On Feminism and Fatness

July 26, 2012

You know how when someone says something and first one thing about it upsets you and then as it festers it becomes a whole other thing? Yeah, that. This has been going on this week.

The other day, I shared a link on Facebook, and as things usually go with me, it had a liberal bent. This particular item was about the wage gap and a healthy debate about the statistics and what they mean then lead to a larger discussion about gender inequality and sexism. In the middle of all this, a guy I went to college with (who I am not friends with on Facebook, mind you, but he can see my wall as we have friends in common) decided to chime in with the enlightened comment that I was pathetic and it must be very hard for me to be so fat and angry.

First off, way to make my point, hombre. I forgot my body was here for your approval!

Of course, the comment stung like hell. Even though it was an act of a spineless coward who would never say something like that to my face (or with our mutual friends standing by me), the second grade insult hurt. I have made no qualms about my weight, my health and how incredibly hard and sometimes heartbreaking this struggle has been for me.

I cried. I cried because I am not impervious to silly insults that cut to the quick. I cried because I often feel so out of control when it comes to my own body. I cried because I have worked endlessly to accept myself and not equate my value to the size of my pants but still some people look at me and think: Fat Girl.

And here is what will never understand and what endless women have asked: why does my size matter at all to anyone? I am overweight. I know it even makes some of you uncomfortable to read this and you will assure me “You’re not fat!”. It is well intentioned, but untrue. It is all going to be ok for everyone involved that I need to shed some pounds.

After the cry, I became more and more upset about my own reaction, that I would let something so meaningless from someone so insignificant upset me so much. I am not so upset that I am fat. But, he is right: I am angry.

I am angry that we still live in a society where we shame women and shoot them down by attacking their bodies. I am angry that I reacted first to being called “fat” and second to being called “pathetic”. I am angry that it is “pathetic” to have a voice, to have a sense of purpose, to not give one holy unmitigated fuck if my cellulite bothers you. I am passionate and outspoken and I surround myself with people who are the same. I am angry, for sure, about a lot of things that matter to me.

I am fat. I am a friend. I am angry. I am passionate. I am sensitive. I am a daughter. I care too much. I tell inappropriate jokes. I drink too much wine. I am a feminist.

…and I will be damned if I let anyone tell me I am pathetic because of any of these things. More importantly, I will sit here and tell every single woman who has ever been silenced or shamed because of how she looks or what she thinks just how incredibly smart and wonderful you are.

Stomach rolls, unhinged rants and all.

66 Comments · Filed Under: Exposure, I Get It From My Mama, PCOS, Popping Off, Uncategorized

And this is the thing

July 19, 2011

So, it seems have I colitis. It isn’t a given. The lab work indicates this is the case and my family history make the possibility even stronger, but the colonoscopy I am having next month will render the final diagnosis.

And no, it is not lost on my that I, Lexa Lee, she of the great fear of everything bathroom related, has been stricken by an illness that has made me one with the porcelain the past six months or so. The Universe is a sneaky bitch with a wicked sense of humor.

I am just angry. I am furious that I have been stricken with another chronic illness, that my body feels broken and there is nothing I can do to change it or put myself back together. I am sick of visiting doctor and being treated like a human pin cushion and fighting with my health insurance.

I am selfish and I don’t want to change all of my eating habits (or my beloved, and sometimes excessive, drinking habits.) I want to feel like myself without vials of pills.

And I am just so disheartened that I feel healthier inside my heart and mind than I ever have, but my shell is a mess. I am strong and loyal and true to myself. I know who I am and it is actually someone I can live with. But the physical life I am leading just hurts a lot sometimes. I have worked so hard not to hurt anymore and I still am in some way.

But one thing about me is I throw a fabulous party, even when it is of the pity variety. That said, I know when to put on my coat and pack in the soiree.

Now that I have said this, the party is all over. Help me find my jacket, please. It is stunning, leopard. You are such a dear for helping me.

Really.

18 Comments · Filed Under: PCOS, Popping Off

On The Unspoken

June 6, 2011

In the past year, I have somehow managed to make real peace with my weight.

This isn’t going to be one of those posts where I tell you how I did it or offer some amazing tips and magic elixir to make you love yourself. Because, the fact is, I don’t always love myself. I still sometimes catch glimpses of my upper arms and cringe or shudder when a man touches my stomach. I longingly gaze at some items of clothing in my closet and occasionally there is a bit of sadness when scrolling through Faceboook photos. Even when there is peace, there are moments of unrest and uncertainty, but over all, there is calm.

