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

Time to Flip the Script!


Picking up on behavioral patterns is a classic symptom of PTSD-C/Trauma/Abuse survivors. We do this in order to survive. If you’re in a domestic abuse situation, as I was, picking up on things early, even subtle changes, meant less violence directed at me later. 24 years after I escaped that horrific experience (5 years in a near-hostage-type situation), it has taken on a different meaning for me lately. It can be a blessing, for sure, but right now it feels so much less so.

The last couple of years have felt like we’re all stuck on repeat. Some of you will remember the distinct sound of when a vinyl record gets stuck in a groove…THAT! UGH! I hate this feeling, and it isn’t going away. It almost feels worse the more time I spend either online or at work. What I mean by that is that those two instances is where I feel and see it the strongest and the most. It just seems like people behave in the most predictable ways in those settings. To the extent that it feels scripted.
Actually, my dating life has often felt scripted, too. Every message, every date, with two exceptions as far as predictability. A friend pressed me on this subject last year and even argued it isn’t possible. I offered to show them on every app, every message I’d ever received and I think it gave them pause. They dropped the subject. Ha-ha! It is true more often than not. It’s as though we think we have to say and do these things. Say this for that result. Do this for that result. Maybe in dating that is more true, but I still fucking hate it. I want independent thinkers in my life, thank you.
At work it’s well work, right? What am I expecting?! Well, I have worked in a lot of places in a variety of industries. They’re all different, but they all have similarities. Office environments being what they are, you get the same lines all day working at the front desk. “How’s it going?” “It’s going!” “Living the dream!” “Mondays, am I right?!” “How was your weekend?” “When’s lunch?” “Is it 5 yet?” (do not get me started on the candy dish talk…ugh!) which is all fine and good, it’s the other stuff in between that feels so fake and rote.
After every mass shooting, the groove deepens, because that needle is never getting out of it. The internet goes back to square one. Every post, every meme, every group, every blog, everything is all the same, ad nauseam! I’m sick of it! Why do we keep pretending to be surprised or shocked or appalled or sad at all? You cannot have enough thoughts and prayers for every victim and every victim’s family…you just can’t! It doesn’t help, and it almost feels like it makes thin`gs worse for ourselves with this approach. We feel the hurt get heavier with each new headline. We carry it with us. Rinse. Repeat.
Why do we keep doing the exact same things over and over again and expecting things to magically change?!?! If I can stop fucking dieting and all of the absolute madness that goes along with it, I know we can do better as a species overall. We have so much more power than we realize. They groom us from birth to obey and fall in line, but we don’t fucking have to! Change doesn’t happen through complicity! Change comes from arming yourself with knowledge and doing the same for others, then uniting and rising up to demand change.
All of this is to say that I have this unique skill, to spot behavioral patterns, but it’s not like I get to wield it in any sort of fun way. And right now it’s making me fucking sick! To see post after post and every human interaction feel like I’m stuck in a fucking simulator?! UGH! It literally turns my stomach. No thank you! Gimme my “tasty wheats” and let me get back to fucking things up for the capitalists! Ha-ha!
And now for the part most won’t agree with (if you live in the USA that is):
If we’re sick of the killing, turn in the weapons. That’s it. If everyone did it, wouldn’t it be a lot easier for police to get the “bad guys”? (Yes, this completely ignores the fact that ACAB, the police are more often than not white supremacists themselves and participating in this shit on-duty and off.) There is no law that you must own a weapon. No requirement to own a gun! You can be pro gun, you can enjoy using guns, doesn’t mean you must own one.

Be the change and all that! Make a grand fucking gesture out of it if you must, but just do it. Put your words into action, and let that action be an example to others! Push your representatives to make changes in the laws themselves. They represent you and right now they are only offering thoughts and fucking prayers over this shit as they go right back to being funded by a lot of the same people causing these issues to begin with.

We must be fierce in the face of racist aggression and white supremacists. We must stand up for the marginalized and oppressed. We must fight fascism every chance we get! We cannot give them a chance, an inch, or a moment! We must act now! We know what happens when we don’t, because we’re living it right fucking now! Because every problem you see in this world, right now, can be traced back to greedy white supremacist men, they just haven’t worn the hoods in awhile. We outnumber them and they should be very fucking afraid of the moment we realize this and actually do something about it.

Thanks for reading. I really don’t care what anyone thinks at this point. I just needed to get this shit off my chest.

Alone, Not Lonely


I had not spent much time alone, like completely and with intention, until I was almost forty. Even at that point in my life, I can’t say it was with intention, at least at first. Now I seek it out with all of the intention in my very soul. It is a special sort of solace I didn’t truly think existed. I think it is a lost art form in some ways. I had read so many books on Buddhism, zen, feng shui, meditation, mindfulness, being present, and blah blah blah. I spent a good portion of my life seeking outside of myself what was always right there within me.

