Dear Sammie the Fat Shamer

Dear Sammie,
 
I don't know you and you don't know me. I had never heard of your blog until you earned your medical degree and told us all that hundreds of scientific studies are wrong and that you are the sole researcher in plus size health (oh you didn't? Shocking.) and you hadn't heard of mine until I linked you to this post. You'll pretend you haven't read it, because that's what you've done to everyone who has presented you solid evidence so far, but hey. If you can exploit your narrow mind for views, why don't we all join in? I'll do it with proper grammar. I don't know what you "was" thinking when you wrote your last post.

I'm not even going to bore you. You know that some illnesses can cause obesity, you're just in too deep to backtrack. You know that mental health is a factor that can lead to illnesses relating to obesity, as well as illnesses regarding reproductive health, or illnesses which affect movement, because you've ignored the evidence proving this countless times over the last few days. And heck, illness or not, my body is not your concern - the only body you should worry about is your own, especially when you are causing people harm under the guise of help. The body you proudly announce you fill with tequila. I won't lecture you on what that does to your health because, guess what? YOUR health is not MY concern. For all I care you can pickle that liver, lady!
 
In fact, I was able to laugh off everything you said as ignorance and idiocy, nothing that hadn't been disproven before, until you decided to bring kids into it.

Now let me make this clear. I am "short, fat and proud of that". I put some solid man hours into these rolls (sarcasm, darling. Don't raise your blood pressure. Your risk is as great as mine with your alcohol consumption) and I reserve the right to rock them as I see fit. But I have two children and one of them happens to be a nine year old girl. And having her grow up in this whirlpool of self esteem and concern trolls is something I cannot, and will not, let happen.

This is Jelly. Like I said, she's 9. She wears age 12-13 clothing. She isn't fat, but she gets told she is. She got hips from her mama (biologically not me); the same person who gave her her flair for long-distance running (which I'm sure you'll agree takes fitness and motivation). Did you know that society told her to stand at the side of the playground doing jumping jacks because she doesn't fit into age 9 clothing? Did you know that when she was 8 she hid when getting changed at school because she noticed her stomach wasn't as flat as anybody else's? I'd let you know that she stopped eating snacks after that but you'd probably congratulate her. After all, it was you who said that "anorexia takes will power". (I tried to link to your tweet but it shows it has been deleted. Maybe you have some sense that you have overstepped the mark after all) EDIT: I found a screenshot, in all its glory. How AWFUL are you?! I've left your Twitter handle in, because I know how much you're loving the exposure this has brought you.

Jelly is hilarious, strong, fantastic at art, charismatic, personable, empathetic, a bundle of energy and friendly to everybody she meets. But, had she seen your words a few nights ago, she would have been told she was nothing more than the added elastic in her waistband. You are clearly a young woman with a lot of potential; you have shown me that you are committed enough to see an issue through to its bitter end, and I think that if you had some facts behind you and fought for the right things you could even be unstoppable. So why not drop the fight against beautiful bodies (who are usually much healthier than you give them credit for - do the research) and join us in the fight to tell every man, woman and child that he or she deserves to be beautiful, strong and wear fantastic clothing. You never know, it might help you with your own self esteem too.
 
Good luck with your research, and while you wait here is a post which will tell you how seriously people take medical advice over social media. Just so you don't waste your time again.
 
Busy Little Fee xo

Finding Big, Beautiful Happiness

I'd say I have always been big, but that would be a lie. I haven't always been big; I remember comfortably pulling on a size 6 vest top, hip bones sticking out the bottom, walking out in public and being told repeatedly how fat I was. I wasn't always fat, but I was always unpopular (and ginger), and I suppose calling people fat is the easiest thing to do.

The bride is still happily married, despite her friend wearing a size 24 dress.

I've grown up in a world that tells me that everything about me is wrong, and I suppose after the reception I got for the last post I did, it felt like the right time to address that. Body positivity isn't a golden-ticket opportunity: it should be a human right. It should be normal for every man, woman and child to live their lives without having to worry about what everybody thinks about the amount of skin they have on their bodies, or the amount of hair, or how smooth or dark or wobbly or angular various parts of their anatomy appear to be.

In secondary school, I was tormented because I was fat, and actually I was a size 14 when I left at age 16. I was punched, I had clothes cut up when I was swimming, I had coins thrown at me (and then shoes when people realised I was collecting the money!), I had mean things written about me and I rarely made it from class to class without at least one push or negative comment. About the ratio of flesh to bone on my body. How ridiculous is that?

We loved Wicked, even if my butt did touch both sides of the chair.

I got my first stretch mark when I was probably about 16, too. I was showering at a friend's house and I saw one on my stomach as I stepped over the edge of the bath and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Oh god how I cried. The next year I went to college to study acting (left after three months, wasn't my thing) and in the changing rooms it became clear that even the smallest of girls had stretch marks because, guess what? People grow up and out and in all directions, and stretch marks are a normal part of most peoples' bodies. 

The two things that changed how I felt about my body, ultimately, were the blogging world and having children. Lady after lady sets up a blog, shows how amazing her rolls can look in all their glory wearing easily accessible and affordable clothes and oh my god, suddenly I'm normal. And then there are the experiences I have with my children and my groom-to-be. Is our laughter dampened because I'm fat? Do they love me any less? Does our picnic taste less great because I was fat when I ate it? Did that game we play suffer because I'm above a size 20? Do they miss out? No. Are they happy? Yes. So, when all is said and does, what the fuck does it matter if I'm fat? It's not about changing who you are, it's about learning to love it and flaunt it and make the most of it in all its of its glory.

My kids love their mama's squishy rolls, because there's more to cuddle up to!

I mean, really, since when are humans valued on the amount of skin on their bodies?