Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner

Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
There was a lot of things I loved about this book, and a lot of things I hated.

Pros:

- The fact that the heroine did find love, at her size, and that she had love before. Also that she had friends, and a successful life, and many of the things she wanted. She wasn’t waiting to lose weight before having a life.

- The honest body talk. Cannie talks about her body in the same way most every other person does. Even though she is on the smaller size of being “fat”, she still sees herself as this horrific creature who doesn’t deserve love or happiness because she’s fat. It was great to mention the white elephant in the room.

- Cannie was honest about why she wanted to lose weight, why she needed to lose weight. It was only because she wasn’t attractive according to the world as she saw it. She wasn’t acceptable to herself and felt unacceptable to everyone else. It wasn’t this hiding behind being healthy crap.

- The doctor was honest about the weight loss. He admitted that the medical world doesn’t know what makes a body fat or thin, yet they still push this archaic idea of calories in and calories out. He admitted that even with medicine and surgery, the ability to change a person’s body is unknown and it is very unlikely any weight lost will stay off. He also didn’t preach, mostly, about healthy related illnesses which the medical community claim to be caused by obesity.

- Cannie was smart, witty, and Jewish. I love that her mother was queer, and that the family was a little dysfunctional but still loving. I thought the characters were well fleshed out and surprising in some ways. I also liked the way that Cannie didn’t mind talking about being fat. Even though it wasn’t in a positive light, she still talked about it. And not in hushed voices like someone would say cancer, she was really willing to bust out with it.

- There was no glamorization of Cammie’s unhealthy weight loss. She wasn’t praised and the doctor specifically said she needs to eat.

- The ex-boyfriend was/is still in love with our heroine.

Cons:

- Completely unbelievable. A fat journalist just happens to find herself in a situation to become bosom buddies with a movie star that whisks her off to vacation and buys her furniture after one bonding experience. Puh-lease.

- Standard white middle class privileged problems. The lack of heterosexual marriage, having a baby out of wedlock, the whole coming to turns with that and how childbirth makes everything worthwhile. It’s the same played out story. Plus it went way off into the fantasy spotlight when Cannie’s screenplay hit big and everyone lived happily ever after.

- She is still in the lower side of the fat spectrum. I don’t consider a 14-18 being anything to bat eyelashes at.

- I also find the boldness of Cannie to talk about her fat a little off-putting as well. I think this is due to the fact she is so depressing and self-deprecating. Of course, that’s what makes her wry wit so good, however it can get old as well. This goes on both sides of the list for me.

View all my reviews.

The Inner Fat Hater

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have an inner fat hater. This is not a voice which tells me how unacceptable I am, nor that I shouldn’t eat what I do. It is not a voice that tells me I’m ugly, or worthless, or shameful. No, it’s much worse than that. It’s a voice that tells me everything negative the world thinks about me. It reminds me, constantly, that while I may be okay with who I am and there are others who may be okay with it as well, most of the population still judges me based on my fat. As I’ve gotten more and more into the fat acceptance movement, I find myself trying to share the knowledge I’ve accumulated. I try to offer up the tidbits of science, research, theory, philosophy, etc., that I’ve picked up along the way. It isn’t much, but I offer it with whole heart. Yet I feel defeated before the words are even spoken, because no one is going to take a fat person seriously.

If I tell someone I don’t eat citrus fruit, because I hate the taste, my inner fat hater is quick to tell me that person is thinking “of course you hate fruit, you’re fat!”

If I tell a fellow classmate that there is no scientific data to support the fact that being fat is detrimental to one’s health, the inner fat hater smirks and reminds me my classmate isn’t listening because “of course a fat person would say that.”

When I stand up and try to speak out about fat discrimination, my inner fat hater tells me that no one cares because “fat people are just trying to justify their weak willpower and laziness.”