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Okay, that may sound very corny and all, but it’s also very true. I grew up with two siblings that I shared a room with. Even in the few years that I was an only child, my mother would often instruct me to go outside to play. Sure, as a child, I loved solo imagination time. I created epic dramas with my Barbies and stuffed animals. I imagined myself a Cinderella type of character and would build castles in the air about the day I would be saved. I concocted secret witches brews in my backyard with mud and leaves and bottle brush blossoms. All before the age of six. Ha-ha! Once I had a baby brother, though, everything changed. I was obsessed with him and he was (is) the sweetest lil’ bro a gal like me could have. (We have a younger sister, but we’ve never been as close.)
I spent so much of my childhood seeking joy and company outside of my house upon the instruction of my mother. When I was home I was care taking and tending to my two siblings (my mother being physically present but mentally incapable of managing). As I got older I spent even more time out of the house and with friends. I never questioned or thought about it or an alternative, it was just life.  Later it was boyfriends and housemates until it was just my husband and me.
When I left my marriage I stayed very close to my husband, in proximity as well as emotionally. We were still best friends. And he lived in the same apartment building as my actual bffs. My new roommate and I got to know each other over time and eventually became close. I was new to dating and had a new career path and everything seemed so new and exciting. Yet I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted in life, let alone where I felt I fit in this world.
At the time I had a very close bff with whom I would text every day and hang out at least once a week. They insisted time and again that I needed to be okay with my own company, that I should somehow force myself to be good with just me. That made no sense to me then, and really forcing anything is rarely a good choice. I struggled from time to time when plans canceled or a rough patch would pop up and I needed support. I would muddle through and not really give much thought outside of the issue at hand.
When I moved back to my home town and all of it’s awful triggers, and far from pretty much everyone I know and love, I was also out of work and still recovering from a spine injury. Isolation hit me like a ton of bricks. If I left the house I would get triggered and have a panic attack. If I stayed home I would feel stir crazy and start to climb the walls or consider self harm. It was maddening in a very real fucking way! PTSD is a terrible thing to live with, and I had gone so long without any symptoms that being faced with so much all at once lead to a complete mental breakdown.
I was applying to jobs everyday, interviewing constantly, and losing my fucking mind at the same time. I ended up being out of work for one year and one month to the day. Once I had a steady schedule, a job I excelled at, and a team that supported me, I felt more myself than ever before! I had been out of work for long stretches before, but never on my own. I had a boyfriend at the time who seemed supportive but it was only words, I would later find out. And while I have always had a great support system in my friends and chosen family, when everyone else is struggling as well, it just doesn’t seem right to ask of them too.
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I realized during this vast stretch of time on my own that it was the first time in my life that I’d truly and deeply had been alone. I was forced to process and deal with things that I’d never confronted before. I had no roommate, except for my puggo, and no one within 20 miles for comfort or whining or whatever else I felt I needed at the time. It was also the beginning of the end of a 4-year and completely sexless relationship (yeah, that…it never happened, not even once). Unwilling to let go of that very last tether, I simply held on until I could right myself and find my footing in the world again.
Then I finally couldn’t continue to settle for a smaller and less satisfying life than I had set out for myself when I left my husband. I broke up with said boyfriend. It took me a month of processing and mourning the relationship before I did what I knew I needed to. And then they talked me into giving them a second chance, something I hadn’t done before. Let’s just say I won’t be doing it again, either. Ha! So then that was it. I was truly and completely alone…only stoked about it!
For the first time in my adult life I had no paramours or beau, no crushes and no prospects. For the first time I wasn’t chasing or being chased and it felt surprisingly great! I’d been dating (or married) non-stop since I was 12 years old (technically 11, but only by a week). I decided to just fucking chill, ya know? And I relished in it! I read more, I hung out with coworkers more, I just felt more relaxed within myself and more my true self than ever.
When I was wrongly fired from that job (long story), I thought I’d be fine. It didn’t seem as scary as before and yet things felt way worse sooner than I could have imagined. Luckily my friends, former coworkers, and fat community held me up and encouraged me a lot. I was only out of work for three months this time and yet it felt even more desperate than the year previous. I had no safety net, no (selfish) boyfriend, no savings, and for the first time at that point no credit card to fall back on. It was the realest form of alone ever. I freaked out a lot.
To make some room in my non-existent budget I gave up the one thing that had been helping my anxiety so much, cannabis. There were days and nights that bled together and had me literally climbing the walls of my tiny studio/in-law unit. My puggo is a great comfort, but he can’t do it all, ya know? So this was just the toughest of times, and then the holidays hit.
