*Trigger Warning for mention of eating disorders and typical medical shaming things*

Ahhhh.. doctor’s offices…. Aren’t they just the nightmare for the Fat Girl? Like many of you, I avoid them whenever possible. As long as being of an overweight category means I will be shamed, ignored, trivialized and disrespected while seeing a health “professional” about physical matters it will always be an appointment of absolute necessity. As sad as it is to say it.

So I get called in and have a health aide walk me directly over to the scales. Now, I do not weigh myself. I have not in years. I do not want to ever again. Why? The number will never ever ever be the number I want. It will always be higher and trigger very old recurring panic attacks that then begin the very terrifying slide down into a very scary and horrible place, a place that lacks all logic and is pure panic… I do everything I can to avoid Body Dimorphic episodes… weighing myself is the Queen of all triggers.

So as I am being walked to the scales I say to the young lady, “No… no, I do not do that. We can skip this portion of today’s visit.” I’ve got this down to a science, this whole, “refusing parts of treatment” thing. Most people do not realize they can refuse any part of their treatment… most people have been raised to view their health as something they just have to “open and say AHHH” to… and that we are not allowed or should not voice things that make us uncomfortable or awkward….

So, I have gotten pretty good at voicing my own needs but every time I do it I always get such interesting reactions from people. The last time when I said,  “We can skip this.” There was a middle aged woman, perhaps of the same size, maybe a little less, walking towards us in the hall… (of COURSE the scales are in the most public, most well trafficked part of the offices just to add a little more shame to your otherwise stellar day) and she actually backed up a step with a shocked, “what?!?!” that was half laugh, half incredulity…half wonder… so I responded, “I know I’m fat… so what’s the point here?” and she kept staring at me as I rocked it down the hall. Her reaction was a mixture of WTF/yes you need to get weighed, fatty/could I do that too?/she is going to get into trouble/and, I wish I had done that, too. This is very typical in terms of reactions.

A couple of years ago I would tell people, “I am a recovering Bulimic” and even though I had no basis of understanding why, I just knew that if I said that people would back off and become compassionate or they would ask me, “is your Bulimia under control? Do you get triggered often?” It seemed funny to me that being the same person in the same size that I am would get a compassionate, understanding response if I claimed that my issue was in regards to my attempts to become thin… but I get a whole range of responses (none compassionate) I do not play homage to societal norms.

How would people react if my authentic response was, “I do not weigh myself because I am struggling with overcoming body dysmorphic disorder due to years of horrific social abuse because I was and am fat and weighing myself only triggers intense feelings of shame and guilt that I know are reactions to not attempting modify my body to the cultural ideal.”

What say you darlings, should I try this line and see what the outcome will be?

So instead of telling others I’m bulimic I just let it ride as it is. I do NOT have to explain myself or my choices to you. I do not have to place myself in a medically induced state of anxiety nor do I have to deal with practices or a conversation which are not only completely useless in terms of my weight but actually is harmful to my mental health, well-being and physical wellness.

So after my little scale avoidance episode I am left in the office to await da’ Man. While in the office I took note of my surroundings. On the walls of the office were:

A calendar

A “Quit Smoking” flyer by the American Heart Association

3 flyers calling for participants in various studies at the local research hospital

1 poster detailing the symptoms of depression (brought to you by Zoloft… no I’m not kidding)

1 poster giving me a number to see if I qualify for Gastric Bypass Surgery

1 flyer to see an in-house “Nutritionist”

…. Uh…. Well, I….don even…..

The only flyer that actually is concerned with health and wellness is the quit smoking one.  So in case you aren’t ALREADY coming to see the Doc for depression, anxiety, etc etc etc… ZOLOFT wants to make fucking sure that just in case you didn’t actually “know” you were depressed well ZOLOFT has is right there in a 2 by 3 foot poster… and the remedy…hmmm… lemme guess…Zoloft?

And the other one… the OTHER ONE…. Same thing…. Say, let’s not talk about health, REALLY… let’s not talk about lifestyle, holistic health practices or just taking a fucking walk every day no we want you to know that we are there for you… if you want to cut your stomach in half… we are here to “help”.  And if you don’t want that then we have a Nutritionist because you, fatty, you we are sure do not know how to eat… as if eating well is a science… have any of you seen a Nutritionist? You get weighed, you are given a menu then you have to cough up your weekly write-in diet and get shamed for bad choices…. Hmmm what does that remind me of? Oh yes! Every other weight loss plan out there!!!!

Before I am even seen by my doctor I am bombarded by messages… no, not messages… billboard advertising… telling me what my problem is and what thing I can buy to fix it.

