Our Bodies Are Unacceptable

My body is unacceptable. Your body is unacceptable. Our bodies are all unacceptable, and that’s unacceptable. Why can’t the size of our smiles be a better measure of our selves than the size of our hips?

Every once in a while a woman comes into the office and she often tells me she hates me for being so skinny. Just once I’d like to tell her I hate her for being so fat. How lucky is she to be a size 20?! But no, that’s mean, that’s fat-shaming, that’s disrespectful. Yet I can be skinny-shamed all day long and no one notices, people agree, it becomes a topic of momentary conversation as if I’m not standing there, a human being, with feelings and body image issues like so many other women.

Fuck that shit. I have wrinkles and scars and cellulite. My 20-year-old body is not going to make a sudden come-back into my 35-year-old self no matter how many cliffs I climb, no matter how many softball games I play, no matter how many miles I cycle.

Let’s get this straight right fucking here right fucking now – I goddamn hate being a size four. It makes me a target – a target for what is wrong with magazine covers and a target for oversexualized men. And fuck you for thinking it somehow makes me lucky that I’m thin. It doesn’t. There’s no luck in it. None at all. Do I sound pissed? I am.

There’s a guy in the office who thinks it’s ok to tell me I’m lucky I can get away with eating candy. Get away? Really? Because my body doesn’t need the same nutrition from fruits, vegetables, grains, and proteins, like candy somehow magically become a vitamin simply because my bony ass fingers are carting it from the bag to my mouth.

Fuck that shit. Sugary crap is as bad for me as it is for anyone. Filling my stomach with candy wastes valuable space for, oh I don’t know, apples. I’m not getting away with anything. Nothing at all.

While we’re at it, let’s get this straight too – I’ve been as conditioned to hate my size four as much as you have been for your size 20, and you for your size eight, and you for your size 16. You and your double-digit size don’t get to look down on me for my single-digit size any more than I get to look down on you for your size.

Do I sound pissed? I am. Because I am as shamed for my body size as anyone else. So I’m skinny. Big fucking deal. It’s genetics, and last time I checked I didn’t get to choose which genes were passed down to me from my parents. So you’re fat. Big fucking deal. It’s genetics, and last time I checked you didn’t get to choose yours.

I can eat a bag of M&Ms and not gain a pound. I don’t choose that. You can eat a bag of M&Ms and gain three pounds. You don’t choose that. Eating M&Ms is a choice, but the result of eating them isn’t. So fuck off. Do I sound pissed? I am.

This body-shaming bullshit has got to stop. Stop it. Stop it now. We are all so gloriously imperfect. Every one of us. Our imperfections are what make us unique. Age old argument there. If we were all perfect, what fun would that be? It wouldn’t.

I read something today that struck me. Eight little words: my smile is the same size as always. Then I got a snide comment on a portion of my lunch, which included a heavily loaded, couldn’t even see the baked potato, potato – and my body-image-rage flared again.

I commented on Rarasaur’s post. Most others were talking about their own history with the actual topic of the blog post, emotional eating, but I picked up on those eight words: my smile is the same size as always.

“My smile is the same size as always…” That right there, the size of our smile, that’s what matters. I want to have the biggest, fattest, most obese smile on the planet. And the size of my hips, meh, it’s just a number (although getting to the point of believing “it’s just a number” is something I’m still working on because the comments on my body-size still get to me – perhaps I should counter them with the statement “but my smile is a size 20″).

Isn’t it a more accurate measure of our selves? The size of our smile and not the size of our hips? Shouldn’t we be more concerned with smile size than we are with dress size? Wouldn’t we do the world a much better deed for offering a giggle to greater the girth of a smile rather than cutting a person into bust, waist, and hip numbers?

I want to have the biggest, fattest, most obese smile on the planet. My hips? Fuck’em. They’re just the right size for my hands.

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17 thoughts on “Our Bodies Are Unacceptable

  1. If you had a penis you wouldn’t be getting shamed. Just sayin’.

    The issue is that we, as women, have been conditioned to shame ourselves and other women CONSTANTLY! We’re all unhappy and if we’re not unhappy it’s viewed as a threat.

    I got off that ride. I am 44 years old. I am a double-digit dress size. My body does pretty much everything I need it to do (I would love to be able to run a marathon but don’t want to train for it 🙂 ) and that is Good Enough for me. The rest of the world can go suck it.

    You have a beautiful smile, and a wonderful spirit that shines in every one of your posts. I’ve never even considered the size of your hips 🙂

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    • I have no idea what men deal with in this regard. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about them.
      Most of the time, my body size and I get along pretty well, but every once in a while I just get so assaulted with outside negativity, I get furious with the whole thing. Today was one of those days. Really, I should be much more concerned everyday with the size of my smile and the size of my spirit. Those are what will remain consistent as I age.

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  2. While it is no secret I am horribly jealous of the size 4s of the world, I don’t take it out on anyone personally. Hell, my view of what a size 4 means is probably off and I would never think to look at a person and think “size 8” or “size 22”.

    It’s a faceless ideal that I chase, not a specific person. It worked for a while when I was still starving myself, but that was just me. My body, my metabolism. I know logically I will never be there again, but I still torture myself to this day thinking it may happen again if I keep trying.

    Any body shaming is horrible, just like assuming all “skinny” people are healthy or “fat” people can’t have an eating disorder. People need to mind their own damn business and stop making themselves feel better about their decisions by projecting onto others. I join you in being mad.

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    • I’m at my Wednesday softball game and can’t properly reply. I will. What you go through deserves a thorough and respectful response.

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        • Hijack anytime. It’s worth a discussion. What we go through and do to ourselves and each other is worth a conversation. I am convinced, after my thoughts today, that we really should be more concerned with the size of our smiles and our genuine acceptance of ourselves than we should be with a number.

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  3. Ha! I’m sorry you are being skinny-assed shamed, but your post made me smile. Sometimes the inequities and nit-picking we do to each other (and ourselves) is such a waste of time. I also know that it’s a part of us and somehow we accept it as normal. If we could just smile a little more we may feel a little better no matter what shape we stand in.

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    • I’m so glad you smiled. Smiles are really so important. I’d like to praise our differences from now on, rather than view it as my personal inequity. It’s a process. One that starts with ourselves.

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  4. Living walking on eggshells apparently kept me thin. I ate. A lot. Of crap. I never gained any weight. I ate junk food like it was the end of the world. I drank soda. So much soda. I was filling an unfillable void. People would say “You’re SO lucky to be eat whatever you want!” Yeah? You think so? This is what an eating disorder looks like when someone’s metabolism is too fast for people to see how awful I feel about myself.
    I feel better now. I wear a size 10 now. GASP! Double Digits! Fuck that. I’m happy. I don’t give a shit what size I wear, why should anyone else?

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    • Anxiety and divorce are two incredibly effective diets that do significant damage to our bodies. I hate that “you are so lucky” line because it only takes into account my outward appearance. Inside, I’m a damn mess. Size 10 is a beautiful size. Every size is because the woman in that size is beautiful.

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