how amazing I am.  I am smart.  I am funny.  I am generous.  I am loyal.  I am strong.  I do not fear hell because I have already been there and survived.  I am a phoenix.   

There's a plaque in my doctor's office that says, "You never know how strong you are until strong is the only choice you have."  I wish I could give that plaque to every fat girl out there who is struggling.  I wish I could whisper in their ears and remind them that we must fall before we rise.  I want them to know that only through great adversity do we gain great strength.  Then I want to be there to see them discover that strength and see what they do with it.  I can't wait to see how they will change the world.

Fitness Accomplished

Greetings, friends.  Today I'm writing this message not just to you, but to myself because this is something I struggle with every week.

I work out with a personal trainer 2-3 times a week.  I have to push myself just to walk through the door to the gym because, when I'm there I'm surrounded by beautiful people with abs and biceps and no body fat.  It makes me feel like a circus freak.  Even my trainer is gorgeous (damn her).  Just to prove it, here's a picture of me and my trainer:

Yes, my shirt says "EVERYTHING HURTS AND I'M DYING".  It's a true expression of how I feel at the gym, both physically and emotionally.

It's very hard being at a gym surrounded by beautiful people.  Plus, some of the trainers there work with high school athletes.  Do you know how it feels to be fat AND old at the same time.  Not good. Not good at all.

Still, I go to the gym.  Diligently.  Three days from today marks my 1 year anniversary working with my trainer.  As you can see, I'm still fat.  But I still go because I have ulterior motives.  I'm not there to become a size 2.  I'm there because I don't want to die.  My mother died from heart disease when she was only 68.  I don't want to die when I'm 68.  So I choose to work out to strengthen my heart.

Now I'm not the greatest athlete (is there an Olympics for terrible athletes?) but I try very hard to accept every challenge my trainer gives me.  Still, It's just not fair having to do it around all the pretty people.  Yes, I'm very pretty.  But not at the gym.  At the gym I'm a sweaty, red-faced, stringy-haired troll doll.  It's not a pretty sight. Here's an example:

Even though I'm not at my best after work outs, I actually have several pictures of myself taken after working out in the gym or going for 10+ mile bike rides.  Yeah I look terrible, but those pictures remind me of my accomplishment.  I EARNED that troll hair!  At the gym, I'm surrounded by Barbie dolls and Mr. Universe contenders doing super cardio and bench pressing 200 pounds while I'm using 10 pound weights.  But the truth is, I feel like the work I do is an accomplishment because of what I have to work with.  I'm no athlete.  I'm shaped like a potato.  The rest of my gym mates are born athletes and have been sculpting and toning their bodies for years.  I can't compete with that.  No, I SHOULDN'T compete with that.

Last week I warned you about the dangers of comparing your life to your friends on social media. The same goes for people in real life.  I'm not trying to be a Barbie doll or a Mr. Universe contender. I'm just trying not to die (though at times I secretly think my trainer is trying to kill me). It's a day-to-day struggle, but I'm learning to take pride in myself and be excited about my accomplishments. When I'm able to squat a little deeper, hold a plank a few extra seconds, or bend over and touch my toes I remind myself that those are things I couldn't do a year ago.  Those are MY accomplishments. So I'm not going to compare myself to what all the athletes around me are doing.  No, I'm just going to high five myself for a job well done.