There are plenty of things about myself I don’t like; my weight is just falling lower and lower on that list. I desperately wish I could somehow learn to love to clean. I am far too capricious with my money at times. My self righteousness gets me in far more trouble than my pants size.

I think there is this unspoken rule that when you are a larger woman or overweight or not fitting in to some cookie cutter idea of what is considered attractive, that you should hate yourself. And I can’t. The reflection in the mirror is but a very small piece of me. And I hate how fucking inspirational and schlocky that sounds, but at the end of the day, it is true. The same people have loved me the whole time I have sprinted up and down the scale. My dating life has remained active. Hell, my job and living situation have gotten better the whole time the pounds were creeping back on. I don’t see many adverse side effects to this weight gain.

Yes. I am angry that I managed to lose all that weight five years ago and most of it has crept back on. But I am angry at the sickness that brought me here, that has robbed me of my easier shopping trips and a thinner reflection. I vacillate between swallowing my feelings about this illness and raging a red, hot fury.

But, I am doing my best. I am living my life on my terms; still eating out far more than I probably should but balancing it with healthy meals and smart choices. As I type this, my clothes are still damp from this evening’s trip to the gym. I refuse to be that annoying woman who is a nightmare to eat with because of all her dietary restrictions, nor do I want to just give up and let this syndrome stop me from working hard. I will take care of myself and not throw my hands up. I refuse to use this as any kind of excuse to let myself go. Letting go isn’t really in my nature.

I have made peace with my weight. Not because I am enlightened or evolved or have really figured anything out at all. I just refuse to hate myself when I know, that when I look in the mirror, the person staring back at me is a good one. I will not hide or wallow. I am fighting my battles the best I can and approaching it the best I know how.

And really, that is all I can ask of myself.

37 Comments · Filed Under: Exposure, Me Me Me, PCOS

On Privacy

May 1, 2011

While in Atlanta this past weekend, I got to see the lovely Jenn. It was a nice treat, an added bonus to an already great weekend.

While sitting on Betty Joan’s back deck, sipping shandies and enjoying the beautiful weather, we got to talking about privacy. You see, Jenn is one of many friends I have made on the internet. And I know people don’t get it, but I have managed to make quite the admirable collection of friends from the internet. Some I talk to occasionally, some I go to with certain questions, other are members of my MamaPop/MoxieBird family and others I have even met through Twitter. Yes, I have made friends through every avenue of social media possible and I am better for it. This group of witty writers, colorful personalities, and wacky characters pepper my life to a varying degree. Among my closest friends are people I once counted online strangers. It works for me. They see other parts of me, challenge me, and push me to be a better writer.

While talking to Jenn, the question of privacy came up. She asked me if I ever wished I could take some of my privacy back, if I regretted what I had put out here. And I guess the answer is complicated.

I regret that I have said things in the past that have hurt people unintentionally. I wish that certain people didn’t have the access to my life that I allow other people. It’s hard when I start to date someone and I know they can easily find year-yes, YEARS-worth of unfiltered feelings on the internet. I feel a lot of feelings and sometimes they are complicated and messy and wholly unflattering. I feel that sometimes people have a leg up on me, that they think they know exactly how I feel or what I would do when that isn’t quite the case. Also, when people comment on my life in a negative way or tell me how I should behave, I get down right pissy.

But a lot of people do get me out here. The payoff of being so open is I get to hear people call back to me when I scream in to the abyss. And of course that is selfish, but if most of us are honest, we desperately crave validation of some sort on some level and we just want to feel less alone. Some of the kind words about my PCOS got me through those initial dark days and I have torn open the veins of certain heartaches and let them bleed all over these pages.

At the end of the day, I still have my privacy, though. Perhaps I live a bit more openly than most and share things others find unimaginable, but on the whole, I am comfortable with it. Only my best of friends know my dark thoughts and not one of you knows who I was with last week or what was the last thing that made me cry. That belongs to me and I hold on to that tightly.

There have been compromises along the way. But as I sat on that deck of a woman I never might have known with a woman I never would have known all because of the internet, I knew that the good outweighed the bad.

4 Comments · Filed Under: Ask Lemmonex, Me Me Me, PCOS

This Again

February 6, 2011

I was sick this weekend, finally succumbing to the illness that has been floating around my office. Plans were canceled and I hunkered in my tiny apartment, mainlining Nyquil and chicken soup graciously delivered by my friends. Saturday late afternoon I dozed off for several hours. Upon waking up, I rolled over and grabbed my blackberry. Someone had commented on a recent blog post:

“Lemmonex, are you putting on weight again? Oh no”.

