I'm just a fat gal with a blog and an opinion. Well, lots of opinions.

Tell me somethin’ good…


Funny how I wrote and posted thrice last week and this week? Nothin’! Ha-ha! Oh well. Honestly? I’m trying to just live and feel better and not setting goals and beating myself up over stuff. But I haven’t just been sittin’ around the house either. I mean, that does happen, especially with the amount of jobs I’ve been applying to (now on 5 months unemployed…that is fucking depressing!), but I’ve been developing more of a routine where I can and creating time and attention to things that help me feel more like me.

Last Saturday I got to karaoke at a friend’s house with my favorite people…my crew! It was great! Here’s me with a very drunk “J” acting silly as usual. We were ridiculous, just laughing at the random-est stuff, but damn we sounded good!

My bf’s pug is nearly two years old now. You can tell with this “Hey Girl…” swag happening here…


My new cushion for my little loveseat! I am in love! (It’s really just a cover I got on amazon for five bucks, stuffed with the guts of an old bed pillow.)


I bring in the groceries and run to the bathroom, like ya do, and come back and find my puggyman has added his own “essential” to my already full grocery bags. Uhhh…thanks? Not really sure what he meant by this… (Note the blue raccoon on top of my red bag)


Self care! Don’t care!


My current coloring book (coloring helps with pain and anxiety management, yo!)…
Amazon has some really great ones and reasonably priced. They make great and affordable gifts!


This bad gel manicure I got on Wednesday, going back today so they can fix it. The pic just doesn’t do justice to this bizarre color transformation. In the salon it looked like it matched the accent nail (ring finger) but when I got home it was splotchy and yellow and green…no blue?!


My puggo!


Feminist sticker club (dot com)

IMG_20150915_182226That incredible moment when you unfuck your kitchen table!


So, that’s mostly what I’ve been up to. How are you doing? What’s new? What’s shakin’? What’s happening?
I’m looking forward to seeing The Martian this weekend and getting this nasty manicure fixed today. 😛

Rad Fatty Love,

P.S. Way too excited about using the word thrice. I just love it and rarely have a chance to use it. THRICE!!!

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (body positive always, funny sometimes):
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Achievement Unlocked: Eating with an Eating Disorder


As I sit here with a belly that is nourished and a sense of satisfaction with myself that I haven’t known in some time I have to recognize how difficult things most folks take for granted are. I have anorexia. I’ve had it since I was sixteen. When my PTSD, anxiety or depression symptoms arise, the first thing out the window is my appetite. Stress gives me stomach issues, too. If you’ve read any of my last few posts you know already that I’m going through some tough times on my own. I haven’t mentioned my eating disorder because, well, let’s face it, most folks are less than sympathetic about a fat girl not eating, myself included (internalized fat hate, much?!). It’s a shame spiral, for sure. It’s something I couldn’t even admit to myself until I went to an eating disorder (henceforth: ED) workshop at the NoLose conference in 2013. I mean, I knew, I’ve always known, but also, whoa “that’s not me” until you can’t pretend anymore. I wasn’t put on this planet to pretend.

When I am feeling my best it is almost as though I don’t have an ED and go about my life like everyone else*. Sure, I’ll forget to eat breakfast or skip an occasional meal for various reasons, normal. It is when something feels very wrong and out of my control that my ED creeps back and takes over. It happens so smoothly and quickly and usually I don’t notice until I’m in pain or dizzy-shaky and unable to go on without the fuel my brain and body needs. Yes, intellectually I know it is in my head. Intellectually I know there is no moral value in food. I know that my brain and body need fuel to function properly. Big ole Duh! Buuuuut anxiety, depression and PTSD are not the most intellectual company to keep, shall we say. Ugh!

Yeah, here I am admitting that I have an eating disorder and the first thing I have to say in this post is about my full (but not unpleasantly so) belly. The thing is, when I was a vegetarian I had to eat better. This wasn’t a health or moral thing, more just something I needed to do (for five years ha-ha!). I learned to cook as a result of that transition. I had to eat more, too, which was kind of a head trip. My doctor at the time supported me so long as I kept mindful of how I felt and tried to get all of the nutrients I could (this is quite difficult and thus why I slowly re-incorporated meat into my diet). I still had an eating disorder then, but mostly only when I wasn’t home. Being at home felt like I could control things and thus I felt more able and willing to cook and eat. I soon enjoyed cooking! I learned to substitute and improvise and was reminded of this currently underused skill last night.

