To the Jerk at the track, from the Fatty.

There was a charming piece on my Facebook last night, shared by some athlete’s page, and linked to me because a friend “liked it”.it came from a site page here

When I read it my heart sank, because not only was it the usual bullshit fat tropes, but it expected me to treat the writer like a hero for realising fat people are, well… people.

This isn’t a news flash to some of us, and I was inspired to respond. I hope you enjoy it.

 

To the D-bag sitting on the side-line judging others….

There's something you should know: I know I rock, and you have NO IDEA.
Every shallow thought you have about someone else’s body, every insight you think you know about me based solely on my size, every hateful thought that flickers through your synapses when you see someone bigger than you… you are contributing to a stigma that stops people like me living better.

To go for a run people overcome a lot of things; apathy, discomfort, judgement, lack of time, fatigue. I had to start overcoming things before I even go for a run.

To go for a run I have to find a shop that sells size 18 or over running tops and shorts… comfortable ones that look nice and feel good and wash well. Ones designed to wick perspiration away from my body, because as you so kindly pointed out as you stared at me, I sweat when I do exercise (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE). They don't often make them in my size, and when I go into those shops looking, people stare at me, because why does a fatty need exercise clothes?

Why do we need exercise clothes? Because we are out there, just like everyone else.

We are on your softball teams, in your gym, doing martial arts, in your dance classes. We are everywhere.
And if you came to the pool with me I would wipe my butt with you, because my buoyancy is epic (thanks to my fat!), my technique is amazing, and in spite of all your assumptions based on how I look, my cardiac fitness is pretty damn good.
My body is just bigger than yours. That weight isn’t "begging to be shaken off", it's part of my goddam body - stop wishing it away. What part of your life would change if there was less of me in the world? I can tell you no part of my life would change, because I’ve experienced life both slim and fat, and other than how the world treats me, my life is no different.

And since you so oddly speculated on my lack of headphones… When I exercise without music, I day dream. Your weird fantasy that I’m driven by self-hatred is SICK and you should look into professional help.

Without music, my mind wanders. I think about my amazing partner, I worry about work, I fantasise about what life will be like when I complete post-grad. I day dream about my last scuba dive, and think about when my next will be and where I will go.
My life is full and awesome, just like my body, and I don’t waste a second hating either.
It just makes me sad that without knowing anything about me you can project all that rubbish.

I know I’ve got this.
But thanks for making me realise that the world thinks LETTING ME EXERSIZE WITHOUT PEOPLE HATING ME is a prize winning moment.

Yours sincerely,

The fatty.

 

But that’s not romantic to me…

It is Valentine’s day today.
Every year I explain to people around me that we don’t “do” Valentines Day. By that I mean there aren’t flowers or gifts in our household. I object to being told when I should be nice to the special people in my life. I also MASSIVLY resent the constant messages of “What Women Want” from the media around this time of the year.
For me, what would make my day special is for the man in my life to attend my sports training and cheer me on, meet my team mates, and get to know a little more about who I am, and what I am capable of.
For him, the morning is a lovely time full of promise and hope (I’m more of the try-to-sleep-through-it brigade) so me getting up super early to cook breakfast and take that special time to be together without a big rush will make his day really nice. Neither of these things are in any of the numerous advertisements for how to “really treat your partner” on Valentine’s day, and yet, there it is… our perfect day.
So for all that I mock it… perhaps Valentine ’s Day is a really good time to set this stuff up with a new partner, or reinforce what makes you happy with a loved one. Because not everyone shows love in the same way, and not everyone accepts love in the same way. This is pretty damn cool, and it makes total sense given how unique each person and their life experience is.

I’m a super lucky lady, the man in my life is a really good guy when it comes to little gifts, and flowers. Unfortunately when I met him, flowers still stank of obligation and emotional bribery. Because of a history of a stalker and a boyfriend who would only buy flowers to give himself more time to wiggle out of trouble, they meant nothing more to me than someone trying to control me. I needed to gently tell him that I knew what message he was trying to send, but until I got a little more comfortable with him, and felt safer, flowers didn’t always send that message.
He knew he loved me, and wanted to tell me that.
But his message did not resonate with how I identified “love”
So message sent needs to equal message received.
It’s not romantic, but it does mean a lot more genuine happiness. And that sure doesn’t come in a box with a bow.
For me it comes with the smell of chlorine and a victory hug after training.

