fat as a feeling: why it's important to listen to fat talk

 Most folks know that I am a proponent of not letting friends diss their bodies (at least not in front of me). Sure, we all do it occasionally, but to critique your bod in a negative way in front of a group of women you love and have none of them speak up constructively is a crime to me. The typical response to a bodily complaint ("My calves are disgusting!") is to retort in kind ("Are you kidding? My thighs are monstrous!") or to dismiss the other person's concerns ("Shut up, your calves are lovely and strong."). And I've definitely done both of these, but I appreciate lately another approach: actually hearing their concerns and addressing them.

 Now, this doesn't mean that you have to indulge them in their bodily insecurities ("Yeah, your calves are pretty nasty."), since to do so would make you both an asshole and a bad friend. But rarely does someone merely complain about their body merely to get their feelings off their chest about their supposedly heinous attributes. It generally comes from a place of anxiety that is displaced onto their body, particularly in eating disordered individuals or people with disordered eating, but frankly in all women as well.

I was reading Purge by Nicole Johns for the first time (warning: VERY triggering) recently and underlined the crap out of this passage:

"To be more precise, fat is a combination of feelings and experiences. It is a complex feeling, a collection of simple feelings bound together. I notice my body more when I am in an uncomfortable situation, when I am emotionally overstimulated or fearful. By focusing on my body at the precise moment when I am so emotionally uncomfortable, I am deflecting the uncomfortable emotions onto something tangible—my body. When I say I’m feeling fat, I am eluding my feelings; it is a defense mechanism."

 Saying that you feel fat is rarely, if ever, about actually having gained weight. Perhaps that might be a factor too, but usually it's fueled by anxiety about what to do with the next step in life, or feeling insecure in a sexual relationships, or afraid of changes. I'm not at all surprised that my eating disorder made a resurgence in my junior year of college, when I was going through a shift in my relationship and trying to figure out what to do with my life and generally feeling pretty lost. But all of those emotions were deflected and labeled simply: fat. Fat can be controlled, and sometimes it feels that emotions can't. Which is simply untrue! It's a skill that has to be learned, but it absolutely can be.

So just don't tell your friends with body woes to STFU: dig a little deeper, ask some questions about what's going on in other areas of their life, and get to the bottom of their fat feelings. I bet it'll be more therapeutic for everyone.

What do you think? Ever find yourself doing this yourself?

Much love,

The Sheriff

friday links

The differences in dating/courtship between New Zealand and Sweden. Interesting!

But Mom, what if I don't wanna get married?

Parents keep child's gender under wraps. Interesting, but I'm not sure I agree entirely with their approach (that's a big burden to put on a child...but so are gender norms. Blargh). 

You've probably seen this video, as it's been making the rounds on FB but this chick gives some legitimate criticism of Beyonce's latest single (though I do love my some B). 

A different POV: why didn't I ever get married?

Conservatives declare victory over abortion: this kinda makes me want to puke. At least they feel defeated with all the homo rights.

Cringe! Dove body wash ad with unintentional (I hope!) racism. Eesh.

Oddly, I was watching the View during Gaga's interview (one of my Mama's customers had it on) and agree 100% with the statement that Gaga doesn't really have much to say anymore.

Much love,
The Sheriff

sexting and the modern woman

not from my iPhone, for the record, as I do not have one.

 As I enter into this sort of quasi-single undefined stage of my romantic life, I am shocked by how common sexting really is. It's not just limited to high schoolers, though that brings up interesting legal questions in its own right (in some states, even sending pictures of yourself to someone else is illegal if you're under 18!). EVERYBODY does it, it feels like. These damn whippersnappers, I tell ya. It varies from just verbal descriptions of scenarios to pictures of boners (for the record, listen up men: a penis in isolation is rarely sexy, at least to most of the females I know. Word to the wise).

And while I am certainly not a prude and have been known to very much enjoy sending some sexually explicit texts and even quasi-nude photos to serious significant others, this trend does sort of baffle me. To send a naked photo (even one without your face in it), to a person you barely know? Especially when it is practically demanded of you by a near stranger you met at a bar (which it often is, in my totally anecdotal research of asking my friends about this very important social issue)? But is it really that different from one night stands, where you get naked with a near stranger?

I say YES since with a fling, the image of your hot nude bod might be seared into their memory forever, but it's not saved on their laptop or phone with the potential to be sent and spread all over the tech-linked universe. Technology really adds a whole new dimension to sex and relationships. Obviously, it's great for a lil flirtation and communication, but it's got some issues too. It encourages this false sense of intimacy, reading things on their Facebook that you have in common ("Oh my god, she likes Nas too?!") and texting without much face-to-face interaction which is, after all, where most of the magic (sexual or romantic) happens. And ya know, the insistence on sending naked photos is a little off-putting too.

Where do you stand in this important debate? Is it dangerous, stupid, silly, hot, fun, none of the above?

