Apologies, readers; what I am about to write is as much for me as it is for you.
Sometimes I think we could learn as much about being feminists from our failures as we can from our successes.
Let me confess one of my major feminist faults here. I’ve been thinking of calling for a one-month armistice in the feminist blogosphere in which we all ignore any story related to weight, but this would be a largely selfish move. And it would make me an unbelievable hypocrite. My relationship with food and my body is currently on heightened alert.
I thought I had made my peace with it at some point, I remember telling people, “being beautiful is less important to me than it once was,” but I was wrong. In a perverse sort of way, hanging around feminist/women-oriented websites over the past year or so seems to have nurtured a new kind of obsession with my size and shape. Because women? Talk a lot about size and shape, and even when they’re being good about it, subtle body-hating appears, things I can pick up on to self-flagellate. I spend a lot of time telling myself it doesn’t matter, it’s the patriarchy, I should not care that I am the largest person in the picture, no one else cares, this is my problem, etc etc. But I find it hard to get away from how unhappy I am in this current iteration of my body.
Case in point: I’m supposed to go to the beach at the end of the month, and a major portion of my day is currently spent wondering how on earth I’m going to deal with the swimsuit issue. I have, in the last few years, occasionally worn a swimsuit in public, but I’ve usually felt like shit afterwards. In the Galapagos, the good news was I was with people I would never see again. The beach I won’t be able to say the same about.
I know people who take pictures of themselves in swimsuits; I envy them. I envy them their freedom to sit blithely out there, simply enjoying themselves instead of counting rolls and noticing every pucker and fold on their thighs. I am thirty years old now, and I never once, in all my teens and twenties, which are supposed to be the young, and beautiful, and carefree years, said to myself: “I think I’ll wear a bikini today.” How sad is that?
Recently I told you how I wanted to date, but I have found myself unable to actually go out and meet someone, particularly someone I’ve met online, thinking, “I no longer know if this is the kind of body about which people will say, afterwards, ‘She lied about her weight.’” Even photographs feel like lies these days.
“Oh come on. It doesn’t matter. You look fine.” The people in my life who say these things mean well. They are trying to help. I wish I could hear them in the same way they are intended. I’ve stopped asking people, “Do I look okay?” because I know their answers won’t satisfy me and because I know it’s self-indulgent and because I know that not asking these questions is the main way I’m going to be able to escape this obsession.
But it’s not helping very much. It’s not getting me to a place where I’m not thinking about the way this skirt clings or would I sweat less if I managed to knock off a few pounds or wondering if I am ever going to be the kind of person who can just smile at someone in a bar and not worry about his being totally out of her league. Some part of me seems to be stubbornly remaining fourteen years old, and I guess we all have that, but mine is running the show at the moment.
But still, I wonder what a world would look like in which we all went a month without commenting on our own bodies. I wonder if it would leave me some psychic space to just think about something else, if I wasn’t so constantly bombarded by “eat more vegetables” and “a new workout you should try!” and “here’s a new stretchmark cream.”
I’m having trouble, too. For the most part, I’m ok with my body. Not happy, maybe, but just ok. I’m ok with my size, I’m ok with my diet, and I’m ok with my workouts. I have even worn a bathing suit several times this summer, and not batted an eye. But I’m going to the beach this weekend with my family, and I’m freaking out a bit. I hate that the people with whom I feel most comfortable are also the people among whom I worry about my appearance the most.
I know what you mean. You’re not alone. I know I’m supposed to be able to love my body ALL the time, but I’m doing good to love it MOST of the time. I’m going through a bad time right now with my self-image, and the constant onslaught from both sides (fat-shaming and fat-acceptance) is just reminding me that no matter what I do, it’s never enough.