In my Women’s Studies class we talk about finding friends, partners, lovers, etc., which go against gender roles and the traditional ideals in order to break boundaries and make change. I want to tell everyone about my husband, and how I actively sought someone who did those things and who would accept me and want to make our lives ours without society’s standards dictating them. Yet I don’t, because my inner fat hater tells me “Yeah, but you’re fat” as though it discredits my being, and then adds any number of things such as “you would only be able to get married if you found someone who wasn’t a ‘real’ man” or “you’re lucky to even find a mate”.

Needless to say, I really hate this inner fat hater. I feel as though it takes self-sabotage to a whole other level. It is difficult to project confidence, whether real or pretend, when there is a voice whispering all the hateful things people say about fatties. It is hard to be full of conviction when speaking about facts concerning being fat and healthy when the inner fat hater’s voice is louder than one’s own. It is nearly impossible to make a believer our of others, when one cannot even convince the inner fat hater.

Do you have an inner fat hater? How do you quiet its voice?

Chelsea Lately Guest “Ruby”

There has been some discussion throughout the FA community about the show Ruby on the Style Network. I haven’t watched the show, nor do I want to. I don’t think I’m ready to face that kind of message, being so new to the FA world. However, Ruby’s interview with Chelsea bothered me, especially when it came to the discussion of her boyfriend.

Apparently Ruby’s boyfriend from the show dumped her because she was unable to lose weight. Ruby went on to say that she doesn’t blame him because men are more partial to the physical, they can’t help it and that’s the way they’re born, and so her boyfriend couldn’t get over the physical. She also states women are more nurturing. It seems like the Style Network went out and found the most accurately media-defined woman and gave her a show. What do I mean by accurately media-defined woman? I mean the women that are portrayed in every television show, book, movie, and newspaper article. It’s the woman who is completely convinced that the world’s “truths” are absolute and has never considered to question otherwise. It’s the woman who has been trained to fit the universal gender role, and thinks this is the way it is supposed to be. It is the woman who hasn’t even considered accepting herself for who she is but instead believes in fitting in at all costs. It’s just sad folks.

Ruby really does seem like a lovely person. She comes across, in the interview at least, as sweet, loving, and caring. Yet, I can’t help but wonder how much of that is really her and how much of that is what she thinks she’s supposed to be. I don’t know about anyone else, but when a person has such a large part of herself defined by other people, it makes me very suspicious. I also wonder if she’s exhibiting those traits as a way to make up for how much she weighs. This thought really breaks my heart. Perhaps it was because only a short while ago I was extremely similar to this woman. I was ashamed about my weight and would have done anything to get rid of it. While I had learned to appreciate some of my untraditional beauty, there wasn’t more than a second that went by when I wouldn’t have traded it in to look like Pam Anderson or Angelina Jolie. What I wouldn’t give to be able to just put that first inkling of self-acceptance in these women’s heads. I wish I could be the spark. I understand truly how empowering that spark can be.

So I’m thinking about starting an email campaign for Ruby. I encourage everyone to go to her blog and leave information about FA and Intuitive Eating. Go to the show message boards and share information about Health at Every Size. However, please remember to be extra special polite. We are likely going to face a lot of resistance and debate, and possibly even some trolls. I do not support fighting fire with fire though. I believe in non-violent communication and resistance, which means do not respond to snark with snark, leave sarcasm out of your discussion posts, and ignore any intentional bullying. Stick to the fact, stick to being supportive and helpful, and don’t waste your time arguing with people who honestly don’t care what you have to say they just want to discredit you.

I think this is a great opportunity to share our FA with people who likely haven’t been exposed. Ruby has great charisma, and she can relate to the general population of woman out there. The same women we want to reach with our message of hope, love, and acceptance.

After Thanksgiving Wears Off

The holiday season at my house, as I suspect is the same for most all families, is filled with negative body talk. I think now that I am more aware of the misconceptions concerning being fat, it’s easier for me to not immediately resort to shame when someone talks about their body. It also makes me sad though, because I want to share my new insights with my family members (we’re female majority) but I know they are simply not ready to acknowledge anything besides what they think they already know. This isn’t just assumption on my part, I’ve actively tried to talk to them, share links and research and what not, but was shut down several times. In one conversation, to give an example, my Aunt responded to the statistics and information I provided concerning WLS surgery with “I think it’s supposed to teach people how to eat right”. That took me by surprised and as I explained that WLS actually deprives the body of nutrients and causes starvation, they looked at me and then went on to talk about how WLS is really great. (Does anyone else notice their need to justify why they have formed the conclusions they have about things, especially family and friends?)