First a patient is weighed. Then she is left to sit in a room with a Zoloft and gastric bypass ad. It doesn’t get any more genius than that, does it? The doctor need not say a word… the system is doing all the work.

Any posters about health? Wellness? Meditation? Yoga? Walking? swimming? The benefits of a vegetarian diet? Managing stress? Nope.

I wonder how much Zoloft pays doctor’s offices to allow them to place their posters up in each and every examination room.

So anyway, that is why I avoid seeing my health practitioners as much as possible. A for profit system can never be honest in that it has your health and wellness as a primary concern, nor are the health prescriptives based on health as much as it is the bottom line.  As long as society is pulling its collective hair out running around in circles, “OMGOBESITY!!!! Run!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES” and the government supports it and Hollywood supports it then there is good money to be made in making fat a medical issue worthy of reduction at all costs… and even better, at a high cost.

*Trigger Warning for dental descriptions, including what I feel was abusive*

I went to a new dentist this afternoon. I was nervous. I have had some very bad and very traumatic experiences at the dentist and once with a periodontist. Not in the “oh no, needles and drills, so scary” sort of way, but of actual brutality, outright rip offs and denial of my request in the name of profit. Yep, I’m that gal.

At age 14 I had what was supposed to be a root canal. The insurance paid for a root canal, but it ended up being just a very fancy fucking filling. With 3D imaging and all…and this was 1992, y’all! Then I was the one who actually said no to the prettier porcelain crown for a back molar because my dad’s insurance wouldn’t cover it. I was 16 or 17 and that dentist insisted, “But you have such pretty teeth. No we will just wait until you can afford a porcelain one.” That same tooth, yep same as the non-root canal one, had to be extracted 7 years later and it is now an empty gap in my tooth line.

Most recently I had to go to a periodontist for a gum lengthening surgery. They basically cut away your gum line so that a crown may be placed more securely once healed from the surgery. Only this bastard fucked me up! I mean for real…my face looked like I’d been in a barroom brawl. Worse still, he fucking joked about being so rough with me. Didn’t bother to introduce himself, just went right to work and bruised my arm, too, from holding it down too firmly. When he was done he admitted to being extra hard on me, no reason was given. I felt fucking brutalized. I was shaking and crying by the time I handed over my credit card to pay for this abuser’s “talents.” The receptionist was a total bitch about it, too. I had to sit in my car for twenty minutes before I could see well enough to drive, I was loudly sobbing. I drove home and waited for the Novocaine to wear off.  I later told my dentist what this periodontist had done, how I felt and his joke about being rough on me. He was very apologetic, said he’d never refer anyone to him again and that he’d call him. I  got a half-assed, half-joking apology from the periodontist on my voice mail. I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to his grips so I asked my dentist if I could have him take out my stitches, but there was no need, they came out on their own.

Now I’ve been with my last dentist for about ten years or so. He’s always been so gentle and explains things in a way that I understand. He’s the first dentist that didn’t leave me in horrible pain and bleeding from a cleaning. No, this dentist is awesome as hell. I was majorly bummed when he took a two year medical leave, but was grateful and thankful that his health improved and he returned to his practice. I have never even felt the Novocaine shot, not once. He does this rad cheek jiggle thing and I feel nothing. He’s done so much work on my teeth, too. So for me to even consider another dentist is a serious thing. And so I was procrastinating making an appointment at my husband’s new dentist.

My husband, thank the stars for him, he’s very careful and concerned about chemicals and technologies and things. He found a holistic dentist near us and without so much as a google search, he made an appointment. This dentist uses digital x-rays to reduce radiation exposure. She’s very big on replacing old, metal fillings. I found out today that they shrink and can break and chip your teeth as a result. Anyway, he went and liked the dentist and her assistant and receptionist and said I’d be comfortable there, too. He said his cleaning was “spa-like.” That didn’t seem possible to me, but I was hopeful and so I made my appointment finally and had an exam and cleaning today.

What can I say? She was thorough, took lots of x-rays and went over everything with me. She recommended a “treatment plan” for like two years or something. I found this unusual, but cool. When she asked about any concerns I may have I told her my periodontist story. As I was telling the story and showed her where the bruises were I saw her shudder in horror. I started to tear up, too. I hadn’t told the story in so long. Somehow retelling it was like reliving it again. Classic trauma. She examined the other molar that I would need a crown on and she agreed that I needed the gum lengthening surgery but that she knows of a periodontist locally that has incredible credentials and that she herself has had that same surgery from. I was relieved to hear that she’d had the same surgery from this periodontist with no problems. Then she said, “Plus, you know, she’s a lady so perhaps she’s just more gentle or aware. It’s never a fun surgery, but I didn’t have much pain.” I thanked her for the testimonial. She was shocked at my story and said she’d never heard anything like it before. I was sad to tell her that I didn’t know the fucker’s name but that he was local and just up the street from her office.