I’ve been trying to think of a good response to this post. But honestly, I can’t come up with anything better than this: body image issues suck and the best you can hope for is to beat them back to the point that they only occupy like 25% of your brain power. I struggled with constant calorie counting/worrying about every scrap of food I put in my mouth in my late teens early-mid 20s, it obsessed me and it was miserable. I feel MUCH better now about myself but I can’t tell you why. I think I just got exhausted and burned out by the constant worrying. This is cheesy as hell but honestly being physically active (ie putting my body to the use that biology intended) helps.
I wore a bikini for the first time in my life two years ago. Have I worn it since? No. Was I eating 1200 calories a day back then and buying into the absolute ridiculousness that is LA Weight Loss? Yes. I lost weight, was finally comfortable with myself, my ideology, and my body; that in itself is fucked up. As I gained the weight (and my sanity) back, I began to feel insecure again. Some days I do feel really horrible that most of my clothes say 12 or 14 on them, but other days I manage to avoid the tag and just feel awesome in my cute little dress that looks fab.
It’s so intensely hard to avoid body snarking in daily conversation. Everyone is on a diet and the only thing you can do is not join in with the “oh, once I lose 10 more pounds I’ll be happy”. It makes me really sad that this is a constant obsession for most women and it doesn’t seem like anything will get better anytime soon.
Can we still talk about poop?
My worry lately is that my own harsh self-criticism will never, ever end. I’m living proof that losing weight and getting to the “right number” will not silence those negative voices in my head–I’ve lost quite a bit of weight in the last few years, I’m a lifelong jock so I work out, and I can’t adjust my self-image, and I dont even believe others when they make positive comments.
So I dont have a good response to your post, all I can do is think about how it relates to my own life, and what I am going to have to do to change my perceptions.
Here’s the thing: even reading this helps me. Why? Because you, Pilgrim Soul (and all the other Harpies), are online role models to me. I don’t comment really, but I read. And I learn.
So hearing that someone that I admire has many of the same thoughts helps. I recently deleted almost half of the pictures of my college graduation before I would even let my dad look at them. I can’t even let my dad, who thinks I’m beautiful and notices only my smile, look at all my pictures. Not even my father.
This body-hate makes me feel like a bad feminist which, in turns, adds to self-doubt. The world where we aren’t force-fed images of idealized bodies would be lovely. But, since that’s unlikely to occur, I’m lucky to have posts like yours, which make me think and make me understand this cycle a little more.
Now I feel like a gushing teenybopper. But thank you.
How are we supposed to “make peace” with our bodies when they’re a continual cultural battleground?
This is not hypocrisy. It’s not a flaw. It’s what happens when we set goals like “accept our bodies as they are” in the middle of a culture that will not accept them, and then expect it to work when we, the victims of this broken system, are the only ones actually working on it.
The best we can do is the best we can do. As one of those people who is sometimes Publicly Fat In A Bikini, I freely admit that oftentimes, I’m faking it. It gets easier with practice to stuff those insecurities in a dark hole and go out anyway — but the insecurities haven’t gone away. How could they? The pressures that created them are still happening!
When I’m out there with my size-8 friend who wouldn’t dream of wearing a bikini because she’s too ashamed of *her* body, it’s a little easier to remember that this shame has absolutely nothing to do with my (or anyone else’s) actual fat. And even then, even when I’m explicitly remembering that this twisted culture uses whatever tools it can find to make us all feel ashamed, I still cringe sometimes. We all do. AND IT’S NOT OUR FAULT.
It’s so important that we continue doing things like calling out your Joe’s Coffee place for their dumb “bikini body” comments — because IT’S NOT ENOUGH for just us individuals to try to change the inside of our heads. It is also necessary for the culture to change. So, please please please do not beat yourself up for this phenomenon. (see also: the personal is political, blaming the victim)
Word, Cheryl. Giant, Publicly Fat in a Bikini WORD.
I jiggle my fat at you, Cheryl! (Think of it as applause)
Awww, Cheryl, that was awesome.