So how’s about we fuck up the sales records and tell the people we love, that we love them how THEY want to hear it.
I can’t wait to hear how it goes.

1) Support in mental health

1) Support in mental health. Written June 2011

NOTE: I have four pages of scattered disjointed writing in my “latest blog” file in word.
It is all about my struggle with depression over the last few months.
I realised today when I sat down to start writing again properly that none of that was ever finalised and put into this blog.
So for all the people out there with depression, and for those who love people with depression these posts are for you.
As the week progresses, more posts will go up, and they will be numbered, from earliest (furthest in the past) to most recent to make it easier to keep track.
I hope that they help you see light and hope, and possibility. Because even if it can’t be seen now, it is there, and you WILL find it. You just have to stick it out today. Tomorrow will come.

I am what I would describe as a “maintenance phase” with my depression.
Every winter I get lower in mood, and every few years when all the shit collides at the same time, my ability to keep it at a “controllable level” is lost.
This has been one of those years, and this is the first winter with severe depression AND blogging.
To keep things functional and interesting and still blog about things I really care about has been a challenge.
On one hand, I haven’t blogged regularly, so I’ve sort of failed.
On the other hand, I haven’t lowered my standards, gone off the rails, or allowed topics to overwhelm me or my life.

I’m going to call it a win at this point.

Also on the winning side of the coin... My partner who has also experienced depression has the most wonderful gift.
Every time he looks at me he sees ME.
Me with a cold sometimes.
Me with PMS sometimes.
And at the moment, me with depression.
But always the primary focus is me.
That alone will make this winter a million times easier. One of the biggest challenges for me when I am struggling with depression is that the voice in my head isn’t really mine anymore and I sort of fail to see myself.
If I can see even the tiniest glimpse of who I REALLY am, even if it is just in his eyes, I won’t forget her, and I won’t give up.
Because I’m worth fighting for.
As are you.

We need your genius.

Someone I love very much had a long chat with me last night. (Online typing, since I’ve lost my voice!). Shall I give her an awesome-sauce nick-name?
How about Kick-ass? She wrestles better than any of the guys I know!
She is also one of the most vivacious, energetic, cheeky young women I have had the pleasure to know. (And I’m not just saying that because she will be reading this!)
This is sort of a lead-on from a post I wrote a while back, which was basically a letter in combination to my 15 year old self, my cousin, a friend with an eating disorder, and the idea was inspired by watching Kick-Ass play around with food on a visit we had.
At the time I didn’t know if there was anything going on or not. She called me and asked if the post was about her and I explained that I had been concerned about some stuff but it wasn’t only about her.
Yesterday she chose to open up that she had an eating disorder in the past.
This scared the hell out of me because I feel totally unqualified to be a proper mentor for this sort of thing. I’m the only person she has chosen to share this with.
From experience, the mental state of self hating and body dysmorphia sticks around for years longer than the actual “eating disorder behaviour". This is the HUGEST frustration for me; not least because of that Kick-Ass is actually stunningly beautiful and always has been captivating looking.
No-one should be wasting their youth, strength and fun years feeling less than perfect. No-one should struggle to see something they like in the mirror.
No-one should feel uncomfortable about gaining weight out of fear that people will not like/love/ find them as attractive as they used to.
Kick-Ass is brilliant and independent already and she has so much strength of will. She will be able to get herself back on track in a good relationship with her body; I just want to provide some resources to undo the message that has been banged into her by the main stream media.

So here is what I want.
She has been surrounded by teen media and all the drivel that goes along with that.

Give us some linky love to your favourite body/women positive you tube hits and blog posts.
Give us some words of wisdom that have helped you in your recovery and personal growth.
Give us some resources available in Australia for young people.
Give us your love and understanding.

So give it up ladies and gentlemen, lay it on us.
Much love,
Scuba Nurse and Kick-Ass.

