#Internalised fat phobia

[quillandrapier]

You could be having the most harrowing mental health episode and you just have to clean and be present.

[cha-mij]

Re-watching Voyage of the Dammed.

Note to self. Never get on a rebuild of the Titanic. Your fat arse will end up sacrificing yourself so the thin ones can survive.

[slayter-kinney]

realising that being a fat dyke means that society sees me as a fat dyke

[the5thcellar]

The only reason why people are against the perspective of Luke and Nicola having it, it's the internal fat phobia for me. Same thing for the group 'no chemistry' in the series. Anons wouldn't say all that shit about one sided crush from her, if she was indeed a woman with a skinny body, not a mid size one. The thing is she doesn't need it, cause she is ethereal and perfect in her way. She is a beautiful woman. She is gorgeous, while people project much of their own insecurities on her. Luke, though, is just the other typical male celebrity. If they'll ever jump on the train, it will certainly be him asking her out, not her following him. I don't see this woman in her golden retriever stage for anyone. She knows her worth and is sure to be aware of impulsive decisions of his.

OH CLOCK IT OMGGGGGGG. 193829293912% !!!!!!!!!!

I would like this post a hundred times if I could. I've been pretty much silent about the issue of fatphobia in the fandom because the arguments I've witnessed / been involved in on twitter ALWAYS get the same dead end responses - "not everything is fatphobia they just have no chemistry" / "you have to admit that Nicola isn't that attractive it has nothing to do with her weight".

It's LITERALLY fatphobia. Most of the times it's not even internalised - people are literally saying the quiet part out loud by insisting Nicola doesn't look good enough to warrant attraction from a "hot guy" like Luke.

LIKE BE SO FUCKING FR RN OMG ??? I've had to sit through people shipping SO many weird ass pairings that I personally felt were completely absurd - pairings that the mainstream audience ate up just because it was a skinny girl with a hot guy.

(Truth be told - and on a more relevant note - I literally felt like Phoebe and Regé had no chemistry. both of them were so absolutely compelling and gorgeous as individual characters but they didn't work together for me)

Isn't it strange how no one really said much about the previous two Bridgerton pairings where aesthetics were concerned... and were lauding the couples for all having such GREAT chemistry with one another ... but when it came to Luke and Nicola they were all suddenly so insistent that there was no chemistry at all and that their views are completely objective? Nah. Pack it the fuck up. All these people are fatphobic as hell.

What's made it worse is the bloody ozempic obsession that has swept over Hollywood in the past year. Suddenly celebs who used to advocate for body positivity are all skinny - doing a hypocritical 180 on the self love ethos they were preaching.

But anyway that's diving more into social commentary and I don't want to veer too far from the original content on this post.

So 100% yes - a HEFTY MAJORITY of polin antis and lukola antis are blatantly fatphobic. If you cannot imagine Luke Newton can EVER have feelings for Nicola but think him and A are obviously a great fit - you're fatphobic. You can pretend you're objective all you want ... but think about why you're so FUCKING QUICK to defend Antonia and say she'll be together with Luke forever / she's totally his type when 1) she's barely been in the spotlight - she's done no interviews or anything for y'all to even get enough of an idea of her personality to stan her or bat for her 2) y'all don't fucking KNOW his type you just assume it's skinny women because his celeb crush is dua lipa and everyone loves hot and skinny women right? newsflash guys my celeb crushes are Zac Efron and Mads Mikkelsen and HELL YEAH I'd fall over myself to date either of them... but in a fuck marry kill contest I'd still choose to marry Jack Black.

What you think is attractive as a fantasy is not always what you find attractive in a long term partner.

You're here on my page defending Antonia and insisting she's a better fit for Luke not because you know her, or like her, or even because you respect Luke. You're here on my page because you're using her as an excuse to come for Lukola. You're here on my page because you cannot imagine that a fat girl can be together with a "hot man."

Now check that.