I had never felt more alone in my entire fucking life until that x-mas, early evening. My nearest and dearest were out of town, my family estranged. I dove head first into a terrible bottle of red wine (brand was Bitch with a fab label, but do not drink that shit, trust!). I drank the entire thing in under an hour. Have you ever tried to fucking chug red wine?! DO NOT! I was not kind to myself that night. It was an old self destructive habit that crept up and snatched me, I swear! I guess I was just desperate to numb the pain, but there’s many more layers to it than that.
After sleeping it off, I decidedly pulled myself together and cooked myself a damned x-mas dinner, at 9 pm. Ha-ha! It was actually hella good. It was a Trader Joe’s Thanksgiving Casserole, I highly recommend it if you catch it. I ate that thing for a week, but I digress. I sat with my thoughts while the casserole was in the oven. I didn’t have any screens or even music on. I just sat on my bed and took a deep and hard look at my situation and myself and the life I wanted. It was then that I realized that being single was just alright with me. I had tried to date off and on after the breakup, but just lost interest.
That week between x-mas and new year’s was more of that same soul searching kind of thing. I decided to double down and really go all in on my job hunting. I know what I am capable of. I know what I can and have accomplished. I reminded myself of this and so did my bffs. My PTSD symptoms didn’t pop up this go ’round and I hadn’t had a panic attack in over a year. When January hit I was in full force and how! WHEW! I interviewed every single weekday for a 5 weeks solid and I mean in person and phone interviews, usually back to back. It was intense and exhausting and terrible but I did it and I found a job that fit!
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Having a job, especially one that I feel challenged and stimulated, needed and wanted, makes all the difference in the world. For my mental health especially! Without the usual workday schedule and social cues that go with it, I quite literally fall apart. Now that I’ve been at this job for 7 months, I feel pretty great! Still not dating, still no crushes. I have people who are interested in me like that, but one has become a friendship (thank goodness because they’re awesome just not a romantic match for me) and another who I just don’t even know what to do about (they text me “good morning beautiful” every single day, but we’ve only had 2 dates in 3 months). It’s fine. I am good on my own.
Something shifted in me a couple of weeks after starting my current job. I don’t know what and I don’t know how, it’s pretty tough to explain honestly. I tell my friends and joke about being dead inside but my lovely dance partner explained that it doesn’t seem that way to interact with me. Which is a relief but also just makes describing how I feel harder. Like, I don’t get as excited or upset about anything anymore. I feel things, but not most things. Prior to this happening I was considering seeking anti-depressants for the first time in my life, in the hopes of regaining my energy to do life things like housework and errands. Then when this change occurred it just felt like a relief in a way. Now I’m pretty darn comfortable with it. It’s better than feeling all the things or depressed or anxious all of the time.
I’m still me. I’m still fucking awesome. I’m just calmer, I guess. I rarely even cry anymore, which kind of sucks. A good cry can be very refreshing, even cleansing, or so the Victorians believed. There have been moments when this dead inside thing did make things hard as fuck. I had a conflict with a friend and there were tears and when they hugged me and were just sobbing into my shoulder, I felt nothing at all and it was hella awkward. Yes I said all the right things, but I’m certain it was weird for them, too.
A few people in my life have mentioned to me that I am much quieter than they have ever seen me before. What’s to say? *Shrugs* Seriously, though, maybe this is some sort of new coping mechanism since the world is almost literally and completely a dumpster fire at this point in time. Things were bad before I started this job and have only worsened, and yet I don’t feel nauseated every time I log into my social media accounts like I did then. Meh.
I still feel really good about being alone, though. I seek it out now! It’s odd and not at all what I would have expected had you told me this even last year! I enjoy my own company, I seek out new things on my own, and I ride my own melt. Life is good. It’s not great, but I’m grateful for every breath I get in this world. I have lost people I cared deeply for, some I didn’t know well, others I knew for decades. Cancer is an indiscriminate bastard! I was lucky enough to not lose my best friend to cancer, it was in their body, but it was removed entirely. I thank the stars above every day for that!
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I do feel as though I’m gaining some traction, as hard as things have been and seem at times. Stability is a wonderful thing if you can find it. I think I have minimized, ignored, pretended, and hid my mental breakdowns far more than I realized these last few years. I’m learning to be more open about it and face what happened in a very real way. Like, I know what my issues are, I know how to talk about them and do often, but being able to actually say, “Yeah, I have really struggled with my mental health for the last 3 years and have had a few breakdowns in that time.” is very new as in the last two weeks. It’s not that I wasn’t aware, but somehow saying the words felt like burdening others. Over that! Ha-ha!
Thank you for reading. I have such a deep longing to write on the regular again. I just don’t know how to get it back. I will keep trying and you have my undying gratitude for paying any attention to this silly ol’ blog o’ mine. **Hugs**
Rad Fatty Love to ALL,


