internalized fatphobia
Mama June does not deserve to be stripped of her humanity so WeTv can have another hit program.
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I talked to you about the scale last week. It’s a tool I’ve proven that I will use to punish myself. I said I wouldn’t weigh myself. I said numbers don't matter. And then I broke my promise to you. I made the same promise face-to-face with my oldest and dearest friend — a pinky-swear. I broke that one, too.
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It doesn’t get any more difficult to insult ourselves, regardless of how old we are. It would be ideal if it got easier to respect ourselves, but it generally doesn’t do that either. Every year you age, and every year the aging you looks at the you of the years before and thinks, I can’t believe I thought I was fat/ugly/etc.
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It doesn’t get any more difficult to insult ourselves, regardless of how old we are. It would be ideal if it got easier to respect ourselves, but it generally doesn’t do that either. Every year you age, and every year the aging you looks at the you of the years before and thinks, I can’t believe I thought I was fat/ugly/etc.
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If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.
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I had always considered myself to be extremely body positive. I loved my body! I had several close friends who were fat activists, and I was working hard to be a good thin ally. But despite all of that, I wasn’t ready for the changes that were happening in myself.
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