Fat Slut, you said…

So, hello, brand new year. Unfortunately it’s also hello to diet talk overload. Yup, it’s everywhere. The diet industry goes crazy in January. Over the years  I have managed to switch off from most of the weight watcher ads & gym discount flyers. I basically make it my business to mute the diet industry; I don’t buy magazines that tell me I’m not good enough, I don’t follow social media accounts that constantly talk about weight loss & I shun brands that use body shaming in their advertising. Of course, I also actively participate the body posi community. This works well for me. However, more and more I am realising that I simply cannot escape the notion that fat is just awful. The problem is that lots of the people I really like & choose to have in my life are, to be frank, fat phobic. 

I understand that everyone will not share my views on body positivity. I also accept that other people are free to do whatever the choose with their own bodies. In fact I am delighted when people find a way to love themselves. However they do it, finding genuine peace with yourself is a wonderful thing & I applaud anyone who gets there. What I don’t appreciate is having to listen to all the fat phobic crap that others believe in. I will never understand why people think it is ok to express their revulsion of fat people to me, a fat person. If you had brown hair & I repeatedly made negative comments about brown hair, you’d probably feel hurt, or pissed off. Well, surprise, surprise, fat people have feelings too. 

You can feel however you like about your own or other people’s bodies. If you want to do slimming world or Atkins or eat raw, knock yourself out. Run & lift & body pump until your heart’s content. If your internal voice mocks & degrades others based on their physical appearance that probably needs investigation, but it’s still entirely your affair. Once you voice those insults out loud, they become my business too & the truth is, I don’t want to hear it. 

I do not want to hear how terrible you think celebs looks when they gain weight. I don’t want to listen to your jibes about naked fat bodies in movies. When you talk in disgusted tones about your own fat, you are telling me what you think of me. Your talk of how your own much thinner body is not fit to carry a child or how being fat makes a person a terrible parent, you are commenting on my abilities. Every time you comment ‘I’m a fat bitch’ on picture of food you ate or tell me what is ‘bad’ about every item on a menu you are pushing your issues on me. 

And here’s the thing, I can’t stop you. You are free to say & feel whatever you please. You can hate your body & my body & Rebel Wilson’s body & Cameron Diaz’s body too. You can laugh & be rude. You can continue to say right to my face that you find people like me to be entirely undeserving of respect. I presume that often you are oblivious. I get it. Sometimes we are blinded by our own internal struggle. Everyone has moments of complete, but unintentional insensitivity. Sometimes, though, you know. You know that you are degrading fat people in front of a fat person. Mostly, we’ll let you get away with it. I know I do. I excuse & ignore. I tell myself you did not mean to be cruel. Well, no more. This is me giving notice. In the future I intend to point out that the body you’re mocking is just like mine. I will tell you that I don’t want to hear about your diet. I will mute you on social media if your timeline is toxic because I can do as I please too. I choose not to engage in anymore bullshit. I wish you well with your own self love journey, but I will no longer be party to my own debasement. You do you. I am going to do me.

There’s nobody else here, no one like me…

I’m about to get a bit happy clappy, so if that gets your goat (I hear you), skip this one.

I know it’s been disaster movie of a year. There are truly despicable things happening all over the globe. So, I feel quite guilty about this, but 2016 has been my personal best for a very long time. Selfish or not I want to acknowledge my successes. Queue the happy bit. 

This year I have been comparatively sane. I’m not cured and of course there are bad times, but I have felt psychologically healthier & happier than I’ve been in several years. I’m pretty confident that I’m finally taking the right medication. Meds aren’t magic beans, but the right combination has given me much more solid ground to build on. I’ve been able to push myself, expanding  my social & professional lives in the process. 

Now, here comes the big one, I have not purposely hurt myself in well over a year. Again, I’m not recovered, I suspect the urge will always be with me. The difference for me has been releasing there are things I want more than blood. I’m not going to bullshit anyone, it’s a grind; it’s a battle I decide to fight every day. This is a war that’s been raging for 17 years, but I’m stating to believe I will emerge the conquerer. 