"I hope you raise boys"

I was at a hospital yesterday, and stepped aside to allow a middle aged woman and her father in a wheel chair through the door before me.
The woman paused to thank me for my “gentlemanly manners” and hollered at me “I hope you raise boys”.
At first I was like “is she THREATENING me?”
‘I hope you raise boys’ doesn’t have the greatest connotation for me being that my brother was SUCH a shit to raise for my Mum and Dad. (I now know he reads this so I hope he gets a thrill from the notoriety if the nausea from my previous post hasn’t killed him!)
Once I got over the paranoia, that moment really touched my heart. What a lovely compliment. The most influential role a woman will have in an individual’s life is as a mother, and to wish me the honour because she thought I would do well both terrified and thrilled me.

That same evening, having had a rough day, I was heading home to a lonely house when I thought I would pop in and see friends of mine who have transitioned from the equivalent of colleagues with our involvement in community activities, to feeling like family.
If I’m ever feeling overwhelmed by the world I head to their place with three kids and more love to spare. There are always cuddles to be had, great conversation, an open door, and SO many toys to play with. Plus the kids love hearing stories and I love reading them. Heaven.
So I turn up there in the middle of mayhem hour (you know it mums and dads!) and they welcome me with open arms and plonk their littlest guy in my arms and ask me if I want to be a godmother.
I had just squashed a butterfly with my car and was convinced I was bad voodoo.
As I started crying with the overwhelming emotions of it all, Godbaby decided to join in.
I’m sure we were a delightful picture. Runny eyes and scrunched up red faces both of us.

The answer was yes and then I paused and looked at them.
“But I’m an atheist. Does that make me exempt?”

Apparently I still qualify on account of my coolness, storytelling abilities, and the fact that they want ‘a role model who will be involved with their family for a long long time.’
Oh crap, now I’m crying again.

One of my top twenty life moments.
Now, all I have to do is figure out what this gig is about...

A letter to the girl I love.

To the most beautiful Girl in the world.

I admired photos of you in your hospital bassinette and wished your Mum still lived in NZ so I could hold you.
I doted on snippets of news about your development as your personality evolved.
Your first joke was as crap as mine, but your humour has developed to the most wonderful brilliant wit.
I love hearing about your school accomplishments and your plans for a future so full of potential.

You had us all wrapped around your little finger from the minute we met you.
And you still do.

This has nothing to do with how you look or looked.
Or your weight, BMI or size.

It was your charm, and brilliance, and exploration of the world around you that had us captivated.
More recently it is your constant seeking of learning, your hard work in your sport and fitness goals, and your clever humour.
Mostly it is your openness and the love that you return to ours.

That openness feels like it has slipped away a little...

Do you think that because you bake for those you love they don’t notice that you have stopped licking the bowl?

Do you think commenting on family member’s food choices so they feel inferior and judged is enough to stop the eventual loving questions about your health?

Do you think that I didn’t play the same games with food fads and claiming to be vegan to avoid notice that once you remove all the “disallowed ingredients” that there is nothing else left?

Do you think that wandering around eating fruit at meal times claiming not to be hungry enough to eat the meal then is enough for me not to notice that you never got around to eating that meal at all?

I know because I once was you. Developing quicker than I could cope with. Having to quit competitive swimming because my bust was so big it was a disability even though my weight was below acceptable levels
I had the same fears, dreams, hopes and I remember the terror of the worst thing that can possibly happen to a woman.
Getting fat.

I pretty much qualify as overweight now.
And you know what?
It doesn’t matter.

I am as respected as I have ever been.
My career and finances are at a lifetime peak.
I have a wide ranging life and friendships.
I am in a long term relationship.
My weight does not limit my activity in sports, action adventure, dancing, sex, or socialisation.

When you strip it all away, the only person that it matters if it bothers is ME.
And it is my Choice to be bothered or not by it.

The sooner you stop judging your-self and others negatively by their diets and weight, the sooner you can embrace the stuff that DOES matter, and continue you development into the wonderful woman you will become.

You are right on the cusp of something big.
Choose your priorities and direction carefully because there is a fine line between “looking after yourself” and self harm.

I will always love you.
Always.



This video was found on Rachel Hansen’s site and I really admire the work she is doing as a mentor to young women. Thanks for your hard work Rachel.