A Facebook friend who is also a fat writer/blogger posted this article about how cooking isn’t nearly as difficult as people make it out to be and to forget all of that and just try some shit. And you know what? It’s super fucking right!!! I struggled when I moved into my last house with my awesome roommate to cook for myself except on very rare occasions. I think part of that struggle was having a shared space and not feeling comfortable with it being a spectator event. I’ve been in my new solo space for 2.5 months now and have only cooked on my stove three times. The first time I made turkey tacos and felt like a damned rock star for having finally cooked (that was about three weeks ago)!

That article and a PDF I downloaded for free online (“Good & Cheap” recipes for eating on $4 a day) and reading through the recipes and thoughts behind staples and leftovers and suddenly I felt inspired. But then I had to go to bed! Ha ha! But today as I applied to job after job after job, ad nauseam, I began to feel weak and faint and checked the time and instantly had that usual ED moment, “I could probably not eat for another hour or so…” and then I tried to think about what I might be willing to eat. I always have nuts and pickles and string cheese on hand for such moments but then that article popped back into my head and said, “Fuck it!” quite loudly and startled the puggo awake! Oops!

I grabbed some things out of my fridge and headed for my tiny counter top. It was so simple and I don’t know why I never buy eggs or try to cook during the day ever, but I am so glad that I did! I feel like I really overcame something today. What did I make? I made scrambled eggs, basically. Well, my bf has been buying these pasteurized “liquid eggs” in a small carton for awhile and loves the convenience of them, so I bought some last week. I slapped a small pad of butter into my beloved green frying pan (it used to be “As seen on TV” but I got it at Ross for $8) and turned on the gas. I chopped some cherub tomatoes and green onions and poured some eggs into the pan, salt & pepper and stirred with my red with white polka dots rubber spatula (having the right tools does make anything easier). I sprinkled a tablespoon of shredded cheese onto the eggs and turned off the burner. I slipped the eggs onto a small plate, folded the onions and tomato into it and blopped some sour cream on top. While this cooked I had two slices of sourdough in my toaster. I buttered those bad boys and cut them into four (I find cutting into smaller, finger food sized pieces helps me) and plopped them on the place and garnished, I guess, with two baby kosher dill pickles.


That’s it! So quick, like 3 minutes total! And I feel so satisfied. I can’t even describe it. It’s just nice. I never cook eggs and go through phases where I can’t stand them, but this was different. This was no rules, no one watching, on my own terms, smothered in veggies “Sarah Scramble!” and I fucking loved it! The different textures were nice rather than confusing or annoying. And since I did it myself I could make sure they didn’t get overcooked (the worst)! Ohmigosh! A revelation! I know how that sounds, but truly I have had some bad fucking times and I needed a little self victory moment, ya know? And damn was that shit hella good! Whew!

This past Monday I was having a very bad ED day and it was after 4pm as I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and happened upon this image:

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And I thought for a moment and then got right up, went to my fridge and grabbed the last three of those baby kosher dill pickles (I like Clausen brand but if you have a fave do share!) and it was true! I felt better and then had some nuts and string cheese and orange juice. Not a meal, but it was nourishment that I needed. I was battling the worst demons in my head and without seeing that image I don’t know that I would have eaten at all that day and only the universe knows how awful that is for my mental symptoms. When I finally made it to the grocery store on Wednesday you better believe I bought another jar of those pickles! I think I will always have some on hand because of this and also because I have some very fond childhood memories of my siblings and I giggles and munching beside that giant pickle jar my dad got at Costco.

I also bought stuff to make turkey tacos again, stocked up on beans and am excited to be nourishing myself without help. I’ve never lived alone, so not having those external cues is extra hard. Being mindful of how I’m feeling and actually listening to, instead of ignoring, my body’s cues and reminding myself how important that is, I know is what I need. Staying hydrated I finally got down after years of not at all (my friends see me as the hydration police but I’m okay with that). This is simply another step, another lesson and hey, another victory on my journey.

Rad fatty love and tacos to you,

*Isn’t it funny how we view “everyone else” as something wholly different, better and separate from ourselves? *Sigh*

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This Wicked World


Stress is a sneaky, tricky beast. We’re so used to living with a certain amount of stress that often when more gets heaped upon us we hardly notice. Or, if we do notice, we do our very best to go about our lives as usual. Bad move! (Let’s not get into the good versus bad stress discussion now, okay?) The more stress we’re carrying, without actually attending to it, the more difficult life becomes. It will wear you down and rob you of any joy in your life. You’ll eventually forget who you really are and what you truly want out of life. “How did I get here? This is not my beautiful wife! This is not my beautiful house!”

