On Keeping track of myself and whatnot.

I am trying to teach myself to use technology, my smart phone and whatnot to keep better track of myself and I am learning some interesting things.

We know I am pro selfie. Take them, post them, talk about how hot you are.

Another thing I love about selfies is that they help me keep track of my face. Sometimes I feel like I am face blind to myself. Not that I literally forget what I look like but I get so wrapped up in everything else in life, I forget to look at my face.

My face today;

blowface

 

I took that after running around doing things and finally getting a second to sit down and sip my coffee and try to stop grinding my teeth.

A couple of months ago my Partner decided he was done hearing about/looking at my janky ass old phone. It was dying a slow terrible rage inducing death. So now I have a modern (as in is not 4 years old) phone that does a lot of things. One of the things it does is has multiple alarms and calenders, AND my favorite thing I’ve been using an app called Nexercise.

I’ve tried a few other exercise tracking apps and found them to be heavy on the weightloss and bullshit and we know I’m not into that.

It is not perfect but what I do like is that I can get points for rewards AND keep track of what I want to keep track of without messages telling me to lose weight or anything.

I’m also keeping track of my periods and how my skin looks.

What I’m finding out is that I am doing better than I thought I was.

What I mean by that is I have in the past year or so felt like I have not been good at taking care of my health and being a human. Not exercising enough, not eating well enough not being good enough at taking care of my body as it changes.

After a few months of consciously keeping track of myself this way I realized that holy shit, i am doing the thing.

I am doing Intuitive Eating as best I can. I eat when I’m hungry. If I can afford it I eat as I please. My digestive issues are way fewer and more far between, A while back I was feeling like I could not do intuitive eating “right”. I felt like i was failing at it really hard and the whole idea was stressing me out.

I spent some time re-reading about intuitive eating and reminding myself that while no the signals my body sends aren’t always the ones I expect but that I should listen.

It is working. I am pretty good at reading the signs that I need to eat, I’m realizing what foods I can and can’t tolerate and if I can’t tolerate them how much I can have before I feel like I’m going to poop my pants or be constipated.

I have regular good poops.

I exercise all together a lot. I average between 35-45 minutes a day all told. Not more than my body can handle but what feels like just enough to maintain my weight, feel good and shit.

I take my vitamins.

I got a water bottle that helps me track how much water I take in because too much and my kidneys hurt.

I am trying to work with myself on health problems that are lingering and that I’ve had for years and that I have a bad habit of exacerbating because of things like stress and whatnot.

I want to attribute my newfound dedication to preserving myself to the fact that I am racing toward 40 and I just cannot bull my way through health problems.

I still get frustrated when my knees hurt or my back starts knotting up so much I can’t sleep but it is getting easier for me to track the causes and ways I deal.

I really encourage those who also have some issues taking care of their health in a kind way, to try some of this stuff out. For me the real key was finding ways to aid in my care without it turning into disordered behaviors.

For those with serious disordered histories or other mental illnesses that can impact this sort of thing, it can be a fine line between things are okay and everything is terrible so proceed with caution. Try one thing at a time.

This whole process of relearning and learning new ways of caring for myself. I want to nurture myself to 40.

I want to arrive at 40 feeling myself and feeling enough confidence in my own ability to work myself out, that I don’t know.

I’m not saying I want to be better than whatever age or anythign like that but I want to make it to 40 with some things worked out. I want to strut into 40.

For so many years I thought 40 wasn’t going to be really attainable.

Now I’m so close, I’m fucking alive. I survived so much I’m ready.

I want my silver hairs, I want my little Crow’s feet, I want my 40 year old ass, I want all those years under my belt so I can rev up to 50.

Now what else?

OH I am wearing my favorite 5$ dress ever. I call it my Grandma’s Couch sundress and it is gaudier and more awesome up close. See it below.

dress

 

LOOK at the print.

This dress is about two sizes too big and I wear it with an equally violently pink cami underneath and I feel adorable. It is loose and comfy. Probably the best cheap dress I’ve ever purchased.

Let this be your daily reminder that it is really fucking awesome to feel good in your clothes.

Homo Out

OH wait PS.

I am still working out my commenting. I do not like the onboard comment system so I may move to disquis.

Stay tuned.

Fashion Regrets. I has them.

I was looking at faux leather leggings earlier and planning fall outfits in my head and I was taken over by the saddest nostalgia.

I was thinking about being a little baby fatty, in my midish twenties. I was a bit bigger than I am now and I remember I had some money for clothing.

If some of y’all are my age or older you may remember the leather pants Melissa Etheridge used to wear. Something like this, think jim Morrison with hips. I remember finding a pair of faux leather pants very similar to that and I tried them on.

At the time I almost started crying in the dressing room because I had a little belly and my big ass thighs and smallish butt.

So I was thinking about those pants and I wish I had bought them. Only because I would probably still have them and I want to wear them.