And so it begins. A new chapter in my dental history. I am sore/raw from having my teeth cleaned. More so than I would be with my old dentist. But I was able to eat lunch after without too much discomfort or pain. I go in on Monday for a cavity to be filled. I’m nervous. That shot of Novacaine will be the real test for me. If I feel it or something isn’t right, I know I won’t go back. I’ll keep her referral for her periodontist, but I’ll go back to my guy for the actual crown and further dental work that may be needed. She didn’t seem responsive when I explained that I had no intention of getting an implant in my molar gap because it’s 3-4 thousand dollars. She said I could do it over two years in three stages. *HeadDesk* I should have just told her that I’m fucking poor and unemployed, but that’s not always an easy thing to say to someone you don’t know and just met.

The funniest bit of today was when I was about to leave I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to change my outfit. I was wearing jeans and a cute top combo, but walked out in a black dress and bright orange teggings. I don’t even know, y’all…I just don’t even know. Now I’m in my “comfy pants” and I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks about it. Sometimes we just gotta do what feels right, ya know?

So, give me your dental testimonials. Tell me the horror stories and the wondrous positive ones, too! Anything you do that helps calm your nerves in such moments? Tips, advice, anything you got…is very welcomed! Thanks for readin.

Some of you are bummed, but you’re not alone. I’m bummed, too. I love Tank Top Tuesday. But I received no submissions and I am in far from photographic condition at the moment.

Today’s TMI Tuesday topic is Family Shit *TRIGGER WARNING for family politics and lap band discussion*. Specifically, my family shit and recent developments. Nothing not safe for work that I can think of. Please share your thoughts and experiences in comments; as always this is where the action happens! Ha-ha! If you know me, are a member of my family or would simply rather not know about my family issues, I ask that you please come back on another day. Thank you so much! =0)

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Some back story: My dad and his wife are fat. This is his second wife. I believe my dad has high blood pressure, cholesterol, not sure what else, but also a very big belly. He’s a school bus driver and believe me the perfect career for him. He loves kids and is a beyond safe driver. His wife has diabetes type 2 and hepatitis, but I’m not sure which type. I have very little contact with them presently due to the endless lies and manipulations I get from his wife and the fact that he goes along with anything and everything she says and does no matter how ridiculous. At one point my entire family did not talk to me for three years and was left out of my sister’s wedding because of her lies. Her story kept changing, too. I kept asking why and I kept getting a new story. I don’t believe that I have ever done anything at all to offend this woman. In fact I let her legally adopt me as an adult as a gesture to her and my dad. Ugh!

So last week I get a bit of a frantic instant message from my sister asking that I talk to our parents because they are being pressured by Kaiser to get the Lap Band in order for them to lose weight. *HeadDesk* I knew they had been considering it and that Kaiser was all gung-ho about it, but hadn’t heard anything in awhile. Also I am not talking to them because of the above bullshit. So I write them an email for my sister and hopefully to give them some informational resources so that they can make an informed decision rather than just doing what they’re being told to do by Kaiser.

My dad did not respond, as per usual, his wife did:

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I am taking submissions from anyone who wants to exercise their right to Bare Arms for future Tank Top Tuesday posts! Email your pics here: notblueatall@notblueatall.com, please include the name you’d like in the post, a blog or etsy shop you wanna plug, your thoughts on bare arms or other fatty philosophies. It does not have to be in a tank top, so long as your arms are bare. Have fun with it!

It is a difficult thing for me to allow myself to be vulnerable. I’ve always been of the thought of don’t let them kick you when you’re down by simply never showing that you’re down (not just a catchy blog name).  I practiced this for years and became quite a pro at it, if I do say so myself. At first, hiding my emotions was a survival mechanism, being held nearly captive for five years. Later, it became a way to escape myself and my own feelings. And now, I say I’m not good at it and that’s somewhat true, but I do it to make things easier on others or myself. But I’m not being my most authentic self when I do this. And that is bullshit.

I am writing this after spending a good part of the day crying. Not all out sobbing no sounds at all actually, just tears…endless fucking tears. Over what you ask? Eh, for now I will simply call it disappointment and frustration. I set my expectations pretty low and they were tampered with and thus let down pretty hard. I let myself down for getting caught up in something I gave up on and then found myself devastated when the reality I knew all along was once again brought to my attention. It’s almost like I mind fucked myself, only I wasn’t alone in it, but whatever it’s done.