Anxiety is a sneaky, tricky beast. If you live with anxiety, you must work extra hard to avoid known triggers and be mindful of how you’re feeling at any given moment, because you don’t know when you might have a panic attack, but you do all you can to avoid it. There’s also that part about going about your life and living and all of that but you know what? It’s so much harder with anxiety. So much! It feels like having to be my own lookout, watchdog, bodyguard and therapist all at once always. Sometimes I take a tumble or get hit with an unexpected boulder (not literally, I mean could you imagine?!) and it’s like I never saw it coming. I was so careful and worked so hard and was hyper vigilant and it still blind sided me. I was so worried and busy keeping watch that I forgot to listen to my gut. I forgot to ask myself why I wanted something (or to do something). This was the unexpected boulder.

Depression is a sneaky, tricky beast. If you live with depression, it feels like you’re always assuring others that you’re fine, you’re okay, yeah I’ll call you back. UGH! Because everything is too much. You don’t really feel anything inside anymore (while depressed), it’s just sorta dead in there and part of you is okay with that. Part of you finds this calming and familiar. The part of you that is hurting maybe gets a break right? Not exactly. The dead inside part feels like relief at first but eventually it becomes it own burden. You forget how to act around loved ones. Are they staring at me? They think I’m nuts! Is this normal? *ShiftsInSeat* Is THIS normal?!?! Ultimately you just want to crawl back into your cave or hidey hole or whatever and pretend you don’t exist, hoping that soon everyone else will forget, too.

When you have PTSD your life is never truly your own. It will feel that way some times, you’ll feel so normal and your symptoms so far away you can almost forget that you have it. Something will always come up that will trigger you and you’ll feel as though you’re right back in the trauma zone, trapped and unable to ever escape, all over again. I don’t know that this ever truly can end.

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My life has taken some interesting turns these last few years. More changes than I can count, that is for sure. I made decisions to create many of those changes in my life, it felt right and necessary and so I proceeded. What I took for granted was stability, or at least the illusion of stability. Living with my husband for fifteen years certainly felt stable, even if it was stressful for both of us at times. When I was laid off the first time, it was terrifying, but there was another income and so things would be okay. I would find other jobs and eventually start my own business. But my own personal stability was shaken and I don’t think I’ve been able to get it back since.

That first lay off was scary but soon after things were on the up and up. Not only that, a year later I found myself on a fast track career path and was loving every moment! I was making more money than I ever had before, constantly learning new skills and technology while also helping people learn new ways to make their jobs more fun and a lot easier. It was great! It was also in mortgage (though I was on the appraisal side) and when that bubble inevitably burst, it seems the trajectory of my life burst with it. Prior to that lay off, my second, we were trying to buy a house. We talked about getting a dog and eventually having a baby.

Things got harder and more stressful and we both began to exhibit signs of anxiety. We tried to support each other emotionally, but we were both survivors of abuse in some form and weren’t whole to begin with, we thought we could be or were whole together. We stopped talking, at least it felt that way. We no longer waxed poetic about our bright future or adventures we’d take or baby names or anything. He the consummate introvert, retreating into hobbies and games. Me, neither introvert or extrovert, but sick of being home alone all of the time, I soon sought out kindred spirits and found them.  They’re love, support and adoration of me felt fantastic and new and exciting and needed. I fell under it’s spell and let it lead me away from what needed to be dealt with.

You get to a certain point years later when you can look back and see the exact moment things broke loose. I know now that I never had control of my PTSD, but the illusion of stability and years of self work and a loving and supportive husband helped so much. Struggling together was better than struggling alone, less scary at least. Everything takes a toll in the end, though, and you don’t get to decide what that toll will be. That toll was my marriage, my stability, my business, my health, and my sanity. It felt so right, I was so confident and certain that leaving was the right thing to do. I still think that it was, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not so sure that my reasons were correct and true. And then everything happened so fast that there was no time to stop and think and look around.