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The Shame of my Home Game


This post talks about how anxiety and depression can impact our lives in unexpected and often not talked about ways. If you’d rather not know about the very personal impact of these things on me, or feel it may be triggering for you, please come back to the blog another day or feel free to explore the archives. Thank you and take care of you! <3



Today what is on my mind is my mind, literally. Weekend before last, I came across an article, “17 Honest Photos of the ‘Embarrassing’ Sides of Depression We Don’t Talk About“, and it kind of shook me to my core. It was like holding up a mirror to the life I’d been living for the last 2.5 years. I was not prepared for that. I don’t think anything could have prepared me for that. I really had no idea how common this was or what it looked or felt like for others. Isn’t that always the way, though? We think we’re so weird or wrong that we can’t imagine our experience being common/normal.

Basically, when I moved into my current place it was right after some serious trauma and everything just sort of stopped for me, mentally. Moving back to the town I grew up in and experienced the worst trauma of my life (physically and emotionally abusive relationship from ages 14-19), I was frozen in time in a sense. So I never truly unpacked except necessities. I left boxes out on the patio, at first under a canopy but later that got shredded by the elements, as did my boxes, and finally the neighborhood rodent society took refuge.

My small studio in-law unit remained as it was when I moved in, half unpacked, some things very much randomly plunked, and my life continued around these obstacles without acknowledging them. This was fine at first, I kept the place reasonably tidy, which was easier with everything in boxes. But soon those boxes became bigger obstacles, items spilled out, or the boxes deteriorated. At first I was holding out for my landlord to affix my large bookcase to the wall before I filled it, living in earthquake country, but that never happened.

It felt like one thing after another kept me from settling into my lil’ shack (no hate, I love it, honestly) and while my life continued on with new people and jobs and troubles and so forth, my ability to keep it tidy fell away completely. I started to tell my then boyfriend not to come over anymore, that I was too ashamed of the mess but unable to tackle/manage it on my own. He never understood, but at least had compassion for my situation. The thing is though, I never attributed this combination of feeling overwhelmed and yet unable to do anything with my mess of a house to my anxiety and depression. The mess also never was as bad as it is now, or has been the last year.

A year ago my long term boyfriend and I broke up. I was in the midst of rearranging and organizing some things I’d been putting off when it happened. He’d even bought me a new gorgeous set of dishes with butterflies on them. I said I didn’t want to take them out of the box until my house was tidy again. Those dishes are still in their original box. They are too beautiful to live in my space as it is now. I long for the day where I can have a friend over and cook for them using these lovely dishes on the table.

It is very difficult to explain the feelings involved in all of this, but I can tell you that everything in that article rang true for me. The worse my “mess” got, the more overwhelmed I felt, the more I felt unable to deal with it…on top of the usual injury/pain issues I have (spine, knee, one foot), depression is exhausting and it hurts, too. I felt trapped in a semi-catatonic state almost. I just felt helpless and stuck in a really terrible and shame filled way.

I thought I was coping and appeared fine, and I did. No one was the wiser until anyone mentioned coming over to my place and my stomach would knot instantly. I would fluff it off as being inaccessible (it sort of is), too small for company (not a lie), or whatever else was going on in my life at the time. I told my 3 closest friends, but one lives many states away, the other two live very much in a messy state as well, though are always willing to help out. But I can’t accept help, nor ask for it. The thought of someone having to sift through my mess makes me feel ill.

I grew up in this state of mess, sometimes worse, but the realization of this came a couple of months ago. I had lost my job and thought to myself that while I have the time to job hunt I could also make time for getting my place together. My sights were not set high, I am okay with my usual bit of clutter, but I had a moment where I looked around and I was surrounded by recycling and I realized that this combined with many clothes hampers full of clean clothes looked an awful lot like my childhood squalor-filled home. It sucked the wind from my sails entirely.

Then sometime in November I had a few days of what professionals might call mania but it just felt like finally having the energy and focus to tackle something (ANYTHING!) and actually got rid of a lot of stuff. Like 12 garbage bags full! It was recycling guilt that kept the cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes piling higher on my kitchen table. But then disposing of everything was difficult. My landlord’s home only has one very small trash bin and one regular sized recycle bin. So, I went into stealth mode! Ha-ha!

I felt a great sense of relief after this, but then soon found depression taking over entirely once again, just in time for the loneliest holiday season of my entire life. I truly felt like I was on a deserted island for about a week solid. It got rough. I was not my best self nor even a decent friend to myself. I reached out but no one seemed to be around or maybe didn’t know how to be supportive, who knows. Then after the new year I kicked my job hunt into into the highest gear ever and ended up in a whirlwind of non-stop interviews for nearly a month solid. I lost my voice several times.