Dear Nan

Dear Nan,

When I was little you sneaked me sweets when Mum told you not to.
At school you put my scribbled pictures on the fridge.
You framed my terrible school photos and put them in pride of place, even when I complained that they were Uuuuuuuuuuugly.
When we came for holidays you were always out at the driveway by the time we got out of the car. Always so excited to see us again, no playing cool for you!
You used to hold me on your lap and whisper that I was your favourite, and I know you did it for all us grandkids. We love you for it.
When I became a stroppy teen you loved me anyway.
You made cocktail shaker jokes when you were diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and taught me bravery.
You came and saw my shows, good and bad, and always clapped the loudest and cheered the longest.
You listened to me bitching about my Mother, and told me although Mum didn’t ‘get me’ I still needed to respect her.
When your health went downhill, you told me you would be fine. And you were.
Whenever I succeeded at anything I called you first to tell you the news, and you were so excited.
When I didn’t, you were just as proud and boasted about my less obvious talents.
When I was at uni and I failed a paper, I spent a long time hiding it from you, so as not to disappoint. When you finally found out your response was “well that is ridiculous – they must have made it far too difficult.”
When my grandad died, we grieved together and you explained how it would be cruel to keep him with us longer.
When I met a man, you respectfully let them into the family, and when I broke up with them you whispered that you knew he wasn’t good enough for me.
When I met this man, you whispered that he might be.
When you got sick again, you tried to see the positives, and enjoy the good times, and showed me that just because life is dramatic, you don’t have to make it a drama
At all times you have been on my side, by my side.

It seems greedy after a lifetime of love to ask for more.
But can you just stick around a little longer?

I want you to be here when I get back from overseas next week.

I want you at my wedding, to help me get dressed, and nag me about putting on weight like usual.
I want you to tell me my first baby is beautiful – even if they have hair like mine.
I want you to see my brother and sister find their loves.

I want you to be here.

Character building isn’t just a cliché.

Kids aren’t resistant. They don’t miss stuff; they don’t always bounce back from loss and grief. Don’t be naive. Their experiences in childhood will shape them.
But negative experience building character isn’t just a cliché.

I’ve re-written the first bit of this paragraph about four times.
I don’t want to undermine the importance of the people who are a part of the loss I experienced in my youth. I also don’t want to use their stories in order to strengthen my own point of view. Their lives and deaths were their own, and should stay that way.
Let’s just say that before I was a teen we lost a lot of friends and family to accidents, cancer, and illness.
Not all of them were older. Some were younger than I was.
There was a hangover from this and it is not until I became an adult I realised my ideas of life, death and assumptions about what life will bring are not necessarily the norm.

Stuff that I do that some other people don’t.

Assume the worst if the land line rings after 9pm. – My family never calls each other at night because they know the palpitations it gives us.

Know the process when someone calls and says they are on the way to the hospital:
Call next of kin and tell them you will pick them up if applicable. (No-one freaked out should be driving)
Pack toiletries, pyjamas, bottled water, juice, muesli bars, and any meds that the person needs into a bag.
Grab coins and cash for parking
Stop at the petrol station and pick up some phone cards for recharging the patient/ family member’s cell.
Take a book, bottle of water and some sort of food for yourself.

Assume if someone gets sick enough to go to hospital that there is a risk of it being a really bad sign of things to come.

I know that if a doc says you have a 20% chance that is what it means. It doesn’t mean you are in the “miracle” category and the 20% thing doesn’t count for you.

That if a doctor says “hmm we need to take more tests”, it’s not a good thing.

That just because someone is young and cute doesn’t mean they are guaranteed passage through to adulthood without illness or injury.

That people don’t have to attend a funeral /tangi, and may not want to, and that is ALWAYS ok.

Needless to say, I assume that everyone else has had a wealth of experience with grief by the time they get to 30.

Someone was trying to tell me the other night what he thought “the appropriate” grieving period and process was for a particular situation. I had to explain to him that grief doesn’t come at your convenience, and there are no rules and regulations for what is “normal.”
A mother may never stop memorialising their lost child’s birthday. Or she may choose never to acknowledge it. It’s up to her. She is the only person in her position, just as the father of that child will also have his own process.
This difference in process is therein the issue.

I get really sick of people telling me I look surprisingly good or sound surprisingly calm when I call in on bereavement leave, or tell them about bad news. I get even sicker of people expecting me to hit a “get over it” time line by a certain point – always allocated by them.
It is worse when it is someone you love. I sincerely hope that when I am next bereaved my partner will let me grieve on my time, my way, with their support, and without being judged.
My ex didn’t even attend my much beloved grandfather’s funeral with me.
My grandfather didn’t notice.
I did, and that is what is important - those left behind.