You always think you have time, but that’s not so. Time is its own tricky beast but when it comes to making those huge life changes and decisions, time is exactly what you need. I never could have foreseen or predicted the turns my life’s journey has taken, for better or worse. I am beyond grateful that I still have so many lovely, close and supportive friends that have stuck by me all these ridiculous years. I often don’t feel worthy of their presence in my life but I do try to. They have proven to be my true guardians and watchdogs and protectors, even when I need to be protected from myself. I think it’s why I have such a hard time making new friends and trusting people, I know I’m not normal, but I don’t have a handbook to give either.  How do you forewarn someone that, while you seem and probably are pretty fucking awesome, you also have a brain that has been broken by trauma?

I have said many times that in the end we only have ourselves. I felt good about this as I have worked long and hard to become the person I wanted to. I have proven to myself time and again that I need only me and can figure out the rest. Oh ego! You’re the trickiest beast of all! It’s true that in the end we only have ourselves and this is why self work is so fucking vital! But we also need support, we need people in our lives that can ground us when we’re drifting too far out into the clouds or the into danger zone. I’m someone who will always push myself too hard, often to my own detriment. My chosen family is my life raft!

The events of the last few months have thrown everything I thought I knew, even about myself, into chaos. I thought my PTSD symptoms were a thing of the past. I never thought I would struggle with the weight and sickly veil of depression again. I had no idea that panic attacks would become more frequent in my life even as I was more aware of them and how they worked. Stress and anxiety are already too much for most folks to handle. Throw PTSD and depression and a heap of disappointment and struggle in a very short amount of time into the mix and you have a mental shit storm on your hands, metaphorically speaking.

I wish I had been a better caretaker for myself so that I wouldn’t have put myself in the position to become so overwhelmed. I feel like I should have known better, but I was just trying so hard to appear normal and be there for people and show up when it mattered. I didn’t think about what was best for me or what I could handle. I wanted to be there this last weekend for the right reasons, but for all of the right reasons I see now that I shouldn’t have gone. While I am bolstered by the fact that I was surrounded by loved ones who were willing and able to take care of me when I couldn’t, I feel awful for having put them in that position to begin with. They just keep telling me how amazing I am and I’m over here losing my actual mind and not understanding at all what they see in me. I’ll just have to believe them.

Screenshot 2015-09-22 at 1.16.51 PM


I share my story because it helps me work through it and it has helped others in their journeys in the past. Sometimes writing it is very painful, other times it is a balm on my soul. I never know until the words come forth on the screen what will become a post, but the process usually feels necessary to do so.


Some days even the “just breathe” part is hard.



We are expected to always put on a brave face, a happy-smiling face for the world to see. We are supposed to keep our pain inside and talk only of pleasantries. As a femme with PTSD, anxiety and depression, this means that I pretty much always have to “fake it” on some level at all times when in public. This makes being in public when I’m not feeling my best especially difficult. So I occasionally go a bit overboard with my femme-amour in an attempt to protect myself and others from what I know is always boiling beneath the surface. Pain. Mental pain can and does cause physical pain. I am living with this everyday. Unfortunately, the last three days have been so devastating that I am buckled over in tears most of the time because of the amount of mental pain I’m in. It comes in waves of hysterical crying, to the point of hyperventilation, then a moment of my trying to gain control or attempt to ground myself, then another wave of tears (though less severe), then a sort of gross calmness where I just feel nothing for awhile. I can’t recall the last time I have felt as low as I do today (and yesterday). One disappointment after another, stress, anxiety, more disappointment and devastation and then a really big overwhelming thing with another dash of letdown and my brain switches into panic mode.

I had a panic attack at my ex-husband’s wedding reception party. I tried with every fiber of my being to smile even as I felt the first waves of panic wash over me. Surrounded by friends I was certain I could shake it off somehow. NOPE. That is not how PTSD works. That is not how panic attacks work. I went from dancing and cheering on the band to crying hysterically and uncontrollably and having to run out of the party. If not for my incredible friends, my real family to be honest, and my amazing puggo, I don’t know that I would be sitting here writing this today. I believe now that it was merely sensory overload with the noise of the cheering and the band playing and the fog machine and the immense heat in the restaurant and too much Cabernet.