I know this isn’t the best version of myself. I know I deserve to live in a space that I’m proud of and can look after on my own. I have lived in many other places with roommates and partners and have never had it get like this. I keep telling myself that I just need one big reset and then I can start fresh and keep it up. I even paid a woman last year to do just that, but after 3 hours and $300 she’d really only hung up most of my clothes and gathered things into bags (which honestly made a lot of things worse).

Shame is such a powerful and terrible thing to live with. People have told me that they always thought I was fancy or well-off, dates have called me intimidating, and all of this leaves me so confused. If they knew where and what I came from, if they knew the way I live now, they’d never think those things of me. Coping is a serious endeavor and for survivors of long-term abuse, to those who live with PTSD their entire lives, you cope without realizing. You present yourself in ways to appease and please others automatically. You keep secrets from everyone without trying, without even knowing sometimes. It takes a lot of fucking self work to acknowledge and process and work through and maintain. I have been on this path for over twenty years and was doing pretty fucking great, actually, until I moved back to my hometown.

After reading that article I didn’t leave the house for 3 days. I was in shock. I felt as though the curtains of my shame had been ripped away, exposed to the world. Then I went back to work at my new job and tried to be okay with everything until I couldn’t. Last week I reached out to a company that assists hoarders with removal and organization. This was so difficult for me to do. To open myself even mentally to the outside world like that, but I trusted that this was an org that specialized in this unique service and understood the needs for both me and my place. I know I’m not a hoarder, but thought the basics would align in what I needed in the end. Unfortunately no one ever got back to me and that’s probably fine. I am certain I couldn’t afford it anyway.

I will be reaching out to my healthcare provider once my coverage has begun. I have decided that I should explore the option of antidepressants. My previous thoughts and feelings on the subject have changed and while I am very much averse to ongoing unnecessary medication, this feels too important to not at least try. It is terrifying, I’ve never even had therapy for my various mental health concerns, but I also don’t believe I need the traditional talk therapy setting now. I have done the work and research in that realm for the last 20+ years and feel very capable and supported emotionally. But if there’s a chance that I could feel as I did those few days in November, where I had the energy and focus needed to get my house together, for longer than just a few days, I need to find out. If I can improve my quality of life at home I know it will allow me to excel in my career and personal life, too. I deserve the chance, at the very least.

Once I get a few paychecks, my first coming tomorrow, I can pay someone to haul away the damaged stuff on the patio at least. You’d be surprised how much such a thing costs, as I was when I first called 1800gotjunk to take the stuff away in November, only for them to take 1/3rd of it for $200 (they wanted $750 for all of it, but I was out of work and the $200 maxed my only credit card). It would be nice to use the outdoor table and chairs when the weather warms up again. I would love to have my bffs over for card games, or my dance partner for rehearsals and you know, just dinner.

I am trying to see my new job as a new leaf, a new start sort of, in the sense that I’ll be making a bit more than my last job and a helluva lot more than unemployment was providing, so I can pay for things I’ve put off (like puggo’s overdue vet exams and vaccinations) and hire help for my mess…hopefully. I don’t even know what would have happened if my unemployment had continued on as it did two years ago. I was already close to the brink, as it were, after only three months.

If you’re reading this and you relate, please say so. If you’re reading this and you know how I can get the support I need to get my place together, please say so. If you don’t have these issues or know what orgs can assist, but you have deep sympathy for this situation, please say so. So much of our lives is spent afraid of saying something. It feels so lonely not knowing that so many others in the world are in the same situation. It doesn’t have to be this way.

I will say that despite all of this, I do have a life full of love from great friends who are patient with me and kind, always. I have not spoken so openly about this before now, but that was the shame hanging over me. It’s still there, but beginning to feel just a little less heavy. I’m quite certain that the cause of the state of my childhood home being in such disarray is the same reason I’m living like this now. I know my bio-mom was always mentally ill. It’s one (of many) reasons why I didn’t think I wanted to reproduce. I never thought I would return to my hometown nor the state of the living conditions I grew up in. I hope I can move past this period of my life and onto brighter days and nights, cozy and warm, snuggled up with my puggo, in peace.

Rad Fatty Love to ALL,

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Outgrowing = Growth


I think it is a very healthy and important thing to recognize the things and people in your life that you’ve outgrown. Often this doesn’t happen, though, and we find ourselves conflicted or in conflict with those things. Sometimes it’s obvious, but often it’s far from it. We will avoid things, facing them, because we don’t know or can’t acknowledge what it is or why you’re feeling a certain kind of way about it if you can even get that far. We often ignore our gut feelings about things in the name of manners, courtesy, obligation, and societal pressures. It makes it very difficult to move on or grow in this world.

