A Look Into the Past (The Fat Kid)

Going through some of my childhood things, my grandmother ran across a school project I did in 1992. That would make me around nine years old. Some people may find things like this a treasure or comfort. It still breaks my heart to this very day. There are several things contained within this project, labeled “My Biography”, but I’ll stick with the ones that focus on body image and childhood neglect.

Within the first three pages of this project is a little questionnaire where we had to write about our favorite things and answer questions like “One of the best things about me” and “What is your favorite food”. The last question says “Twenty years from now I hope I” and I filled in “look like a model”. Another statement given was “If I could change one thing about myself, I would change” and I remarked with “my looks”. Another page poses the question “I wish my family would” and my nine-year-old response? Exercise more than we do. The next page reveals a cartoon person which, I assume, we kids were asked to fill in information about ourselves. Our likes, our looks, our goals, whatever came to mind. One of those things is “to lose weight” and another is “I act cool and dumb sometimes”, though the dumb sometimes it poorly erased.

It would seem with all I’ve learned concerning fat acceptance, and how the world feels they need to shame fat folks into being thin, and how everyone is filled with the notion that they should fit into some ideal beauty standard, seeing this type of thing in my past shouldn’t surprise me. Yet it does. I have cut out segments of my past, so the memories of these types of feelings aren’t vivid, but I can imagine. I picture my poor pudgy self feeling so isolated and alone, wishing only that someone would accept her, love her and find her beautiful. That poor little girl who tortures herself every time she eats, every time she meets someone new, every time she is called a name or messes up. A nine-year-old little girl with such low self-esteem and horrible body image that she is screaming out for someone to notice. No one did though. No one read this biography and told her she was beautiful, or smart, or wonderful. No one held her in their arms and promised everything would be okay.

This type of thing breaks my heart, and it angers me. I didn’t realize the “obesity plague” was so strong back then, though obviously it was, if not so well publicized. I can remember all my life my mother putting us all on one diet or another, discussing carb intake (I think she was ahead of time with that) and calories and how we should eat better. Of course, this was the same mother who taught me that “from scratch” meant from a box and fed me fast food at least four times a week. She always had a comment for fat people, and while never directly at me, it affected me. My father was much the same, while he didn’t worry about diets his constant objectification of a woman’s body (look at the tits on that one! I love a big ole butt! Your mother was built like a brick shithouse, that’s why I met her) told me loud and clear what I was worth.

Whenever some person or media outlet or doctor talks about shaming fat people into being thin, it makes me think back to this little girl. It makes me remember the deep sorrow and how those type of scars, while never seen, are even less likely to heal no matter how much time they’re given. I want to show the world this little girl, and every little girl like her, and ask them to sit down face-to-face with her and say they honestly believe that shame is needed. I want them to explain why she deserves to be mistreated, abused and beaten. I want to hear them justify the need to starve both her body and spirit. And then, then I want to puke in their mouths. I want to blacken their eyes and rip out their stone heart, in order to beat them over the head with it.

Yet I still can’t help but ask myself why. Why did these people not hear her shouts for help? Why did they not take notice of this girl, in her nine-year-old way, tell them she was miserable and hated herself. Why they didn’t read her essay about her family, specifically the way she described her mother (“She is 32 years old. She acts like she’s 50 years old. I told her that it’s not that bad.”), and think to themselves “My, there must be some problem here, perhaps we should extend a kind hand”. Of course, that would mean telling the fat, unruly kid that it’s not her fault she is the way she is. That would mean admitting to the fact that fat is not the worst thing in the world and she doesn’t have to completely change who she is to be someone worth something. That would mean telling a mother that starving their child one minute, and then letting them eat a super-sized Big Mac Meal and large Oreo Blizzard is probably not healthy for that child’s growth. That would mean accepting themselves for who they are, so that they could accept a nine-year-old child who reminds them of themselves.

Reward Instead of Punishment

I have never really understood why our society teaches to punish bad behaviors, but not reward for the good. If someone does what they are supposed to, then they are ignored. There have been countless stories about children in this dynamic. The one child who makes good grades, stays out of trouble and lives life doing the right thing is overlooked while the child who doesn’t do quite as well in school, gets into trouble and makes mistakes has attention poured on them. Granted, this attention is usually negative but any attention is better than no attention. At least, that’s what most child psychologists will explain to exasperated parents. And as so many things in life, that which we learn as children carries over into our adult life.

