I’m sick of being a woman in this stupid patriarchical sexist mysoginist rape culture society where it’s impossible for me to just sit on a bench and eat my lunch without some bloody creep thinking he’s entitled to my body.
I sat on one end of a bench and there was a guy on the other end, then Mr Creep sits in the middle except so incredibly not in the middle. No, he’s perfectly entitled to my personal space and plonks himself down, crushing my lunch bag against me and sitting with his hand on his knee so it’s about 1cm from my thigh, even though there’s a bunch of space on his other side.
He clearly thought I was blind as well as public property, and wouldn’t notice his hand inching over and sitting at a really unnatural angle that just happened to bring it closer to my skin. I moved out of his way again and again, thinking that’ll show him.
Then realised I’d spent my entire lunch break squashed into the corner of a bench, panicking about whether a randomer would actually touch me or not.
So now I’m angry at this patriarchical sexist mysoginist rape culture society, but also myself because WHY DID I LET HIM DO THAT? Why did I not just move to a creep-free bench? Or better yet, tell him to go jump in the Clyde with a concrete lifejacket? WHY??
I’m on the list of life models for a regular life drawing event.
I have far more good body days than bad, and have developed tactics to deal with the bad ones.
I’ve cut from my life any people who (deliberately or not) push the wrong buttons, and I’ve made my introvert timenon-negotiable.
I’ve learned to answer back and argue my point instead of being a good, quiet little lady and letting people walk all over me.
And so much more.
Honestly, I kind of expected all that to happen. Maybe not quite so well or so quickly, but I was ready for ‘fake it til you make it’ to work out as it has in the past.
I was not expecting my eyes and ideology to be thrown wide open.
This blog started off for me. I was going to do things I was afraid of so I could change. But over the last year I’ve realised that there’s a good deal more in the world needs changing, and if I can help, in even the tiniest way, I just have to.
My first year has been a learning year. My next year will be one of action. Watch this space.
Can you imagine a world where size doesn’t matter? What does it look like?
Well, this blog would be a whole lot shorter for a start. Maybe it wouldn’t even exist, although the cynical side of me reckons people would have found some other characteristic to bully me for instead.
Sizeism is so woven into the fabric of our entire lives, it’s actually quite difficult to imagine the world without it.
One of the most intriguing news items this week reported on a six-year study that measured what happened to the contestants who lost dramatic amounts of weight in Season 8 of the reality TV show we here at Fit Is a Feminist Issue love to hate: The Biggest Loser.
For those of us who have gained and lost, lost and gained, and lost and gained again, the most obvious result wasn’t a shocker. The contestants are heavier than they were when the show ended. The season’s winner, Danny Cahill, went from 430 pounds to 191 pounds over the seven month period of the weight loss competition.