Some of you have specifics in mind already. You know deep down what is no longer serving your life’s purpose, path or journey. Maybe you have a negative ninny in your life? A job that feels so heavy and pointless that you want to run screaming from the building every day? A friend who only calls you to complain? A person you’ve shared your life with that no longer shares theirs with you? A career path or dream that no longer lifts you up as it once did? A relative that leaves you wishing you were an orphan? There are so many things that just no longer feel right anymore, to me, to you, to everyone. It’s a natural thing, mind you, for things to run their course. The hard part is acknowledging it, of course, but then to take action. Okay, maybe even just deciding that action is needed, even before you get to what that action should be.

I guess most often this is in the context of a romantic relationship, but I think friend breakups are toughest. Sometimes there isn’t even an actual breakup, but just a break or a tapering or ghosting. I’m not sure what’s worse, but they all fucking suck! Family shit is hard, but I think most just stay entwined or under the spell of obligation, guilt, and shame. I’ve never believed the whole “blood is thicker than water” bullshit. Humans are human, flawed and terrible, fantastic and incredible. We will push others away without realizing it. Our behaviors towards them may change before we’ve even identified our feelings about them. We may begin to hide things or stop sharing things with them.

I have said before that the best way to tell how you really feel about someone deep down is that first instant that their name pops up on your phone, be it for a call or text or email. It’s such a quick thing we often ignore or shake off before acting, by answering or replying. Think about it, though, how does that moment feel? Try it. The next time anyone calls or texts, don’t act right away, just look at the name on your screen and think about what you’re feeling in that moment. I’ve often suggested changing contact names to what that person makes you feel. So, instead of “Pat”, you might change it to “Belittled” or “Insecure” when you know that isn’t who you are or want to be.

Of course, no one is perfect. Perfection is a myth, in my opinion. Only you know what is right or wrong for you. Creating healthy boundaries is a mature and awesome thing to do! That can be telling your mother that you will no longer engage in conversations about size/weight/diets/food/etc or an ex you no longer want to be mentioned. It can be setting an expectation together with your spouse or partner so that you both are on the same page and can act accordingly. Unexpressed expectations are dangerous and detrimental! I spent years and years in relationships where both parties held the other to expectations that were never spoken. Nightmare!

Consider open dialogues over ultimatums. I have never been a fan of ultimatums. Ultimately it only forces someone to make a choice on someone else’s terms and that just doesn’t fucking work! Life is never so black and white. When dealing with actual humans, emotions, struggles, baggage, trauma, survival, abuse, love, etc. you cannot force a decision or timeline. You can appeal to someone and communicate your needs and feelings, but if an ultimatum is what you’re considering, I ask that you simply walk away entirely. You cannot help or support someone by forcing them to choose something that doesn’t align with what is best for them. You can say why, of course, but demanding a choice be made is unfair at the very least (damaging and abusive at worst).

What’s great and okay is to read books and blogs on interpersonal relationships and communication. It’s healthy and awesome to seek counseling and therapy and more support in your life overall. You deserve to feel safe and supported in your life. You get to decide what that means and what that looks like for you! It’s pretty rad! I mean, what other point in being an adult is there?! Find a quiet moment to be alone and think about what this means for you. Paint a picture of what you want in life, what fulfillment looks like, what a good balance might be for you. Then think about what obstacles lay in your current path. Can you remove or change those? No? Can you correct your course to move around them? When you consider all that you’ve been through and have become as a result, how does that person or thing or relationship or environment fit in?

I think everyone and everything that comes into our lives is meant to teach us something. Though many of my life’s lessons have been learned through brutality, that hasn’t always been the case. It is sometimes through gentleness and love that I found that even the best of intentions can still hurt. That control can come in many forms and rarely do we believe that we’re attempting to control others, even when it’s pointed out to us. Sometimes we don’t realize how much has been taken from us or how long we allowed someone to shrink our lives around us. My last relationship was fulfilling in many ways, but I couldn’t shrink myself to fit into the box they wanted for us to live in and I never will.

Ultimately, to find and live your most authentic life, you have to decide for yourself what is right and necessary. It will be painful at times, as all big changes often are, but know that you are worth every ounce of effort and energy to find that path for yourself. It’s your journey, it’s your life, you cannot change others or make them see from your perspective, but you can remove them from your life. It doesn’t matter how long or how involved, if they are not lifting you up or helping you to grow, they aren’t supporting the life you want to live. So live it! Love it! Be the you that you know you want to be! It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you, their opinions are none of your business anyway. You will soon find that what aligns best with your life and dreams will be attracted to you naturally. Go get ’em!