Well, that woke me up quickly. I know it is a side effect of living my life openly that people feel they can comment freely on my choices, my attitude, and my body. I am comfortable with most of the choices I have made in my life and openly admit my shortcomings. I live a life ensconced in overkill and excess and I hope that never changes. I have screwed some things up quite spectacularly and I own this. If people think I am a bitch or a hardass or delusional, they are completely free to feel as such. They don’t have to live with me and they certainly don’t get to see the softer and much more tolerable me.

The comments about my body get me the most, though. How can they not? It is insulting. Of course I know I have gained weight. I own a mirror and I have a stack a foot high of pants that don’t fit me. I also have a pile of bills from the doctor explaining this sudden weight gain and a diagnosis that I haven’t fully accepted yet. The comments upset me most not because some anonymous jerk feels emboldened to snark on my body, but because I have barely processed it. Am I sarcastic and brash and withholding at times? Fuck yes, and I know this. But overweight again? Fuck no. I don’t want to be here.

I have been working my ass off and I have managed to lose five pounds recently, five pounds that clung on for dear life. I never stopped going to the gym. This week I start Weight Watchers again, knowing that it works, knowing that it will be harder this time around, knowing it is what I have to do. I hate that I am here again, but it is life. I have accepted that all I can do is my best…and I really am.

57 Comments · Filed Under: Failure, Feeling feelings, PCOS

The Biz

October 18, 2010

Well, as it seems I have opened the door to in depth discussion about my ovaries here, I am going to push through socially mandated barriers of docorum and wrap this little tale up.

Last night I was, in fact, a complete wreck about the appointment. Though I already had the initial diagnoses, I was to learn the results of tons of blood work and formulate a treatment plan. I was thoroughly convinced I was going to get even worse news, that they would find something terrible and I would be faced with a horrific diagnosis. I started fabricating illnesses such as uterus rot and ovarian calcification much to the bemusement and horror of my friends. I just prayed they wouldn’t tell me I had AIDS; who gets AIDS anymore? It is so pase and I cannot bear to be out of style.

I know, AIDS isn’t a joke. I love afterschool specials. I am sorry.

So, I meet Irish at the hospital and we get called back to the exam room fairly quickly. And then we waited. And waited some more.

And we waited a totality of of an hour and a half. Because you know what is kind, caring, and mentally healthy treatment by your health care professionals when you are waiting for bad news? Being locked in a room for an hour and a half alone with your own thoughts. At least Irish was in there with me. We started going through supplies.

Finally a resident comes in, a very nervous resident. I am sure she is a lovely, capable woman, but she seemed skiddish as hell and asked the silliest questions. When asking about my health the past few weeks, I mentioned I have been experiencing some anxiety (obviously). I thought it was pretty clear why, but the woman asked “Why is that?” I saw Irish’s eyes widen in my field of vision, so at least I felt somewhat vindicated in regards to her foolishness.

I don’t know why I am stressed, lady. Perhaps it is the uterus rot?

I get a bit stern and requested I see my doctor as soon as possible. She comes in, we start talking and basically I get…nothing. It is inconclusive as to why I have PCOS. My thyroid, sugar and hormone levels are all normal. I have PCOS, for sure. My ovaries are covered in cysts and I am going on six months now without a period, but it is all a bit of a mystery why this is happening. I got a medical shrug of the shoulders. She put me back on the pill; the hormones will help and in case my janky ovaries do decide to work, I don’t want any surprises. I was advised to stay aware about any changes in my body. I was advised to lose weigh, which I had been working on. Of course it doesn’t help that the PCOS is the reason I have been gaining, but I am currently working from a place where I believe my will is stronger than my ovaries and I will lose weight. I will win, I will get better.

And oh yeah, I was reminded that when I want to have a baby that I need to see a fertility specialist. Nature isn’t going to come naturally to me. I wasn’t at risk of forgetting that little gem.

So this is where I am. I am going to get a second opinion because I just want to be sure. Of course, I’m glad I didn’t get awful news, but this news was a bit limp. I want a diagnosis with some oomph. If I have to accept “unknown” I will…but I am not one to half ass anything. Even if the diagnosis is “Hmm, fucking weird”, I want it to be said with conviction. I’m not buying it quite yet.

17 Comments · Filed Under: Me Me Me, PCOS