Next up; gettting all proud of myself & shamelessly blowing my own trumpet. 2016 has been a professional triumph. My writing has featured in publications I have long admired. My blog hits have soared & more importantly I produced more work of value than ever before. I am proud to be writing about issues that need to be talked about & creating work that readers really connect with. 

This year I also took a leap of faith & extended my wee empire to include oPeration BoPo. I wanted a thing that didn’t exist locally & so, I just went ahead & made it happen. My first event was an amazing success. I believe there is a need for accessible body positive projects & I am determined to meet it. I have some exciting things in the work for 2017. Get ready to join the self love revolution. 

This year I have gained a confidence that I feared was gone for good. I took charge. I had some big scale health issues & disappointing discoveries, but I kept rolling. I let go of yearning to be the girl I was before life got fucked & embraced the woman I am because & inspite of it all. 

This has been a year of seizing what control I can & trying to accept that it will never be the unbridled authority I desire. My body & mind will continue to usurp me. I’ll just have to wrestle them into the best submission I can manage. 

I’ll be honest my life can be brutal. You know what? I can be too. I’m heading into the new year with a 5 year plan, a growing business, my first nude photo shoot under my belt, ovaries that are really trying & the very best people supporting me. 2017, I’m ready for you. 


I hope there were some bright spots for all of you too & that next year brings you all you’re hoping for. 

Daddy Cool….

It’s Father’s Day & what better way to celebrate my lovely Dad than to take a trip down memory lane. 

My dad worked shifts when I was a kid. He’d do a twelve hour night shift & arrive home just as we (I have three siblings) were getting up for school. Instead of retiring directly to his bed he would make us breakfast. Cereal with bananas hidden in it. Mountains of toast or boiled eggs made three different ways to suit out picky tastes. The really special thing about it was he always did it with pleasure. He didn’t rush us or shirk our requests. He kept making that toast until we were satisfied & he made sure every banana slice was hidden in those rice crispies. Making your kids breakfast is a simple everyday  occurance, but when I look back at my childhood these small acts of love really matter. 

  

My sister & I sometimes call our father Daddy Cool. I think it started on a holiday in Mallorca & it stuck. It sums up so many aspects of him. From his little air guitar dance when he hears a tune he likes (which are often by edgy new bands) to his random fancies for designer clothing. The now famous ‘ porno’ moustache he sported my entire childhood also played into the nickname. Wether he’s sporting some Armani or hitting some cool new restuarant he is totally our Daddy Cool. 

  

My childhood is bursting with good memories of Dad. He used to pick us up from primary school & let us walk home through the park. While we galloped along he would be cheerfully carrying all our super girly school bags & paraphanelia. He frequently took us walks in pollok country park, allowing us to carry on & explore. He introduced me to The Burrel Collection  & highland cattle, both life long loves. Dad always had time for us to check out the Rangers station, or the ancient tree or a million other things. 

  

In Glasgow there’s an old tradition of people singing at parties. Right into my teenage years I remember family & friends always calling for dad to sing. I loved it when he did, he usually choose rather meloncholy songs. He sang them so clearly & with real feeling. I fell in love with John Lennon & Janis Joplin after hearing dad’s renditions of Jealous Guy & Bobby McGhee. 

My dad did all the things that storybook father’s are supposed to do. He taught me to ride a bike & to swim. He checked my homework, helped me fill out UCAS forms & grounded me when a boy gave me a nookie. Besides those things he has given me so much more. He gifted me the wonders of 60’s & 70’s music. Whilst my classmates were loving techno I was discovering Joni & Bob. Dad also played a big part in developing my political views. From asking him questions about the night’s news to talking over what I’d been learning in history. I’ve always respected his socialist values. Dad has been unceasingly present throughout my life; encouraging & advising. He has also been tolerant if bemused by some of things I’ve gotten up to. 

  
  

Now that I’m grown & some of my siblings have had children I have the joy of watching my fantastic dad become a wonderful Granda. He will hide under tables, bite balloons & get down on his knees to become a horse who gives rides. He’s exactly the kind of Granda every child wants. 

  
   

  

In conclusion, I love you dad. Thanks for raising me right. 
Happy Father’s Day.