Rad Fatty Love to ALL,



P.S. Check out and use the hashtag: #FatAndFree on Insta & FB!
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You’ve Got You!


Everyone is talking about “The Holidays” but I won’t. I don’t buy into societal obligations that leave us stressed out and feeling like garbage. NOPE! And, No Thank You!!! I want to talk about our support systems, most importantly starting with ourselves. Yes, you are the biggest and most important part of your support system. It seems like no one talks about that vital component. It’s always addressed in the external. Your friends, family, etcetera. In our quietest moments, in the darkest of times, the one thing we have always is ourselves.

That thought used to make me feel a great sense of unease. It wasn’t until one of the darkest times in my life that I really faced this fear of being alone with my thoughts. I had avoided it for so long, relied on so many coping mechanisms, quite successfully, for so long that I wasn’t sure what would be left to face and that was enough to avoid it. Brains that have experienced the amount of trauma, especially during more formative years such as I have, work extra hard to avoid the scariest bits of both our minds and the world. It doesn’t matter how long ago the trauma happened, it’s all still in there.

It was the day I had filed for my divorce. I had left my husband six months prior but kept putting off that final step, though we’d signed all the documents well before this. I went to the courthouse alone, didn’t see much reason not to, though my husband later wished he could have gone along, that’s just who he is. I had paid Legal Zoom to prepare all of the paperwork since such things make my head spin (like taxes), so I felt prepared. The court clerk was helping someone else before me. As I waited and couldn’t help overhearing how this woman had already filed a restraining order against her husband and was trying to finalize a divorce that seemed to have been dragged out, my heart hurt. I felt fine otherwise, but she began to cry and I wanted to comfort her but who the hell was I to this person, ya know?

Soon it was my turn at the clerk’s window. I handed over my stack of papers and said, “I would like to file for divorce, please.” with the meekest smile that ever crawled across my lips. The clerk began to go through the papers and soon started shouting what seemed to me to be random letters and numbers, getting louder and more insistent with each repetition. I was taken aback and stunned and confused. This was certainly apparent on my face as the clerk became overly flustered. “I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t know what those letters and numbers mean.” I pleaded. Finally, and I mean a good five minutes of this bullshit, she explained that I had in my packet an extra and unnecessary form. Why she couldn’t simply say this from the start I don’t know, but she slid it back to me under the security glass and I tucked it away from her sight. After that, all was done and I was told I’d be contacted for my court date.

I drove home, it was still pretty early in the day, about 10 or 11 am at the latest. I text a couple of friends, I didn’t contact my husband that day.  A sinking feeling took hold of me. Then wave after crashing wave of inexplicable sadness. I was so confused and felt abandoned and more alone than ever before in my life. “But why?!?!” I kept thinking and even whimpering to myself in my dim and later dark bedroom. It felt like mental hell, but I couldn’t figure out why and that was the worst of all. Then, finally, hours later, a bff I had known for over twenty years replied to my text from that morning, “Yeah, it just feels like the worst failure ever, even when you know it was the right thing to do. Ride it out.” (They are not the empathetic or compassionate sort. We’ve since lost touch.)

It did feel like the worst failure ever. I had an amicable split and remained close friends. We weren’t happy together, but we didn’t really fight or ever betray or lie to each other. Others thought we had the perfect relationship, and in a lot of ways we did, but I knew better. I left to find an identity for myself outside of any relationship, something I had never in my life had. I felt compelled to leave, it was what I wanted and needed to be happy or to at least seek the happiness I thought the world might hold for me. Yet I couldn’t avoid the feeling of failure. I wasn’t talking to my family at all by this point, but my grandma is always in my heart and mind. Would she understand? (She had passed just a few months before I was married, but we’d been engaged for 3 years, together for 6 before then.) I forced myself to face these demons alone in my room that day and evening. It felt like facing death. (I was not so well versed in the ways of my panic attacks at that time. Now I would have recognized the preceeding symptoms and possibly have been able to prevent the eight hours of crying and hyperventillating.)

After about eight hours (I know how dreadful that sounds and I can assure you it felt worse), something finally gave and I started to feel a sense of why this all was. It was for me! It was my choice, I did this to create the life I wanted. This mattered so much! It felt like a beacon of light from within myself. It felt like a baby step towards the person I wanted to become, my truest self. It felt like a friendly and helping hand, only from within. I put on some music and lay on my bed, wrapped in blankets, still fully clothed from that morning’s outing. I tried to envision the life I wanted to carve out of the world for myself. I pictured dancing, laughing, hugging fellow rad fatties, creating and crafting, touching and moving, all seemed to be in support of myself through the service and support of others. And that realization was a breakthrough. I didn’t leave my room until the following day, but I felt loads better before actually finding solace in sleep.