In an ideal world, perhaps those who did the right thing wouldn’t need praise because there wouldn’t be so many negative aspects. However, let’s be realistic. The world isn’t ideal and the people who do the right thing are lessening all the time. I believe in rewarding people for doing what they’re supposed to do. I’m not sure where the idea that doing right means not receiving love and appreciation, but I would wager a guess it can be traces through religion (specifically Christianity), but that may just be my bias. Specifically…

I believe when a man does not beat his wife, he should be praised and appreciated. I’m sure everyone can agree that men have always been the dominant figure. They are taught to only show “strong” emotions, and never weakness like sadness, mercy, or sympathy. Men are taught that they must defend their home, their families, and their country. Men are taught that to be men they must take part in “man” activities which are often violent, such as contact sports and hunting. Men are encouraged to undervalue women, to not maintain committed long-term relationships, and to gratify their animalistic desires to procreate, dominate, and destroy. Thus, when a man realizes that what society teaches them is wrong, that they don’t have to resort to violence, or be “tough” or dominate, they deserve to be praised.

When parents don’t beat their children, they deserve to be recognized and appreciated. So many things go into this. Violence often comes from people who lack the ability to express themselves with words, and our society has a history of oppressing every emotion, especially those deemed “sinful”. People still have not learned to communicate, or how to not control. Parents are taught to see their children as property that they have to control and mold, like some sort of pet. Women were also forced into the role of motherhood, unable to use birth control to stop unwanted pregnancies or have abortions when mistakes happen. They were forced into marriage and taught that they weren’t people, but living incubators whose sole purpose was to create life and obey their husbands. Men were forced into the role of fathers and husbands, before they even reached maturity. See above point concerning men and violence. Another factor is parents were taught to discipline their children with violence, do we forget the phrase “spare the rod, spoil the child”? Therefore, when parents learn that they cannot control every aspect of their child and cannot beat these children into submission, they should be praised. When parents learn that the way they were raised, and the discipline they received was not the most healthy way, they should be praised. When they realize their parents were human, and made mistakes, and they should learn from these mistakes and try to find a better way to raise their children, they should be praised. When parents realize they need to use their words to express disappointment, pain, fear, uncertainty instead of violence, they should be praised. When women know they don’t have to be mothers, and instead are able to make an educated choice from desire and love, they should be praised. When people stop looking at having children as an unfortunate event, something that ruins their life, and ends all their dreams, they should be praised.

I could go on for pages. I could list the reasons why someone who owns their privilege should be praised, or a teenager who doesn’t succumb to peer pressure to have sex or do harmful drugs, or when people aren’t homophobic or racist or sexist should be praised. We all know the stereotypes. We have to look at the state of the world, and see that obviously “punish the sin” only mentality is not working. People are tired of feeling ashamed when they make a mistake and being ignored when they try to be good people. Folks are sick of being grouped in with the negative, and being called out and insulted when they try to stand up and disassociate themselves.

It has always been my policy in life to ignore those who do the horrible things, because no attention is worse than calling them out, and to lavish praise, appreciation and acceptance on those who do the right thing.

Disciplining Children

A very interesting post was made by Womanist Musings that I wanted to share here. I have also been a victim of child abuse, and my parent’s answer to anything was violence. I’ve seen more domestic violence in my life than I would ever wish on another being. I also agree that spanking and such violent disciplines do nothing with educating the child. I actually agree 100% with everything said in that blog post.

Nonetheless it got me thinking. While my grandmother doesn’t believe in violent discipline, we were always taught growing up that when a child is very young sometimes you have to show them their violence hurts, because they don’t have the cognitive ability to understand yet. This would be a period of time when the child is 5 years of age or younger. For instance, when a toddler bites another, then the parent/caretaker has to therefore bite the toddler to show them it hurts. Of course, it wouldn’t be in the same hard way. My grandmother describes it as doing it just enough, demonstrated by when the child responds by, say, opening their mouth as if to say “ow” or scrunches their brow, to let the child feel what they are doing. This makes sense to me in a lot of ways, but it also brings up other questions.

Now, I am child-free and have no desire to have them, but the constant demand of society for me, as a woman, to have children definitely makes me think about my skills and reactions if I were to become a parent. I am told that children do not react violently by themselves, it’s a learned reaction. However, I also have my doubts that a toddler has the ability to process such things. Therefore, for this post, I am assuming that a toddler reacts violently in situations, not due to having a learned behavior, but because it is an primal response before they learn how to use their words to communicate what they are feeling. So now the situation becomes that a parent or parents who do not believe in violence have a toddler which is reacting to being angry, upset, hurt by biting/kicking/smacking/etc. What is the proper way of teaching this toddler that violence is unacceptable? Is my Grandmother’s method a good way? Or does it perpetuate the violence? Since a toddler lacks the cognitive abilities to be able to understand the reasoning behind not doing these actions, and the benefits of using words (if they can even speak at this time), what else is left?