Much love,
The Sheriff

undefined relationships: evidently not just a college thang

The cliched Facebook status of "It's Complicated" is almost too silly to be taken seriously...but on a personal level, that's kinda where I'm at. Entering into the Real World, with a long-distance relationship has prompted Meatball and I into talks of what we are/should be in this new phase of our lives, leaving us on a break, yet not broken up. Huh? Right. There's a shit ton of doubts and fears aroused by this undefined status, that's for damn sure.

Undefined relationships are a college staple, probably because people rely so much on hookups as a means of getting acquainted and are often reluctant to given up their freedoms at such a young age and time when the expectation and college kid stereotype is that you'll probably get busy with lots of different folks on the regular (or at least want to).

But the cap and gown clearly don't change much since at least for me, this title is continuing to persist into the Real World. And it does indeed complicate things to step into an undefined space: how much can you expect of someone without a title? Will you call them to cry if your period is late, or keep it to just your friends? Can you demand emotional support, or is it limited to just fun times and making you moan? Are they the only one who will make you moan, or is it more open (USE BARRIER METHODS NO MATTER WHAT PEOPLE)? It's enough to send ya crawling back to defined, safe monogamy.

But that's precisely why open and honest communication is so important to having successful relationship of any kind, but especially with an undefined bedroom buddy. Even if it's uncomfortable, hashing out the above questions can prevent a lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. And having that stuff sussed out is a win-win because then you can relax and enjoy the moaning without questioning what it means, how often you can text the before it's clingy, and whether or not you should buy them a birthday present.

Call me a control freak, but I think defining the undefined at least a little bit makes it more enjoyable!

But what say you? Ever had one of these "what are we?" scenarios?

Much love,
The Sheriff

links

Slutwalking rooted in riotgrrrl 'tude. LOVE this article.

Porn star selling a book...nothing new, right? Except for the pube included. TWIST!
Dear 16 year old me: use some damn sunscreen.

The COO of Facebook had some fantastic words for the graduates of Barnard in her commencement speech. Awesome stuff.

Barnes and Noble censor image of androgynous model to avoid gender confusion--BOO.

Shouldn't yoga be for every body? Seriously.

Aaaaand a cat video. Enjoy.

Much love,

The Sheriff

graduation: some reflections

source

 Yesterday, Sunday the 15th marked the class of 2011's exit from Smith College. Like most graduates, I've got some seriously mixed feelings about this whole college-is-over-forever-GTFO business. I bawled at least once a day for most of senior week leading up to it for a variety of reasons, ranging from sadness to excitement to just being too tipsy. But mostly it's been a sense of pride.

I'm the first in my family to go to college, and you bet your ass that's a huge deal. My mama cried on the phone every time we talked about my graduating for months before the day itself, blubbering over and over how proud she was of me for making it. The fact that I spent many nights and weekends working three part-time jobs to pay my tuition only adds to that immense pride.

But it's also a pride of being part of such an incredible community of people. Yes, there have definitely been times over the last four years where I have gazed at the hipsters smoking and crowding the doorsteps of academic buildings, or when I have sighed at yet another awkward party with bad music, or when I've gone several nights in a row on meager sleep when I resented Smith, couldn't wait to not write another paper, was psyched to live somewhere with real nightlife. I can't count how many days and nights I cursed the awful (and I mean fuckin AWFUL) New England weather.

And yet.

Smith has been an amazing place to spend four years. It's taught me to accept criticism, to challenge myself, to work harder than I ever imagined for myself instead of the approval of others. I've learned to be more eloquent in my speech and mannerisms, but also to accept and be confident in my less-than-academic expressions and use of profanity. I beat my eating disorder here. I started this here lil ol' blog. I made Dean's List four years (okay, I'ma brag a little. Get over it). I learned to be compassionate and really listen to others, even when they were drunk and I held their hair or their hand while they cried.

And that's just me! Imagine what the other 600 or so members of the class of 2011 have been up to, and all that we've got yet to do. I am so impressed by my classmates, every single day, and am honestly honored to be part of such a group. It's cheesy and cliche, but we really are just on the doorsteps of the rest of our lives and our potential, and I can't wait to see what doors Smith unlocks for all of us. Sure, the first few years might be mediocre jobs before we find our promised lives of distinction, but we'll get there. The Sheriff, for one, is damn sure of it.

Congratulations to graduates everywhere! Pop a bottle for me.

Much love,
The Sheriff

When given the choice between fame and glory, take glory. Glory has a way of sneaking up on fame and stealing its lunch money later anyway. Life might very well be long, keep your eye on the horizon and live in a way that you will be proud of. You will sleep more. You'll be a better partner. You'll be a better mom. You'll be a better friend. You'll be a better boss, and you will not have to remember any complicated lies to brag about at the old age home because you can brag about the truth of your well-lived life. --Rachel Maddow, Smith College Commencement 2010

friday links

I had a nice lovely list of links for ya'll this weekend...but Blogger ate it!

So here's the short batch that I scrounged up.

Is semen really an antidepressant?

For all my soon-to-be-grads: how to become a grown-up. GULP.

A workout that can truly build better body image? Hell yeah.

Why I hate my giant penis. Funny and well-written!

Much love,
The Sheriff