Personal history is not always kind. Better put, probably, to say that it is rarely kind. I think that this is why people hate so much. Isn’t it odd, for example, how people have the things that are necessary.
There is a woman with whom I work who weighs over four hundred pounds. She has diabetes, and she talks about sex a lot, and she refuses to wear a bra. She drinks two two-liters of soda a day – not diet. She has frequent spikes and dips in her insulin levels. She stands really close so that her stomach and breasts press against you.
Ask her if she has spoken to a dietitian, she says no. She does not hesitate to see her doctor, but a dietitian is a feared entity. He or she would probably tell her to say goodbye to soda and Cheetos, after all. There is also a fear there, a fear of hearing that she is doing the wrong thing. She has been told that a lot in her life, about the guys she dates and the way she manages her cash as well as the way she eats. (by the way, I am not a bitch, it is my job to help her and others problem solve.)
Ask her to step back or wear support garments, and again, she hates these things. An I understand that, but not wearing them is a barrier to other goals.
I thought about all of this while I searched for a strapless bra to wear beneath a tank top today. I used to weigh about three hundred pounds. Over three, actually. I don’t now, I weigh a nice one fifty, and no, no surgery here. Strapless bras pinch, they dig into flesh, but I love them anyway. Instead of hating the necessary, or the remotely necessary, I choose to love it.
That includes the ice bath I avoid after a long run, the time between sending work to an editor and getting a rejection notice, meetings at work, getting cussed out by angry consumers, dry skin, and a sore back.
But I also can’t help but think about what I think of as unnecessary. Like guys who say nasty things about big girls, or that guy who took me out and talked about himself all night, and then told me that every subject i brought up wasn’t interesting to him. I never have a problem cutting these people out, but I wonder why I don’t hate them, given personal history. Perhaps I only hate things that seem to affect personal life and choices. Anyway.
Love – not hate.