I am not attributing my Grandmother’s methods with child abuse, but it is an act of violence. It seems like this instance is of two wrongs, but I can’t put my finger on what the right is.

Invisible Diseases

Mental health is still a taboo subject in Western culture. Even though it is getting more coverage and gaining acceptance, those suffering from mental illness wake up every day preparing to fight. In cultures where it’s acceptable to question other people’s actions, opinions, and choices, as well as dictate how one can live their life, mental health is widely misunderstood. My therapist refers to depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses as “invisible diseases”. What one cannot see, they do not believe or understand. I’m not sure how the association escaped me for so many years, especially when the existence of God and the paranormal are so often brushed aside. I have never been so aware of the lack of understanding from people concerning my mental health until recently.

I have never been very active in the world. Most of my isolation was due to childhood abuse and socio-economic conditions. Now that I am married, and attempting to be out in the world, I lack a lot of the basic abilities most people enjoy. People terrify me, some days I am unable to get out of bed, I need a lot of down time to recoup from social outings, and I am so absorbed in my own head during most interactions that I spend most of my time alone, frustrated and confused. Thus, work is near impossible. Employers don’t look well upon people who call in several times a week, who break down into tears for no reason, and who don’t participate in office politics. So I am unemployed. Yet, nearly every day someone presents me with a new solution on how to get a job. Whether it be a new institute that is hiring, a suggestion of “just do it and you’ll feel better”, or questioning whether I want to be a “kept woman”, the consensus is that folks just don’t get it.

Thinking on this issue, as I tend to do a lot, I have realized that the separation I feel from society is largely due to my “invisible diseases” and people’s lack of understanding. I was abused and neglected as a child. It wasn’t until I started with my current therapist, at the age of 24, that I realized I was a victim of child abuse. She had said it in such a matter-of-fact manner, without judgment or uncertainty, I was stunned. At first I wanted to correct her, explain that while I had watched my parents fight and hurt one another they had never done so to me. I was never hit (aside from spankings, which were perhaps overly done during times due to young parent frustrations, that were all the rage when I was being brought up) or locked in dark closets when I was bad. I was never forced to drink soap or had a bone broken. Instead my spirit and heart were tormented.

Every day I was reminded that I would never be loved unconditionally, that I caused more problems then I was worth, that I would never amount to anything, and that I would never be able to do anything right. When these messages weren’t being drilled into my psyche, I might as well have not existed. I was not allowed to leave the house, or have outside activities. I quickly lost every friend I gained because my parents didn’t approve. My school participation was regarded without care, and no extracurriculars were allowed for numerous reason: we didn’t have money, I was too fat, I had no talent, I wasn’t attractive or friendly, I didn’t possess the right skills and I was able to learn, I didn’t make my parents believe I wanted it enough or I had forgotten to clean my room earlier in the week. It didn’t matter the reason really, the result was a life indoors with only the television for company.

I realize, now, that this is abuse. I spent years feeling I was simply crazy. There was something wrong with me. I couldn’t function in society because I was mentally insane, and therefore I was useless and deserved to die. I was not worth the air that I breathe. After all, my life wasn’t bad. I didn’t get abused (which in my mind constituted physical or sexual), I had food, I got to watch TV whenever I wanted, both of my parents were still around. Yes, I had watched the extensive domestic violence within my household for several years, but there are others who have seen so much, why then wasn’t I able to get past it? Insanity, pure and simple. Children are often given seminars about abuse, but these seminars focus on the sexual and physical side. The symptoms of mental and emotional abuse are never really addressed. Even teachers, doctors, social workers are taught in a way to focus on the sexual and physical side. Someone like me, who was abused in a very minority way, is left undetected and without help.

The realization that I am not crazy and I was abused is astonishing. I have hope for the first time in as long as I can remember. I feel like I can beat this thing. I was abused and now, with the right treatment, I will return as a functioning member of society. I no longer believe that I am unworthy, just that I lived in a world that taught me that I was, and slowly, but surely, I will start to see the truth beneath all the lies. Abuse of this caliber is just as crippling as physical or sexual, only people cannot use their eyes to see our scars. Instead, most of the time we suffer alone taking the responsibility and blame onto ourselves. We do not see someone who has risen from adversity or survived, but only someone who is wrong, shameful, and worthless. Not only do the people we encounter not understand our disease, we do not understand it. If one were in full body case, then others would not expect them to “do it anyway” if it hurt. One would not be told they are faking it, or to get over the anguish. The injured would be given understanding, acceptance, and plenty of time to heal. Those of us with “invisible diseases” have to remember that we are deserving of the same. Just because we cannot see the barriers, and others do not understand, does not mean we need or deserve anything less.