[acaciusbride]

Fall In Love In A Single Touch. (Modern!Oberyn x F!Reader)

Summary: you have birth trauma, and you’ve been hiding it from Oberyn, until finally it all comes out. (Title from the attached song.)

Warnings: graphic description of cesarean birth / internalised fat phobia / ptsd / graphic description of birth trauma / description of chronic pain & birth injury

Notes: this is entirely a projection of my own experiences. I’m going through a lot in my own healing journey from having a traumatic birth, with a birth injury & other nastiness. Writing this was incredibly healing for me. For any other cesarean mamas who may feel the same way as I do… this is for you.

Everyone always makes it sound like birth is some magical experience, something that, if you’re a uterus owner, completely changes you. They’re right about the second part, but honestly? It’s not always a good thing, not always a good change.

You wouldn’t change this - the actual physical act of bringing your child into the world - don’t regret for a single moment saying yes when Oberyn had told you he wanted more children; his ninth, your first. You’d never really given much thought to how pregnancy would go, having been too concerned with whether you actually could conceive in the first place.

You’d been so scared you wouldn’t be able to, that you’d have to go through the gruelling, painful, expensive rounds of IVF that some of your friends had endured. That Oberyn was beyond wealthy, a literal fucking Prince, didn’t matter. You’d been afraid, not of the cost, but of disappointing him. Of not being able to give him the children he still wanted, and then, even though you knew realistically he would never, the fear that he would leave you for someone who could.

To your absolute shock and delight - both of you - that hadn’t been an issue at all. You’d fallen pregnant easily, and aside from morning sickness that seemed to last all day, things went relatively well. Then you’d gone over term, been induced, and when that had failed to progress? You’d gone in for an emergency cesarean. One minute you’d been breathing in with a mask on your face. The next, you were waking up under a heated blanket. Still dazed when they’d placed your baby in your arms, unsure of who or where you were or what the fuck had just happened to you.

That Oberyn was older than you by two decades and rich meant nothing; he could have left the nurses to care for you, but he insisted on helping you stand, practically hobble like an old woman to the shower, letting you hold onto his shoulders as the water had drenched you both, afraid you’d fall over. He hadn’t let you fall then, had the patience you so desperately needed as your body recovered. You’d thought maybe the incision site would be what took the longest, not factoring in the mental healing you’d have to do, too.

You loved your daughter; watching her eight sisters dote on her made your day, and watching Oberyn with her filled your heart with joy and hope. He had lost Ellaria, which had been unbearably painful for him, and you had come from violence and pain. You had been so afraid that things with him had been too good to be true… only, it wasn’t. He was a good man. Kind and patient and loving, even if he had a sharp tongue and a temper when needed, it had never been directed at you.

Some of his past lovers, friends of his still, talked of how he was rough, how he bit and choked and hurt, but he never raised a hand to you. Had said that he liked having someone to be soft with, and knowing your past? He wouldn’t even consider it.

You knew, deep down, that you’d done what you’d had to do to bring your child safely into the world. You were proud of that. Proud that, when it had come down to it, you had let them lay you down on an operating table and been prepared not to wake up again, made your peace with it, as long as your baby had survived.

But logic doesn’t always win out against the head demons, and you’re too exhausted to battle them as fiercely as you once did, putting all your energy into your child, into loving her with all your heart and soul.

You can’t help but feel like you failed. Like your body failed you. You’re left with stretch marks all over you, which you’re proud of on a good day and loathe on a bad day. Left with a scar that you joke about but secretly worry that your lover finds repulsive. Left four dress sizes bigger than you were before, and too afraid to bear more children just in case. Just in case your body fails again. Rejects your placenta and sends your blood pressure sky rocketing, making you feel like your head is in a vice. You’re afraid of pain you barely remember, and above all? You’re afraid of what it means for your future with Oberyn, who desperately wanted more children with you.

“I’m not about to put you through that again.” He had said, and he had meant it, even if it hurt him. Even if it wasn’t truly what he wanted; you mean more to him than having yet more children. Nine is a good number, he had joked, there had to be an end somewhere.