Right now at the size I am (small fat, round. Awesome belly) I want those pants. I want to wear them with a thin black tank top, with my little belly hanging over the low ass waistband. I want to wear them with my Docs or with the semi engineer style boots I have.

I feel like it would be perfect.

I am in mourning for all the clothes I didn’t think I could “pull off” because of my wee fat body. Because I believed that I would legitimately make people sick if they saw my belly and my muffin top (FUCK I loathe that term) or if it was clear that my stomach isn’t flat and my thighs not only touch they fucking cuddle while I walk.

I find it retroactively upsetting.

I am mourning the affordable underwire bikini tops, the booty shorts, the perfect fit sturdy twill zip front dresses, the pleated butt showing minis.

I am so sad that I was so ashamed of my fine ass chubby body I missed out on so much fashion awesome.

And now fast forward a bit more than a decade and I am seeing “vintage” (I think things should be older than a decade to be vintage but whatever) stuff that if it were in my size would be perfect and is just like stuff I had when it was all new.

I’m so sad.

And yet, I’m also scouring for these fashions and others because I’ve discovered that part of living in super health conscious Seattle means I have come to really enjoy traumatizing other people with my fatness.

For instance.

I was wearing one of my favorite things (this maxi skirt from Deb Shops in black of course) and a woman, maybe my age or a bit younger stopped me to let me know that someone had spanx on sale because she could see my “trouble” areas…you know my fat jiggling ass and was trying to do me a solid.

I smiled and told her politely that I like my jiggling trouble spot and I don’t need any Spanx.

I was really amused.

The thing is, I know that people tend to think I am way younger than I am but the fact is the older I get the fewer fucks I give.

The older I get the more amusement I get from the discomfort of other people in terms of my body. From the young ladies who were appalled at my furry armpits and unshaven legs to the friendly ladies offering advice about what’s flattering.

I just don’t care.

I want to spend my middle age looking precisely how I want to look.

Similarly I have been trying to refine my plans for body modification so I can start saving up.

Behold Maria Jose Cristerna.

 

I love her.

I love her.

If you don’t know who she is check her out on the internets.

I think she is one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet. She is honestly the epitome of looking however the fuck you want to me and I want grow up to give that few fucks.

I may not want her mods specifically but I want to reach my twilight years decorated and looking exactly how I please.

I wish someone could have told me way back then that I could in fact look how I want when i want. I wish someone would have told me that over and over again.

Sometimes I still have to tell myself. I still struggle on occasion with presenting myself the way I think I should versus how I want to.

Sometimes I lose faith in my own ability to support my need to look how the fuck I want to look.

Shit is hard but looking back at the young woman who so wanted to wear the things but was afraid to because OH NO FAT I think I can do it.

To that end I have my little stash of tattoo references, a list of a few more face holes I’d like punched in my dermis. I am learning that I can and should relearn how to sew in a more serious fashion.

This summer this is pretty much my look:

Dark lips and no fucks given.

Dark lips and no fucks given.

I’ve been experimenting with a few sheer items of clothing and trying to figure out layering when it is hot out. I haven’t been entirely successful but the evolution into an Evil Alien Nazgul Queen is happening.

And I will let it happen.

Even if it hurts sometimes.

Homo Out.

Musings on Using Thin Privilege and whatnot.

Right now my body is a size that means I have some degree of thin privilege.

Not a whole bunch but some.

This was my outfit from the other day.

ootd

I am not really as small as I look sometimes because of how I wear my clothes but I am not visually obviously still fat. It is quite a thing.

If you ask most medical professionals I am about to drop dead any minute.

Ask me and I’m borderline close to being too small to feel comfortable.

That aside, I am relearning how to use my degree of thin privilege to further my ideas about bodies and fatness.

For instance.

Not too long ago an indie designer I have admired for a very long time sent me a message on tumblr to tell me that something or other of theirs was back in stock, I had commented on a post about it months ago.

I went off to look and saw that their current sizing is bizarre. As in their size L had an upper measurement of a 30″ waist and 38″ hip.

So this person from looking at some photos of me assumes that I am relatively normatively sized and when I asked them privately about their jacked up sizing, they asked what I was worried for?

Well a.) the size L would be too small for me and b.) I am here for fat people.

Even though I am not currently sized out of a lot of clothes, I am still sized out of a lot of clothing I like. So I get my foot in because I have some thin privilege and then I start talking about fat folks and I still will not accept that making clothes for fat or really fucking fat people is impossible.

Size matters regardless of what size I am.

Said designer isn’t speaking to me anymore.

What irritates the shit out of me is the presumption that in order to care about a thing, in this case fatness you have to exemplify the thing.

No.

Even if you didn’t know that I was fatter at one point, the thing to know is that my point is still valid.

Why isn’t this available in bigger sizes is a serious question.

What irritates me even more is that now that I look not fat, (not thin but not really fat) people want to listen to what I have to say. I don’t like it. You should have listened when I was fucking fat.

At least fat in the someone looks at me and knows I’m fat kind of way.

