Is There room, Any More Room for me In those jeans?

I recently purchased jeans from Universal Standard and can I tell you how excited I was to receive the jeans over the weekend. I love jeans. I have always been the kind of girl to wear jeans and a t-shirt. Jeans and a button up. Jeans and a tank top or sweater. I love jeans more than any other pant a person could wear (Including Pajama pants.) 

I wore one pair of jeans for about 3-4 hours before actually going to look in the full length mirror at them. What I saw zapped the joy I have from jeans from me in an instant. The problem was not the jeans, though they were slightly big and I constantly needed to pull them up (a belt is needed, but belts around the waist are a problem for a different post.)

What caught my eye was instantly the flaw in the way my body wore the jeans. The low hanging stomach on one side was nothing compared to the fact that my body hangs significantly lower on the right side of my body. I do not know when this started happening, but suddenly I was significantly larger on one side. (Spoiler, there is no exercise you can do to help only one side of your body.) But I saw it and I cried. I cried because I had this idea in my head of how I would magically look when I wore these jeans. I cried because I remembered why I began wearing strictly dresses so many years ago. And then I stewed on that sadness, I’m still stewing on it if I am being honest.

But the reality is, my tears were not because of how I looked. The root of it was because there is a disproportion on the right side of my body, and the fat that hangs lower is a bit firmer to touch than the fat on the left side of my body and I cried because it has worried me for a while, but I am more worried and anxious about having to see a health care provider knowing that the bias in the medical industry will treat my concerns as nothing, and they will likely recommend weight loss as a cure for my concerns (not only the extreme disproportions in my right side of my body) but all of my concerns.

 While reading “What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat” by Aubrey Gordon last week and though the entire time I kept screaming “OH MY GOD” and “YES EXACTLY THIS!” what actually caught me off guard was the narration of a conversation between Gordon and a doctor.  A doctor that actually listened, a doctor that actually saw her as more than just a problem fat person who is lazy, unintelligent and doing this to themselves.

I sobbed silently hoping that my roommates would not see the waterfall of tears falling from my face. Because how do you explain that your tears are because someone got to see a doctor without prejudice? This was something simply afforded to everyone but those who are fat or marginalized. I wanted that. I have always wanted to be able to “just go to the doctor” when I am sick, but I avoid them. I avoid doctors and medical care until I absolutely cannot stand it.   The last time I was at the doctor I was in excruciating pain for an abscessed tooth. The ER doctor prescribed the pain medicine and sent me on my way, no weight conversation had. I was relieved in that moment because every other experience I have had has been truly awful… From the Primary Care Physician who told me I had a built in couch as I sat with my hands folded crossing my stomach, guarding, protectively the part of my body that causes people to see me as inhuman, less than. (There’s an open letter written to this ass hole) To the ER Doctor that spent less than 30-seconds with me when I was genuinely concerned that I may be having symptoms of a heart attack. He looked through me, and then proscribed Lidocaine Mylanta and sent me on my way with a $3000 ER bill.

I have never truly had a positive experience within the medical profession, even long before I was in the Large Fats. And it made me think of the experiences prior to me being exceptionally huge, when I was in my late teens and early 20s. When my blood pressure, my blood work and all of my stats were healthy. I thought about how instead of shoving dieting advise and prescribing weight loss, if these interactions could have changed the outcome of my life now. Would the disordered eating be a thing? Would my relationship with food be different?  How much better would my so-called quality of life be if I wasn’t force fed the idea that thin is the only way to be considered healthy when so many people are literally dying to be thin?

I cried for the little girl whose body has always been an issue. I cried for the little girl who not only dealt with emotional abuse and neglect but also had the weight of her body constantly as a descriptor of her worth. I cried and then I got angry. I got angry for every little girl who should allowed to be a child and whose primary concerns should have been learning, playing and growing, but instead they were forced into fat camps and diets. They were forced to hear others talk about their bodies as if they were monstrosities, a constant reminder of failure. The body is and will never be a failure and no one should have to apologize of justify themselves to anyone.

And despite the tears and not liking the way I looked in these jeans, I wore them anyway. I wore them in public. I wore them while I sat around at home, and I even took some pictures. I'm learning to allow myself the feelings but also check them and realize that it is my own internalized fat phobia and its a work in progress.