She’s got some wild…

My need for interesting spectacles is unending. I’ve been feeling a bit shitty of late and decided some new eyewear might cheer me up. I jumped on my favourite site for quirky lenses and was not disappointed.

These beauties definitely put a smile on my face. I have received compliments far & wise. Plus my nephews love them. What more could I want?

Glasses – Where.light

They didn’t solve any problems, but I certainly look adorable in them.

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Make it up as we go along…

Historically, relationships have been a fairly fraught affair for me. I have found myself involved with various types of difficult men. I never quite managed to align my expectations with theirs. Someone always felt short changed or infuriated or plain hurt. 

I’ve had men who wanted to control or tame me. Guys who loved my weirdness until they realised it was permanent & the novelty wore off. There have been proposals; both accepted & rejected, but I never did make it down the aisle. I’ve fallen hard for those who could not make me a priority & struggled to breathe with those who couldn’t focus on anything else. 

I’ve dumped so many men for so many reasons. The tiniest of infractions & the hugest of betrayals.   I’ve disappointed by being too ill or too strident or too independent or too me. Their lack of strangeness or loyalty or compassion has disappointed me right back. To be honest I had given up on the idea of finding someone & just being happy. I watched everyone I know meet someone & like them & build a life & make it work. 

I thought, maybe, I just wasn’t built that way. All my love songs were heart wrenching. And so very complicated. 

Then I took a chance on a cheeky smile with a social conscience. This time, romance is easy. For once we might be on the same page. After all this time, I met someone I liked & I want to see where it can go.  So far it’s taken me to fun & comfort & excitement & care & trust. Oh & access to a really sweet arse. 

Sure, we bicker. He is full of nonsense. He never picks up his socks. He always wants to debate my veganism. I have tell him to suck my dick way too much, but I feel like we’re on the same team. I don’t feel pressured to be anything other than I am. We’re just taking life as it comes & it feels good. 

No compassion…

I’m 36yrs old, chronically ill and a size 22, I am no stranger to a bit medical fat shaming. Sadly, I have had to develop a thick skin when it comes to interacting with the medical profession. Drs & nurses will say things to me that no one else would dare to. I have had to learn to advocate for myself when necessary & brush off a whole bunch of bullshit along the way. To be honest I thought I was fairly untouchable. I am entirely comfortable with my size & though often tiring to hear the same fat phobic lectures, it doesn’t hurt me. Infuriate, yes, but I never felt unable to deal with it. Until recently. 

Earlier this year I had a miscarriage. It was not my first loss. My previous experiences of pregnancy & miscarriage were hugely traumatic and in fact played a major part in my mental health struggles. Losing another baby was horrendous. I had some complications and ended up having to spend a little time in hospital. The one small blessing was the support system I have in place and the kindness I was treated with whilst inpatient. Once home & physically recovered I visited my GP to discuss my general health & how to proceed fertility wise. That she wanted to talk about weight loss was not entirely unexpected. I know standard advice for anyone overweight talking about having a baby is lose weight. I know drs still hold rigidly to the BMI scale & that there is an upper limit for fertility treatment. I know fat women often have their pregnancies labelled high risk. What I wasn’t prepared for was this gp’s insinuation that my weight caused my miscarriage. So, unprepared was I that I convinced myself that I had misunderstood. I pushed it out of my mind & continued trying to process my grief. However, when I returned a week later and she still only wanted to talk about diet plans, what I ate, what I weighed now & how often she could weight me,I was more explicit. I explained my history of borderline eating disorders, of starvation diets & losing vast amounts of weight only to regain it. I told her I did not and would engage with rigid diets or weight loss programmes. Her response was given my multiple miscarriages, I might want to re think that. I enquired If she was saying I miscarried because I was fat & she confirmed that she thought it likely.

 

I walked out feeling a rage that quickly melted away to sadness. I was left wanting to crawl into bed and never get out again. I have struggled with PTSD for many years; my original trauma was an emotionally abusive relationship & my the circumstances surrounding my first miscarriage. It has taken me literally my entire adult life to get control of my shame and guilt. Years of self harm, debilitating depression, panic attacks, flash backs and nightmares all centred around how the loss of my child and subsequent illness was all my fault. One thoughtless dr had thrust back into that damaging thought cycle. On top of that I have fought to reclaim my body as acceptable. I have had to work to enjoy my life in this fat scarred body. My history is well documented in my medical records and I have personally discussed it with the dr. That truth is she wants me to be thin more than she wants to me be happy & healthy. Her complete disregard for my mental health was cruel. That she hadn’t even bothered to investigate my history before speaking is unacceptable. A cursory glance at my notes would have revealed that I was not over weight at the time of my other pregnancy losses. She would also have seen that I am currently taking a medication for PCOS that causes weight loss. The drug is harsh on my already inflamed digestive system meaning that I throw up daily. In addition one of it’s major side effects is appetite reduction. Hence, I have been slowly shedding pounds since I commenced this treatment. I also have diagnosed gynaecological issues, which are much more likely to play a part in my inability to carry to term. The conversation she forced upon me was not only insensitive, but entirely irrelevant. That said, it is never ok to blame a vulnerable women for the loss of her child.

I have chosen not to see that GP again. I attend a fairly large practise and as a freelancer have the freedom to wait for appointments with another dr. I have yet to confront the issue as it still feels so raw. However I feel a strange sense of duty; I feel I must tackle this to prevent it happening to someone else. I recognise that there were times in my past when this dr’s assertions would have entirely destroyed me. I hate that the responsibility to educate & challenge falls to people like me. I cannot understand why a profession who swear to ‘do no harm’ are so married to fat phobia. Why is care and compassion is so often disregarded purely because a patient is fat?


 

 

This week I have been mostly….

Feeling sentimental. Sop has been oozing from my very pores. Who can tell what’s brought this on, but it’s certainly influenced my aural choices. 

I’m going to kick off with a tune brought to my attention by a decidedly unsoppy man. This must be the place is such a warm contented song that it always makes me feel a tad melty. Talking Heads’ grown up, understated love song is precisely the style of happily ever after that appeals to me. 

  
I stumbled upon an old Del Amitri cd last week & have been rediscovering their meloncholy magic since. One song in particular has been bringing a lump to throat ; Tell her this  brings to mind that rare moment when you feel ready to let your guard down. I’m careful with my heart and rather slow to trust. So reaching the point where I’m ready to jump is special. I love the sensation when you know you’re both really in it & ‘Tell her this’  embodies that. 

Next up is a singer who has infiltrated my dreams. Damien rice writes the most stunning lyrics. I relate to so many of his beautiful works, but one in particular keeps finding me in my sleep. Accidental Babies is about knowing with absolute certainty who you should be with despite the fact that you’re not together. It’s raw emotion & naked yearning are a punch in the gut. Rice’s description of love, both passionate & ordinary is so real. It’s strange, yet beautiful to discover that a complete stranger has captured your own experience. 

 
Gregory & the Hawk are  my penultimate purveyors of love. Boats and Birds is an ode to adoration. The classic romantic imagery of stars & seas are enchanting. As is the notion of caring for someone else’s happiness before your own. I challenge you to listen to this & not think about the most important person in your life. 
I shall leave you with a masterpiece. No one speaks my heart better than Joni Mitchell & A case of you is my soul in three verses. From the northern star to a partner flowing in your blood, it’s a work of genius. Joni has summed up the power & sadness & mystery of love. I first heard this song when I was 11years old & instantly longed for that strength of feeling. Now as an adult I know both the joys & sorrows of drenching myself in an intoxicating man. My heart remains unaltered, I am still on my feet.