I was going to leave it at that, but I’m going to get into some stuff to help cope while you are getting through the roughest patches if you are here from a Google search on grief, and don’t want to just hear me whinge.

Don’t ignore or bury your feelings. Screw what else is going on, do what YOU need to do.
If you feel like going kayaking for 6 solid hours, or beating the shit out of your friends in a sports game go for it (true story, and it was AWESOME).
If you feel like smiling and hugging and talking at the funeral, do it. There are no rules, as long as you also respect how other people feel.
Feeling alone and often angry or sullen is to be expected, just give clear boundaries, and find a way to get the space you need, without attacking or hurting those who may want to cling.
Communicate your feelings. Sometimes just saying “I’m angry ” will make you feel a bit better, even if it is a “bad” feeling. And chances are someone else will feel the same way.
Learn and understand the stages so you can recognise what you may be going through, and allow yourself to transition through the process.

With all of this stuff the biggest thing is, don’t try and do it alone.
If you are afraid of burdening friends, use 7 and call a different one each day.
If you are living with a partner, allocate a time to be negative but have a clear stop point and go for a walk or something nice after you have gotten out of that head space.
There is nothing wrong with paying a therapist so you can talk through things, without feeling like a burden. (nb feeling like a burden and being one are different, friends like to support!)

Grief is not a timeline from horrible to A-Ok. It is a rollercoaster.
My personal rollercoaster goes a bit like this... get plenty of good stuff done in the first two days, melt down, perk up, melt down, start having normal weeks where I don’t think about things then all of a sudden a smell, or something random (one time a Lego boat) sets me off back to an evening of sobbing uncontrollably unable to breath, feeling like my heart is breaking again.
Slowly but surely I start putting the missing person, or part of my life (in the case of my injuries) into a category of something like a treasure. Where I can control how I view them. I wait until I have the time to pull them out of the safe place I store them and hold them gently in my hands and admire them. I look at them from all angles, and take the time to acknowledge that I miss them, but I’m ok without them.
And you have to congratulate yourself when you reach that point, because you are awesome for getting there, no matter how short, or long a time it takes.

Grieving a child - A new resource for families experiencing loss.

Note: the base details of this write up were taken from the details of an interview with the Bay of Plenty Times.

I want to thank Liz, primarily for writing this incredible book, and also for allowing me to write this, I hope this will help market the book and allow the community to know about this new resource.
Please pass the word around. As activists in various different women’s interest
groups we are ideally set to pass the word around.

************************************************************************

It is not often that a book comes out, and I want to;
A) Get it NOW
B) Buy multiple copies for my friends.

Recently I got a wee note from a friend of mine who wanted to let people know that his sister has written a book.
*sigh*
The number of books I have read because I know the author, and then wished I had that couple of hours back...
This is different.

For a start it is a book written to help families cope with bereavement and the process of a stillbirth.
Liz Tamblyn has self-published 300 copies. She hopes the book will be a valuable tool for people working with children dealing with grief .

Secondly Liz is the author and it is written in first person perspective, but
not hers...
The book is called Baby Sam and is in the voice of Baby Sam’s big brother Jack, who was 4 when Sam was stillborn.
Liz wrote the story soon after Sam's death four years ago.
"A lot of it is Jack's words. I read it to him seven or eight times and he corrected the bits I got wrong."
There are not too many times in your life you remember minute to minute. The day you realise your child is gone is one of those moments.

Sam was six days overdue when a check-up discovered that he had died. Liz had felt him moving just the day before.
She knew about stillbirth through her cousin’s experience 14 years before her, and what she had seen in the media, but nothing can prepare you for this.
What Liz’s book does help with is the process after. Grief, the experience of mourning as a family unit and the ways of remembering a child lost.
“The book tells how the family celebrated Sam's life with a special dance at his funeral and by releasing red balloons. Jack and his younger sister Sally received presents from Sam and had a birthday cake with a train on it to mark his birthday.”