You feel a burning guilt for that, too. Knowing that your brain has done that amazing thing where it wipes out the pain of labor, of everything you went through. You remember flashes of clinical lighting. Of being lifted from one bed to the operating table. Of a sense of calm in the face of the unknown. While you may not remember, you know he does. Know that he remembers every second that felt like years when you screamed, when you’d felt like you might die from the pain when the drugs stopped working.

And while he pretends it doesn’t hurt? You know it does. Know that while he’s strong, a warrior, a man who’s fought dozens of wars for his country, seeing you like that and unable to help? It almost broke him, too.

It’s part of why you keep your suffering to yourself, incredibly aware that every time you mention it, it brings up those memories for him. They aren’t as easily buried, no matter how much he may flatly say he’s repressing it. Nine daughters between six different women, and he’s never seen a birth as horrific as yours.

He knows you’re struggling, but it doesn’t really get brought up. You skirt around the topic, love each other fiercely, spend all your time together invested in your child. Maybe he’d think you were doing okay, if he didn’t see the emptiness that flickers through your eyes at times. If he didn’t catch you looking at yourself critically in the mirror, in the heavily tinted windows of the cars you drive. If he didn’t hear you making bitter comments to your friends about your changed shape.

He’s undeniably a clever man, but he has no idea how to broach this topic. How to fix you, when you won’t even acknowledge that you’re broken. Hell, you put so much effort into pretending that you’re fine that he worries it would insult you to know that it’s not fooling him, not for a second.

The dam breaks one night when your daughter is a few months old. You’d woken from a nightmare, not wanted to wake him. On shaking feet you pulled yourself from the bed, crossed the room to check on your sleeping child before you’d returned to bed and curled in on yourself.

You’d been left with pain where they’d cut, where they’d had to tear through your already weakened abdominal muscles to get to the girl you had named Ellaria for his lost love. You’d healed well, externally, but internally? Not so much. The specialists you had seen since still weren’t sure if it was going to be permanent.

The pain was bad; you’d been trying to keep as quiet as possible, overwhelmed by your own anxiety and the physical pain you’re in. You’ve been trying so hard to hide the extent of your struggling from him, you didn’t want to wake him, even though you know deep down he’d rather you did.

Curled in on yourself, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, you don’t want to wake Oberyn or the baby as you cry, too overwhelmed by your own emotions - you’ve always struggled to regulate yourself, and there’s only so much a person can take - you’re beyond your limit, taking on more and more, pushing yourself to keep going even though you should have stopped long ago, relieved yourself of some of your burden and leaned on the people who love you.

You’re fucking stubborn. Stubborn and full of self loathing. So when a familiar pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you close, mindful of the patch just below your naval that constantly aches, mindful of the space to the left of your spine that hurts on and off where a nerve was hit when they put your epidural in, you swipe your tears away furiously, ready to say that you’re fine.

Only, you aren’t fine, and you don’t have the energy to lie to him. Instead, you end up turning over and burying your face in his shoulder, weeping. Maybe it’s the comfort of knowing that, no matter what, Oberyn loves you. Knowing that he’s… him, and yet he’s still here, even though you deem yourself broken, that finally gets you to drop the act, taking in horrible shaking breaths, inhaling the faint scent of spices, liquor and pepper that always seem to cling to him, focusing on that, on his hands against your smaller frame; in that moment, he’s your anchor to the present.

“Oh, my sweet girl, why have you been hiding this from me? All of this pain…” his fingers card through your hair, “tell me what’s wrong?”

It briefly occurs to you that he isn’t blaming you, isn’t making you feel bad for hiding it; he seems only concerned with making sure you’re alright, and that only makes you cry harder, feeling like a total idiot for not talking to him, not trying to begin to explain what’s wrong.

He just holds you for a moment until you’re able to speak, getting the words out between sharp breaths.