I realized that I instantly didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want anyone to know. But then I felt so alone in all of these emotions and that is just no good. I mean, you can’t run from your own head, right?! Being unemployed is lonely enough on its own these days. When one emotion triggers more, it’s just not going to be a good day. I don’t want to bring others down, and I have a way of doing that when I get like this. I don’t live alone, so I try to get myself together before my husband comes home from work. To bombard him with all of this would be pretty messed up. Emotional ambush!

And I don’t exactly feel like talking this out, either. But I realized why and that is progress at least. I put a lot of stock into self-work. I have come a long way to become who I am today. I see now why I get so thrown when something happens and I am caught “off guard.” For instance, if I’m meeting up with someone and I get there and they didn’t tell me they were with or had invited another friend. I get really upset about this, I hide it like mad, but I get upset big time. It feels like betrayal, best as I can describe it. I like to mentally prepare for things and this simple omission can throw a monkey wrench into my day and even make me see that person differently. But then I wonder if I’m more on-guard than off lately. How authentically me can I be if I have my guard up?

And so I sit here in my very vulnerable state hoping for a better tomorrow or at the very least a better 2012 because this 2011 shit is too much for me. Part of being authentic is being vulnerable. I need to honor that. I need to feel it and let it just be. Fighting it only makes it worse and I feel all the worse for even trying. To accept myself is to accept the various emotions I have as well, regardless of what sparked or caused them. Hiding from them, pretending they don’t exist, will only take that much more self-work to get beyond later.

I did open up to one friend through email and she made me feel better. She gave me advice that I needed to hear: all your feelings are legitimate, but which of them are really about the other person and which are a product of everything else. And that is so true! I over think and over analyze and get so caught up in my own emotive-spiral that the world sort of falls away until I come out of it. Gawd, how many years did I live in that cloud?! Too many!!! Ugh! So I can just step back from the situation and emotions at hand and see that I am still me. The sky is not falling, I am not crazy and things will be okay. I always find a way to work things out, on my own or other wise. So be it.

Do you struggle with vulnerability? What has helped you? Thanks for reading.

While having lunch with a friend on Friday I overheard some women talking and while I didn’t catch most of their conversation two words kept popping out at me, “Problem Area.” One kept saying that she was fine with everything except her “Problem Area” and that she couldn’t feel right or truly herself until it was…solved, I guess. It seems we all are victims of this way of thinking at some point in our lives. It took my hearing this woman talk about her “Problem Area” to remind me of just how far I’ve come in my self-acceptance journey.

I have known women of all shapes and sizes and walks of life. They all tend to share the proverbial “Problem Area” or at least that frame of mind. As though removing a simple part of one’s body would transform them into perfect if not ideal human beings. Being on the opposite side of this concept, I can’t help but wonder what they would consider to be my “Problem Area”…I simply cannot carve up my flesh for the offering as easily as they can, not even in conversation. When asked years ago what one thing would I change about myself, friends lamented about thighs and noses and boobs and such and all I could muster was, “various moles and things.” I was still new to fat liberation/acceptance, but I had already given up on hating my body.

I will say this, if you are still obsessing or thinking about your “Problem Area” you are only holding yourself back. When you can free your mind of such baggage, you will be able to get more done, be happier in general and just kick ass. To hold yourself back from enjoyment and fashions and fun all for some made up “problem”? Well, I understand, but it’s time to reconsider. Your thighs, your belly, your hips, your ass, your chin/s, your ankles, your calves, your boobs, your neck, your cheeks, your forehead, your back rolls and even your body hair are not holding you back, but you thinking ill of them is. It makes you more self conscious and who the hell needs that?

It is high time we all just take a deep breath in and let all of that shit out, out, out for good. Let it out like so much pollution, because that is precisely what it is. Let it out and let it go once and for all!!! You don’t need it. No one needs to hate their bodies, not even a piece of them. Instead find one thing you love about your body. Celebrate that! Celebrate it every damned day! Take pictures of it, hold it, grope it, stroke it and love it! You are worth it! You are worth that extra attention.  You are worth putting hate and judgement behind you for good.

I do believe that when you hate even a part of yourself, you see yourself and the world through that same lens. Fuck that! It is high time we all start enjoying what we have while we have it. And dammit if my knees aren’t still sore two days after belly dance class, but I will keep on dancing and shaking and shimmying and nobody, not even these knees of mine, will stop me! We can do this, together! We can solve our “Problem Area” by making it not a problem at all. I’m not saying that you have to love every individual piece and part of your body individually, but loving and appreciating your body as a whole and wondrous thing is possible and necessary, I think.

So let’s try something, put your “problem area” in comments followed by one thing about your body that you love. I will respond with a way to celebrate it! Deal?  Oh okay, fine, me first:

I used to really struggle and hate my arms. I love my feet! I celebrate my feet by painting my toenails purple! Woo!