Given that I don’t wield a lot of privilege in other ways, I am kind of enjoying learning to use it as a weapon. For good that is.

I will say that while I do have this bit of thin privilege I can’t say that I identify with thinness or even average-ness on a personal level.

Being that my perspective on body politics is a fat shaped (both identity and physically) lens, I am finding it easier to reject the idea that I am supposed to be happy with my weight loss or talk about it positively. Emotionally that has actually made the change in my body way easier to deal with and talk about in a truthful manner.

The truth is I am still not thrilled about it. I am accepting it as something my body decided to do and trying to maintain my health without bullshit.

But I am not really happy about it and that is okay.

This is something I’ve settled on fairly recently. Trying to deal with my negative feelings about my weight coupled with being uncertain if I should keep talking fatness etc was rough on me.

And then of course I went back to some core FA things.

  1. The size of my ass doesn’t change who I actually am.
  2. Smaller ass does not miraculously  make life better.

Concepts that I have talked about for years and really needed to remind myself of in recent times.

It will never get old to have that core to fall back on when shit gets rough regardless of the actual size of my ass.

That said.

Let this be my perhaps monthly reminder that Fat Acceptance is good for everyone.

Everyone.

Homo Out.

 

Welcome to my new thing y’all.

Here we are y’all.

Here is what I am doing here.

Recently I’ve realized several things that are a running theme in my life the last couple of years.

  1. Being a maker of things (written things, crocheted things, other mystery crafty things) means a lot to me on many levels.
  2. The number of fucks I give about how I am culturally inculcated to feeling about aging, my body and my looks has dwindled to negative 45.
  3. I needed a fresh spot to explore things.
  4. I was real tired of bloggers shit.

Those things happening at a time when I was already feeling some type of way about my previous litterbox mean this is happening.

So I’m just gonna start talking.

I’ve been doing this series over at XOjane for the past few weeks, I’ve been using both my poor skills and my passion for self care to try and help some folks get through it.

As I’ve been writing this series I am kind of amazed at how many of the attitudes I’ve shed over the years regarding what I do and don’t deserve and what is and is not okay for me to do or be interested in.

Once upon a time some of the shitty commentary from people who don’t like how I write would have just broken my heart. I would have bought into the idea that “the author” is the asshole to be made fun of thing and probably told Marianne I quit.

At this point though, I’ve heard all that.

I don’t particularly care. What I do care about more is in my own mind I feel like I’m doing some good and that’s awesome.

Also seeing how far I’ve really come in terms of learning to treat myself better.

Some of y’all might remember how much I angsted and wept over buying my beloved Oxblood Docs because they were expensive and I loved them.

Just lately as I’ve been learning to balance my writing life with the day job, and balance the writing things with each other I’ve been feeling down. I felt like I was/am doing something terribly wrong.

I’ve also realized I did a shitload of work to unlearn the whole concept of me “deserving” good treatment from myself or from others.

And then I ran into a brick wall.

I mentioned my deep love of and desire to just be a maker. I crochet, I used to do a lot of sewing. And then (as I am thinking of my stash of finished crocheted shawls) I realized I have a problem.

Somewhere in my early 20s when finances were dire I absolutely could not afford to have a hobby that didn’t involve free. I didn’t crochet, I didn’t buy clothes to tear apart or buy fabric. I didn’t buy books. I was at survival level brokeness.

During that period I decided somewhere in my subconscious that even if I did better financially being a maker of things that I might sell or give as gifts was not going to happen.

The part that fucks me up today is that I do have a hobby budget. I have a partner and other loved ones who support my obsession with being a maker but when I try to take that next step of setting up shop for physical items or entering a craft fair I freeze up and freak out.

There are a lot of messages that go through my head about this. The idea that if I fail or don’t sell I’ve gone and wasted money on my stupid ideas.

That if I do said thing even if it does sell it won’t really pay the bills so why the fuck.

Funny how the shit we think we have solved comes up again like a goddamn jack in the box.

Much like my years long struggles with learning to self care, learning to care for my body, learning to care for my hair this is something else I feel like I have to get through.

I have to struggle and remind myself I deserve to do shit that makes me happy. If I want to try and sell some arty shit, that’s okay too.

I want to say that if I can struggle through the depths of shit body image and through poverty driven disordered everything,  I fucking survived that and I am deeply invested in not turning 40 with this particular baggage.

To that end, there are some things I will probably talk about trying and failing at. Or the occasional win.

My current goal is to get at least two of my shawls photographed and ready for sale next weekend. Outside of really just wanting to unfuck my attitude about myself as a potential maker (note I don’t say artist, that is for reasons) I need to get through it.

I also really need to get going on my side hustles. I need a newer/more beefy laptop, I need to pay for myself and partner to go to AWP next year. And you know, life stuff.

I am glad I got that off my chest.

Welcome to Shannon has issues and is real over it.

Next time I want to talk about my one beautiful white hair on my head and some things about aging I was not expecting.

And thanks for reading y’all.

Homo Out.