My older cousin ran around insisting people feel her bicep and stomach muscles, exclaiming how much energy she’s had lately since she’s started ADD medicine. It’s been so wonderful, she states, because it makes her not want to eat so she’s lost 11 pounds. I think to myself, isn’t that what speed does too? Is she really ADD (she’s 27, and the story goes she told her doctor she needed it and he prescribed it without any tests) or simply using the legal capitalist way to take drugs in that eternal struggle to be thin? This same cousin states she will not be seen without high heels because she doesn’t want to be considered short. I wonder when being short became a faux pas. Then she lead a 30 minute discussion with our younger cousins, age ranging between 22 and 15, about what they can do to “get healthy” and lose weight.

The saddest part of this whole ordeal is my 15-year-old cousin. She made an entrance into the celebration all dressed up, wearing one of those fancy, puffy dresses they wear now and three inch heels. I know I struggled between telling her she looked beautiful, to make her feel secure in herself, and making comments on the horrors of high heels and feeling one has to dress up and wear “the right thing” in order to fit in and be accepted. She’s impressionable, and I want to help her learn to be comfortable in her own skin. Of course, I have no idea how to relate to a 15-year-old and struggle with my own self-esteem issues. Anyhow, the first words out of my grandmother’s mouth was “you look pregnant”. The alarm bells went off, because pregnant equals fat equals horror and death. The rest of the celebration my cousin made comments about how she eats, what she looks like, etc. I honestly didn’t know what to say. I’m not sure if she has unhealthy issues with her weight, to the point where it should be troubling, or if it’s just the level we’ve all come to regard as normal (which is terrifying in and of itself). Not only that, but I would really love to see her get to a point where she doesn’t have any issues at all. I’m not really sure what to do about the whole situation. I’m rather reserved as a whole, so it’s not like we’re close, and I’m just not sure if she would take anything I have to say seriously, especially when the rest of the world is talking over me. It’s hard enough as a teenager to go against one’s peers, but to go against the world seems impossible.

Overall, I am fairly proud of how I handled the comments about eating too much, or exercising, or being fat, or being lazy. I didn’t watch what I ate: if I wanted something, I partook. I didn’t call myself fat or say anything self-deprecating disguised as humor. When others were talking about weight and body image, I just kept quiet and mentally reminded myself of what I learned through Fat Acceptance. I think it also helped that my husband was there and I could always look over at him and know he was thinking the same thing about those comments and conversations. The next couple of days, I did struggle with feeling fat and thinking about dieting and just feeling wrong. I think I am perking up from that, and I am trying not to be too hard on myself for those feelings because after the onslaught it is only natural to expect some of those old emotions to rise up.

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.

Being attracted to a Fattie…

is like being in a sexually suggestive position with a primate, and discovering a dismembered arm is handcuffed to your own. At least according to this gem on the YouTube scene:

YouTube was not the first place I’ve seen this video. It was sent to me as one of those forwarded joke e-mails (you know the ones, they’re mixed in with the chain letters and the I LOVE JESUS! and if you don’t forward this to 12 people in 10 seconds then you’ll burn in hell) from my closest family member. Of course, this family member is adamant they meant no harm with spreading this video of fat hate and was simply “joking” and I “shouldn’t be so sensitive”.

I have no idea why these three videos were put together. They obviously didn’t start out that way, the first (and the one demonstrating fat phobia) was a beer commercial from another culture. The other two being IBC root beer commercials. Obviously they really have nothing to do with each other. Yet someone, somewhere felt that they had a direct correlation to one another. Since, you know, waking up in a strange bed, in a strange place, handcuffed is perfectly fine until one finds out that they slept with a FAT PERSON!!!111!!!eleventy one!!!

