I'll Do What I Want

PBS calls Venus of Willendorf an exaggerated beauty. I call her "my size." 

I am a big-ass, fat, sexy woman. 

Fat. 

I am fat. 

Say the word out loud if you have to. 

Fat fat fat fat fat. I am fat.  

Do you have a problem with that sentence? I don’t. Why? Because I am fat.

I am sick and tired of everybody telling me how I should feel about my body, my size, my sexiness, my walk, my talk, my meals, and my sense of self. I don’t care if you’re saying something like, “You big sexy mamas are hot-a-licious, and you should flaunt it – big and beautiful, woohoo!” or “You ugly fat slobs should diet and hide and hope that you can be thin,” or “Curvy girls rock my world so shake those ginormous tits with pride, bay-bee!” or whatever else you want to say. What do you think is so special about you that you get to tell me how I should feel at any given moment?

You telling me that I’m not fat, that I’m curvy, fabulous, that I'm <insert your chosen synonym here> isn’t helping me. It just puts your voice up there on the long list of people who are saying that fat is a dirty word. 

"Fat is such an ugly word – call yourself curvy." 

"I refuse to call you fat because you're so beautiful."

i.e., Fat is bad. 

There, why don't you say that instead?  

Fat is bad.

Fat is bad.

Your admonitions haunt me on bad days. When I curl up at home alone because I’m big and fat and ugly and unlovable, reading articles saying that I should be proud to be big just adds an extra layer of guilt. On those days I can’t live up to the strong, feminist belief that I am good at whatever size, indeed, at my size. 

I'll stick with my own guilt, thanks. You can keep your guilt and shove it up your ass, whatever size it happens to be.

If I wanted somebody to have the right to tell me what to think, feel, and do with my body, I’d go place my big fat fallopian tubes into the hand of some fucking ring winger anti-choice asshat then bend over so they can more easily yank my rights away. If I wanted someone else telling me how to think and feel I’d join a cult like the Family Research Council.

Instead I’ll live my own life and be the strongest, and weakest, woman I feel like being.

Some days I wake up, run my hands down my soft skin, dig my nails deep into the flesh of my tummy and breasts and think, “Yummy.” I stretch and think about what it would be like to press my big fat ass against someone if they were in my bed and grin. On those days I swagger to my closet and put on a flashy, bright wraparound dress and strut out the door in my best knee high boots. 

Other days I wake up and feel the weight pressing down on me. I grab a beige skirt and a simple blouse and walk quietly out the door to the bus. Sometimes I just grab whatever's clean and at hand and run out the door.

But that's just it - I have spent countless hours throwing all my clothes on my bed and crying because nothing fits because I'm a hideous monster. I've spent countless hours shiny and flirty and grabbing someone else's delicious behind (with their permission). I get to choose how I want to express myself on any given day, and I don't need your size-shaming or your "permission" to feel whatever the hell I'm feeling.

I could suggest that you let me be and feel and think whatever I want to think, but dude, you don’t get to let me do anything. I am large and in charge, and I will decide what I think and feel.