I spent five years of my teens in a physically and emotionally abusive relationship. It had stripped away more than just my identity. It left me physically and mentally destroyed. Escaping was an obsession, but I was mostly obsessed with who would or could save me. In the end, I saved myself, with the support of one of the few friends I had in the world (though when they re-entered my life I barely knew them). They sensed something was very wrong without knowing exactly what. They offered me a place to live twenty miles away from my abuser. While it wasn’t exactly that simple and straightforward, it did truly save my life, they saved my fucking life! We never talked about what was wrong or why I needed to leave, no one wanted to, especially me. They were going through a divorce at the age of eighteen, I was lost and terrified at age nineteen. We became great friends for a time, we had fun and leaned on each other for support. I’ll never forget the first week after I had moved in, we had an epic whipped cream fight after buying a pumpkin pie at the store.

It took me years of self-loathing, both related and completely unrelated to my body and eating disorder issues, some damaging behaviors, and risky encounters before I finally met someone who saw me for me. That was when I met who would later become my husband. We were friends at first, but abuse survivors recognize each other, even unconsciously. We bonded over that shared pain and fell in love when we both split from our relationships. I still love my now ex-husband, but I can’t speak for their feelings for me. I left when I realized that all of the trying in the world on my part wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans if they refused to do anything at all to save our marriage. I had saved myself before, but this time I had to save us both by leaving. It hurt, a fuck ton!

This time I had no more self-loathing, I had healed most of the harm done to me at the hands of others and myself and had very few fucks left to give. I had never lived alone, though. I had found a room for rent about three blocks away from my husband and best friends apartment building. My new roommate was a stranger to me and it took us both a long time to warm up to one another, though we were always kind and accommodating. There were no distractions, though, not even from myself. I was forced to deal with all that I hadn’t until that point. It was hard, and it was powerful. What I had was a better foundation within myself and support system in my friends.

Years later I finally enjoy being alone. I often prefer my own company, and that of my puggo, to general socializing. I have been through another fucked up long-term relationship, an even more fucked up breakup, mental and physical trauma from a couple of terrible jobs, but I have and know myself more than ever! I know what I am capable of and feel quite certain and sure of myself. I have found great strength and inspiration in the works of the Bronte sisters and Luisa May Alcott. The women in their books often had nothing at all but themselves and yet they didn’t die and even when they failed and flailed and struggled through the most desperate of times, they held onto that inner sense of self for strength and persevered.

I now see the world and my own life’s journey very different than even just a year ago. I am beholden to no one but myself (and my ridiculous puggo). Yet I feel more supported and loved and wanted and needed in the world than ever before in my life! I’m broke as shit, have been unemployed for two and a half months and have had to face some severe depressive episodes, but I feel strong. I feel more me.  Sometimes I feel the tap on my shoulder of depression or the whisper in my ear of self-loathing and self-harm, but I know that deep down, even if I succumb to those often unavoidable moments and spells, I will pull through and be a better me on the other side of it. I can face these things head on even when I don’t get a toe-hold before they take possession of me for awhile.

Yes, I have friends that make me feel cared for and loved and seen, but what makes that possible is that I am able to do that for myself, too (though not consistently, I’ll confess). It takes a shitload of self-work, self-reflection, and exploration, sitting with feelings that make me want to scream and run and crawl out of my skin, being the most vulnerable with myself and deciding to just fucking own it. I no longer run from my aloneness. I don’t avoid the deeper and darker crevices of my own mind. I sometimes prefer to dig even deeper because I know it will be meaningful and provide perspective and growth that others simply cannot provide. I have to be here for me first, before anyone else, or I won’t survive. And I have been through far too fucking much to hide from all of that again.

I have found incredible strength and inspiration, especially very recently, by those who have found some value in my words and stories here on this blog. I know I don’t write like others, I still struggle with some hidden shame in that, but I love that I am able to help others find their inner light and strength by sharing my own and how I got here, how I keep fighting and trusting in the journey that this life has given me. I cherish each voice and story that reaches me. I see you. I hear you. I feel you. I love you. It is an awe inspiring thing to connect in this way and I thank you ever so much for coming along for the ride.

Rad Fatty Love to ALL,

P.S. Check out and use the hashtag: #FatAndFree on Insta & FB!

Donate to this blog here:

My blog’s Facebook page for things I share that aren’t on this blog (and updated daily): 

Or get the same “shared” content on Twitter: @NotBlueAtAll

I also have an Instagram I’ve finally started to actually use:

And as always, please feel free to drop me a line in comments here or write me an email, I love hearing from readers. (Tell me your troubles, I don’t judge.):

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