Yep. Not your fault, not related to your size, I promise you. I’ve been a size 4, a size 10, and everything in between. Right now I guess I’m around a 6-8, and the voice in my head telling me I’m not toned enough/attractive enough/healthy enough is no less loud than it was at a size 10. I think even teeny weeny girls have the same voice, the one that shrieks “LOOK AT THE BACKS OF YOUR THIGHS! THEY ARE LIKE A TOPOGRAPHICAL MAP!” I’m 28, and that voice has been around since I was 11 or 12. I could weigh 110 pounds (totally impossible without lopping off a major limb)and that voice would be there still, telling me that my scapulae weren’t firm enough and that I needed to whittle an extra millimeter off my ankle bones.
Don’t trust the voice. The voice is full of shit.
Amen. I can’t remember what it’s like to not think about my body in terms of how other people will see it. I miss being 9 years old.
I’m attempting to not ever discuss my body’s appearance, in any terms, around anyone — not my partner, friends, sister, whomever. Enough with the self-deprecation. I want to appreciate it for being the thing that gets me where I need to be (mostly) and that’s all. I fail at this every single day, but I think I’m getting better. Not sure how else to do it.
@Wishingwellred
I am trying not to discuss mine as well (or my diets), but I am so used to falling back on this, that I’m having a really hard time breaking out of that pattern. I’m also having a hard time explaining to other people why I’m trying accept my body as is. I can’t seem to put it into words. (Or I can’t get the words in the right order, so that they make sense to people.) It’s so hard! But I guess we just keep trying.
Thank you so much for this post. Recently, I’ve been feeling pretty much the same way, and I sometimes forget that I am NOT ALONE IN THIS. Which isn’t a great thing, actually, as I’d rather everyone else were happy, but it does make things a little less lonely.
And, Cheryl? AMEN.
@ Cheryl Trooskin-Zoller
“As one of those people who is sometimes Publicly Fat In A Bikini, I freely admit that oftentimes, I’m faking it. It gets easier with practice to stuff those insecurities in a dark hole and go out anyway — but the insecurities haven’t gone away.”
This is exactly it. As you say, the pressures that foster all the body-hatred don’t go away, so I’ve found the trick is to fake it, and try not to think about my body. I’m definitely not thin, and I’ve definitely worn bikinis to do swim-related things, and the trick is to just not give a shit. I find that if I can ignore my body and what I think of it half the time, the amount of time I spend disliking it is BEATEN by the amount of time I spent doing stuff like swimming, or riding my bike, or eating (eating is AWESOME), or hanging out with friends, or taking pictures, or doing things that make me feel good and not bad.
@PS: Dammit, this post brought up so many thoughts and feelings. I could write a book. In fact I did, many of them; they’re my diaries from my 20s, and they read like a horror tale of self-loathing and abuse. I threw them all away recently, and it felt good. I stopped buying women’s magazines, and skip stories about “detox” diets. I sympathize with wanting to create some mental space from the issue. It fucking sucks, and it’s painful. But I wanted to say, as hard as it is, please please know that what you and others like Kate Harding write matters. It HELPS. I now have a deeper, more articulate, and factually grounded language to use when I speak to others about fat shaming and thin privilege. Because I have better tools, I speak up more often to challenge hurtful comments and attitudes. I better understand my own struggles, and the struggles, pain, and experiences of others because you provide a forum for expression. Thank you.
@Cheryl Trooskin-Zoller: Beautifully put.
Wait till youre 50! I took out all the mirrors, literally, in my house and I actually worked with a therapist to lose all self consciousness. Its so difficult, it took years. The thing I had to come to believe was, I cannot see myself as others see me, its no use trying. But they look mainly at the light in my face, and the soul in my eyes. Once I started concentrating ONLY on these things, I was able to begin losing self consciousness completely. Its good we can’t see ourselves. I never look at pictures or mirrors. I look inside and mirror what I’ve come to see my essence as, and I picture that radiating out my face and eyes. It works.. I think. I have other problems believe me, I don’t know very much, but this is how I’ve tried to cope with all this.
I have to admit to going through a bit of a denial phase. Each morning I used to look at myself in the mirror and tell myself how beautiful I am. Recently I cannot do it. It feels like I am lying to myself.