I am in a very bad place. Everything is terrifying. Everything makes me feel sick. My stomach is a wreck. I am so stressed out that doing anything takes so much effort and pain and I’m just exhausted. Anything and nothing can trigger a spell of loud sobs, heavy breathing and I have to lie down to feel any sense of relief, no matter how fleeting. I have never felt more lonely in my entire life. Yes, I have friends and they are an amazing support system. But they have their own lives and obligations and can’t just drop everything because I can’t stop crying and need to be held (plus I live so far from everyone now). My bf doesn’t understand, though he tries. I fear we’re on the outs because of my sick brain. I try so hard to explain my boundaries and what I need to feel safe and secure. Miscommunication ensues and I don’t know what tomorrow let alone the next few hours will bring. I am living second to second because more than that hurts too much. I can’t hide behind a mask this time. I can’t fake anything, I’ve no energy left. I vibrate with anxiety even as I sit completely still.

Friends keep telling me, “You’re amazing!” and I don’t understand why. How did they get this opinion of me? “You’re so strong/brave!” they say and I just don’t get it. I’m merely a survivor. That’s all I know how to do is survive. They encourage me and love me unconditionally and that is truly what keeps me going. I don’t have it in me to love myself today. I don’t have that spark that I used to, the one that let me walk confidently in the world. Everything is a sharp reminder that I’m not like others. My brain is broken. I know it’s not my fault at least, that’s something.

I feel like even writing this, on my own blog, is taboo. Oh sure, we all tell each other it’s okay to not be okay sometimes. But when you actually aren’t okay and actually feel worse than you ever could have imagined, it feels dangerous to tell people. It feels like more could be taken away if the outside world finds out. PTSD? Societal pressures to conform? *Shrugs* I dunno. I just know that I feel really sick, mentally and physically. It feels like the outside world wants to take everything from me and it’s nearly got it. So I am hiding out in my tiny cottage hoping beyond hope, because I really don’t feel even a tinge of hope left, that somehow this will all pass. I will just go to sleep and wake up and feel normal again. Right?! Please?!

There is a great battle within me, fighting to both destroy and embolden me. My demons rage and charge as my logical mind insists upon things like eating (ugh) and hydration (trying) and reminders that needing a break from the world is okay even when it feels scary and wrong. Thank the stars for my sweet little puggyman. He really is the most amazing creature. Saturday night after the boys dropped me off, I was inconsolable. I was choking and unable to breath, my sobs were stabbing so hard in my chest. That sweet babyman wouldn’t leave my side and kept licking my arms rapidly (he’s never done that before) until I calmed down. He even sat beside me in the bathroom that night as I tried to pee but had trouble because I couldn’t stop crying. Finally after I took a shower I was able to calm down. It was terrifying. I felt trapped in my own head and unable to help myself.

I used to say that I have no regrets. I don’t believe that I will ever say that again. I do have regrets. I regret every time I have bent over backwards to please someone without their knowledge or without my own best interests in mind.  I regret forcing myself to fit into something when I know it’s wrong for me to do so. I regret not asking for help until it’s too late, so many damned times. I do know this though, even regrets evolve. Regrets can change and no longer feel like a regret at all. Our bumps and mistakes lead us to where we need to be on our journey. I have to believe that or there really is no hope. As I sit here in a calmer moment feeling nothing inside but my churning guts, but knowing another sobbing spell is surely moments away, I have to believe that there is hope left somewhere.

Writing this feels dangerous and like a betrayal to myself and to those who love and support me. Like keeping this inside is helping them, but that’s not real and that’s not for me to decide. If my mental illness is too much, it’s too much and there’s nothing I can do to make someone see things differently. I don’t know how to bounce back from this. I’m certain I will because let’s face it I’ve been through worse. I’ve also never had to truly go through it all alone until now. That might be the hardest of all.

How people see or think of me is none of my business. When they tell me I am always surprised. I know who I have been and what I have accomplished. I am proud of those accomplishments. I don’t know who I am or what I am capable of now. Just breathing seems especially difficult today. Idle moments and thoughts feel the worst. When I think too far ahead into what might be sends me straight back into panic mode, and that is what brought on the first wave of nausea last night that’s not let up since. Ugh! I believe I will get through this. I just wish I knew when that would be. I’m ready for it to be over.


The Audacity of Fat Confidence


Being fat and being confident in western society will often be met with, “Um…that’s not a thing!” or “Aw, how brave!” or the all too familiar, “How dare you!” Yeah because how dare I not fit into the stereotype of the sloppy, smelly, sad fatty who only leaves the house to buy alltehfoodz! *RageFace* Being confident in a fat body makes many things in life easier, but it also makes some things harder. For me it’s job hunting and being perceived as both over and under-qualified for the same job, older and younger and thus not taken seriously. WTF?! I cannot control how others view me, but it sure sticks in my craw when they don’t make a lick of sense! The other thing that is harder as a confident fatty is dating, surprisingly. Yeah, you might think it would make it easier, but men aren’t used to dealing with confident women, let alone fat confident women! (I wish I could comment on my experiences with other queer women but my experiences have been very limited and not exactly noteworthy, unfortunately.)