This really hit home for me; we celebrated my friend’s son’s 18th birthday a few years back though he died quite soon after his 4th. The first birthdays were filled with the weight of grief, raw and unhealed. In contrast his 18th Birthday was a picnic on the grass; we each laid flowers on his grave and had our own private moments with him before joining the group for what was definitely a celebration. A celebration of his life and his family’s since his loss.

No one grieves the same way, or uses the same coping mechanisms, and so any resource to help support a child through a healthy and natural process of loss is highly relevant.
The BOP times reported that this is the only book on baby loss from the sibling’s perspective, which Liz has kindly let me know is incorrect.
In her words...
“There is another book put out by Skylight NZ, SIDS Wellington and Sands Wellington called "What Happened to Baby" (Which I highly recommend!). It is generic and could be any baby, for any reason at any age or gestation. The text has been carefully designed to fit a wide range of bereavement situations, including miscarriage, stillbirth, cot death and accidental or natural deaths of an infant or toddler. Ours is the only TRUE and PERSONAL story I have found on the subject.”
Liz who is also mum to Harry and Sally, found writing the book was extremely healing and therapeutic.
"It's almost like his life has left a legacy of helping other people through their grief. It's like a new purpose in my life, which I would never have had. I'd rather have him if I had the choice but I have to find the good things."

Mrs Tamblyn is a committee member for Sands, a support group for “families grieving the loss of a baby no matter the gestation or age or reason for death. (Not just stillbirth and newborn death).”

The book was officially launched at a private function in Tauranga last week.

To buy Baby Sam, email babysam@tamblyn.co.nz or visit www.skylight.org.nz.

Not A Morning Person.

For quite some time there has been a war going on in our home.

It has creeps up on me throughout the week, and on the weekend the battle intensifies.

As a little background... I am NOT a morning person.
It’s not that I am unpleasant once I wake (I don’t think so anyway), or that I don’t like mornings.
It’s simply that I genuinely struggle to wake up, and stay awake.



Generally if I can stagger upright I’m good to go, but keeping my eyes open and remembering to breath deeper so I can stand is sometimes a bit of a problem.

This comes to the great amusement of my full-time bed buddy (I really must think of a proper name to call him on here).
He seems to find it great fun to try to wake me up, and is totally amazed by my capacity to have interactive conversations which I then have absolutely no recollection of once I actually wake up.

So far he has tried being bossy and trying to MAKE me get up, stealing the blankets, going on about how “lovely the day is”, leaving the curtains open, talking at me, cuddling, turning the radio on... Even made me breakfast in bed!
All to no avail.



The poor man loves to get up and go in the morning, and doesn’t have a whole lot of excess time to waste waiting around for me to get my ass into gear, so it must be frustrating.

This morning he learnt a new trick.

I was doing my usual hit snooze trick when he started chatting to me.
I obliged by pretending to listen and mumbled intermittently when he paused for a response.
He then left the room and went downstairs.

I heard his feet receding off into the distance and relaxed back into my pillow.

From downstairs I heard his voice loudly proclaim –
“OH WOW!”

I went racing downstairs thinking there was hail outside, or something equally interesting to see.

Nope.
He just finally figured my strongest motivator...

Not greed, or shame, or self will, or love for him;

Just sheer curiosity!!

Me 12, He 1
However I think the war was just won.
Damn.

What is this thing called Love?

“L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you can adore
Love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it
Take my heart and please don't break it
Love was made for me and you.”

I’m not a particularly romantic woman; I will pass on the flowers and take practical help.
Skip the compliments and have someone who will stand by my side when the going gets rough.
Screw presents - I want that man who is the one person in any room that I want to spend the whole time with because we never tire of learning more about each other.
Don’t bother whispering sweet nothings... I would rather have a man who lets me speak my mind, and still stands up for their own beliefs and ideas.
I don’t want empty posturing in front of the lads, but someone strong enough to give me my freedom, and not abuse theirs.
I don’t need someone strong enough to carry me over the threshold, but someone strong enough to trust me to hold their heart in my hands and not crush it in my rush to live life ‘my way’.

The lyrics are “L-O-V-E” Originally Nat King Cole’s song; one of my favourite songs in the world when sung by Natalie Cole.

Please don’t misunderstand this posting; anyone who knows me knows I’m lucky enough to be dating a true romantic who is very sweet. My lack of romanticism should not reflect on him.