I agree that a lot of the issues that women have with appearance is directly related to patriarchy but how do you escape it when it is everywhere we look. I don’t want to see the bikini as a symbol of freedom when it actually feels like a thousand pound weight I cannot begin to life. I don’t know what the solutions are but not looking in the mirror or avoiding talking about it is just letting the elephant in the room sit there like a lump.
I have never wanted to wear a bikini. I don’t think of it as a body image thing, I just don’t like showing too much skin. I like one-pieces.
It’s interesting to see this post because today and yesterday I have unexpectedly had food anxieties released from my mind. I hope this extra “psychic space” stays. For me, it wasn’t really about how I feel about my body but wondering (without even realizing how much I was wondering) whether I’m eating the right thing. Too much of this? Too little of that? Yesterday and today I went to Chapters (big book store) and read In Defence of Food by Micheal Pollan. I already vaguely knew a lot of what he wrote but the way he said it all summarized together was great. His book is based on seven words, “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” By food he means stuff your great grand-ma would probably recognized (unprocessed). And when he talks about “not too much” he talks about quality instead of quantity, eating more slowly and really enjoying eating instead of rushing it. It’s encouraging me already to stop paying so much attention to nutrition experts and enjoy my food. For that last part, he reminded me of Kate Harding and fat acceptance and health at every size.
I am touched by this post, like others, for its sincerity. There’s something awful about being able to, rationally, analyse where our body image issues come from; and, we know it’s not just a matter of accepting yourself – but it’s of political importance, too, at least to ourselves. It’s not just about feeling better in your own skin; it’s a refusal to go along with the body-size and shape obsessed culture we’re living in.
Your post illustrates how difficult this is, i.e., to live your ideology. And I recognize this, in many different ways. I just want you to know that you’re doing amazing work, here; and that I feel the same way, be it about fat, or not shaving, or being loud and pretentious when I could have been understanding and/or mute. I am sorry you have to feel this way. One thing that helps me is the thought that I can only struggle against this if I am willing to sacrifice some of the securities a ‘bargain with the patriarchy’ would entail; and, if people don’t see women actively resisting the patriarchy, they all too easily draw the conclusipon that women deserve it, being too stupid to participate and all.
no real tip, here. I am sorry. But thanks so much for your post, and I hope you feel better, if not now, then later.
‘too stupid to participate’ should read: ‘so stupid as to participate’. Sorry, didn’t sleep much.
Is there a rule in feminism that says you have to love your body to be a feminist? Geez! No one would qualify! In my 51 years of living, I never met anyone who absolutely loved their bodies – male or female. Those that claimed to soon admitted to something they wanted changed.
I have a long list of things wrong with my body; starting with the bad genes inherited from both sides of the family. It would take a lot of work to get me to the point of pretty. But this is who I am.
Some days I look at my shapely legs and ignore the spider and varicose veins. On others that’s all I can see. Some days I hate the way my double-D’s make my back ache, but they are still pointing in the right direction and haven’t shifted south, yet. I hate that the sand in my hour glass is getting stuck in the middle.
There are so many things I could harp about, but this is who I am. I do the best I can with it all. I pluck. I shave. I conceal. I tuck. I camoflage. I shudder. I cry. I hate my body. I am a Feminist.
Sometimes I think we could learn as much about being feminists from our failures as we can from our successes.
Beautifully put. I’ve often thought the same thing. In fact, back in my undergrad, I wanted to write my thesis on how pop cultural portrayals of women’s feminist failures could be equally useful to the feminist movement as portrayals of “ideal” feminist behaviour (whatever that is).
I just got back from this awesome swing dance thing and was basking in how much fun it was until I saw the pictures. And was crushed by how fat I looked. It took all the fun out of it. And that? Is a shame.
Oh, k8, I know how you feel. I try to avoid cameras because seeing evidence of my appearance can ruin an otherwise good time, and even tarnish the good memories.