I Want to Get Away

I just joined in the fat acceptance movement a couple of months ago. Well, I’m not sure I would officially declare my membership, since I’m still learning and do more reading then actual activist work, but I am definitely walking down that road. This means, however, that every day I have to wake up and prepare myself for a fight. Whether it’s battling against the self-hatred I’ve been conditioned with, the scorns of strangers I pass on the street, medical professionals if I am sick, or even family and friends who are “only trying to help and want me to be healthy and happy”.

Of course I’m no stranger to fighting the world. I faced years of abuse from my parents, I grew up in poverty, I have severe depression that keeps me from working, I deeply believe in freedom and adhere to the principle that people should mind their own fucking business when it comes to another’s life choices. I was brought up in a world that says everything about me is wrong. I do not fit in socially accepted gender roles, I do not want children, I wilt in a traditional education forum and the idea of being tied to a repetitive job every day kills my soul. These are the things I was told to expect out of life. This is where I come from. Mileage will vary for everyone, but I think there is a lot of common ground to create understanding. Knowing how different I was from what I was told life is makes me wonder how I ever managed to ascribe to the mentality that fat is wrong. That, essentially, one is better off being dead then being fat. Now that I am trying to be a part of the movement though, I wonder if it’s simply due to the fact that it was something I didn’t have to fight with everyone about.

If a doctor lectures me about my weight and health I can simply accept it and move on with what I’m doing. If my grandmother encourages me to have weight loss surgery, I can take to heart that she cares about me and file the comments away. I can handle my own self-hatred because it’s easy. It’s easier, to me, to just accept these stereotypes people have regarding my weight then to build another wall.

I really admire fat activists, hell, I admire any activist. They do things I could never imagine myself doing. They speak so poignantly and with such passion. It’s amazing and for a long time I thought that was the kind of person I would want to be. Always fighting for what’s right. Now I’m at a time in my life where I’m sick of fighting. I no longer want to build walls, or depend on the walls I already created, but instead want to focus on tearing them down. This feeling makes me feel like a traitor to the movement. Not only to other fatties or fat acceptance believers, but to women, folks who come from below the poverty line and those who suffer from mental illness. In actuality I feel like a traitor to everyone because I’m simply not strong enough to stand up and fight for those like me.

Despite my encouragement to friends and associates to be strong and love themselves and keep their chins up, when I lay in bed at night I still cry and pray to God to make me thin and beautiful. Sometimes when I’m home alone I look up WLS and see how much it would cost, how it will change my life. For many years I wouldn’t even consider WLS because of how barbaric it was. The diet one has to go on after the surgery is akin to an eating disorder, not to mention it’s another way doctors get to play God. Yet when I’m alone I daydream about having the surgery and being accepted again, knowing once I was thin I could walk out into the world and not have to constantly be on guard for malicious comments. Of course, in this perfect world I’ve created where I’m thin and beautiful, people don’t make mean comments. Thin women are never attacked or belittled or left feeling the world would be a better place if they dead. So you can see I’m completely rational during this time.

So I am a closeted self-hating fattie. I’m tired of fighting the world. I love the progress the fat acceptance movement is making, the fact there is actual research coming out that says fatties aren’t lazy, walking time bombs as a whole, but I’m not sure I am able to hang in there and be an FA soldier. Intellectually I know something is wrong with my thinking, as mentally beating one’s self up over the fact they aren’t disciplined enough to actually become anorexic is chalked with all sorts of warning bells, but that doesn’t change the fact every night I beg God to make me thin. It’s something I’ve done every night since I was 8 and my mother told me I couldn’t go to dance class anymore because the teacher thought I was too fat.

If I could just be thin it would be one less thing to worry about. It would be one less thing holding me back in life. If I could only be thin then I could let go of all the hurtful comments and the memories of being ostracized. If I could just be thin then people would no longer laugh in my face for being different and wanting to be successful in life, instead they would applaud my effort and give me a hand up. If only I could be thin…