It’s true! While I have nothing but good things to say about most of my experiences while dating as a confident fatty, the truth for many is a bit darker. If you’re a fat, cis-gendered, heterosexual or bisexual woman and okay with that and say so in your online dating profile, you can expect to get a variety of messages from doodz. I have no other words to describe them without an endless string of curse words. They find it appalling, offensive, wrong, illegal somehow that someone who is a woman and fat could possibly be confident in this world. And they have a point, because they and much of our society do not want us to be confident. It’s so much harder to profit from people who actually like who they are in the world. Oh you thought dieting was about health?! Ha-ha! It’s NOT!

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We’re supposed to be the grateful fatty that just cayunt beleeev that a mayun would be paying attenshun to us! Wheweee and my oh my! *FansSelf* Except NO! We needn’t settle for such idiots, nor do we owe them our time, attention, replies or energy. NOPE! Back off jackasses, we ain’t got time for you! Not happening! I refuse to respond to those kinds of messages. If anyone in my dating pool (age, location, interests) wants to pique my interest they better start by trying to have an actual conversation. Insults and flattery will get you nowhere and/or blocked. And we’ve all had some rando-dood hit on us only to turn on us when rejected, “Baby, you’re so fiiiiine! Let me get a better look at ya! Give me your number! Take me to your place!”  “What do you mean no?! You’re a fat, ugly-ass bitch anyway!” Riiiight! *Chuckles* So fat and ugly that you were begging me to take you home?!

They want to give us fashion rules, labels, shame us towards “improvement” (or so they claim but none of us believe that shit anyway) and of course make us the butt of every lazy-comic’s joke. Uhhh…NOPE! Not cool, not okay and just plain stupid, thanks. Don’t you love it when folks who know nothing about you, your life, or your anything also feel entirely entitled to tell you all about you and what you need to do? Yeah, no, me neither! Ugh! Shut the fuck up and mind your beeswax already! I find that the people who do this aren’t exactly happy with themselves. Or the women who tear other women down. Stop that! Who is that helping? You? It’s not! I promise it’s not.

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People get real mad when others don’t follow the nonsensical rules they’ve chosen to live by. Hearing a certain idiot’s “dear fat people” shit and hearing more than enough people saying under their breath, “I wish I could eat whatever I want…” yeah well you can! You choose to live by made up rules with zero logic behind them. You choose to be an asshole to others and bully people you have deemed it necessary to attack when you could be working on your damned self! Yeah! Self work is a thing! Fatties have had to do this work their entire lives in order to appease the assholes! All that time what were you doing? Oh yeah that’s right, being a bullying jackass. Way to be. NOT! All of the assholes in the world are so busy congratulating themselves for bullying people somehow different from them that they’ve never actually had to reflect on their lives, actions, development, consequences and contributions to the world. This is my opinion, mind you, but it seems pretty obvious by how they choose to speak to us.

There have always been fat bodied people in the world and there always will be. We didn’t choose to be fat anymore than we got to choose our parents, eye color or sexuality! What is a choice is how we carry ourselves in the world, how we treat others and how we allow others to treat us. You don’t have to fight back directly, you don’t have any obligation to defend others or speak up when it’s not safe for you to do so. You are not the asshole whisperer! You fight back by living your life without listening to the assholes and bullies of the world. You fight back by living the life you want to live, by leaving the house with your head held high and wearing whatever the hell you want! You don’t owe anyone a damned thing! You are worthy of all of the love and happiness this world has to offer!

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Live your life, dear fatty. Live it and live it well! Live your life in any way that you see fit. Find fulfillment in it and in yourself. You deserve to decide what you want in your life and what you don’t. You don’t have to put up with the bullies and the assholes, even and especially if they are related to you. Anyone who truly loves you will show it! Anyone truly concerned about your health will ASK YOU how you are feeling! People who care will show it. Don’t waste your time and energy on people who will deplete, use and shame you. That is not your purpose in life. What is your purpose? Well, that is entirely up to you!

Rad Fatty Love,


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