“I just… hate… how I am now.” You choke out, “I feel so broken. It’s like… everything I’ve been through before, maybe I’d have come back from, but I just… I feel like my body betrayed me and failed me, and now I don’t even get a choice in having more children or how I have them, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”

Oberyn sits up, pulls you with him, keeps one arm around you as he reaches out to turn the stained glass lamp on the side table on. You duck your head, not wanting him to see you in this state.

One hand gently tucks under your chin, tilts your head up. His dark eyes are soft as he looks at you.

“Don’t look at me like this,” you sniffle. “I hate myself enough without giving you another reason to not be attracted to me.”

The look he gives you is somewhere between wounded and offended.

“What do you mean, another reason to not be-? Love, I saw you in the most pain you’ll ever experience in your life. You think I would be, what, disgusted by your pain?”

“No, but I’m all gross and snotty and piled on top of being fat and covered in these,” you poke critically at your stretch marks, tone miserable. You don’t care if you sound young and petulant, it’s hurting you, self loathing dripping from every word. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want me.”

Oberyn doesn’t take it as youthful vanity. He knows all too well what you suffered to bring his daughter into the world. He watched you throw up almost every single day for five months, watched you get sick at the very end, watched you try to birth your child naturally. And then, even though it had damn near killed him to see you in so much pain, he had watched you do what needed to be done. Watched you grit your teeth and stand on shaking legs not even ten hours after being cut and ripped apart. He’s never been more proud of you, never loved you more than in that moment, knowing you had borne that suffering for him, for your child, the daughter you had both so desperately wanted.

“Listen to me.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching the tears that fall. “I don’t give a damn what size you are. So your shape has changed. It changed because you grew life. You’re softer now. Ria likes it, it means you’re soft to sleep on.”

You smile faintly at the little nickname he’s given your daughter; he’s right. If you weren’t the size you are now, you wouldn’t be as comfortable for her to sleep on.

“There you are.” He gives you an encouraging look when he sees the ghost of your smile. “In time, you’ll forget what it is to carry a child. You’ll forget what it felt like when she moved in you. These -“ his free hand gently touches the stretch marks on your sides and your thighs, “these are just a reminder that you created life, love. Wear them like badges of honour. Especially this one.”

His fingertips barely brush over the jagged edge of where they cut you open.

“This isn’t ugly. No matter what you think. It’s proof that you were willing to do whatever it took to get her here safely. That even though you were afraid and in pain? You put her first. That’s not something to be disgusted by or ashamed of.”

“Y-you really don’t hate it? Don’t hate me? Even though my body failed?”

He pulls you as tight against him as he feels safe doing, mindful of your pain sites.

“I don’t think I could ever love you more than I do at this moment. I’m so very proud of you, my love. Your body didn’t fail. You didn’t fail. I promise you.”

You’ve seen a multitude of emotions in his dark eyes before; amusement, malice, lust, anger, jealousy, sadness, grief, joy, and love. So much love. But even you have to admit, as jaded as you are right now, that you’ve never seen his gaze this soft with affection as he looks at you.

You take another deep, shaking breath before you look at him, blinking back more tears.

“You really don’t mind, if… if we don’t have any more?”

“Gods, no. I want you to be safe, above all else. That choice is entirely yours, sweet girl. If you decide you want another child, I will gladly give you as many as you wish, but… your safety, your happiness… they mean more to me than that.”

You nod slowly, watching his fingers trace idle patterns across your damaged skin; there’s no trace of disgust in his gaze. He touches you freely, without any criticism. You’ve been blind to it, so caught up in your own self loathing.

“Do you think… do you think I’ll be this broken forever?”

To Oberyn’s credit, he doesn’t try and tell you that you aren’t broken, but he also doesn’t take it as a slur. He knows you. Knows what you mean when you say that you’re broken.

“No, sweet girl, I don’t. I think that right now you’re hurting. You’ve endured so much, so much. Things that nobody should endure, and you’ve survived them. Only to be dealt this. Birth is never easy, never painless, but it seems cruel that you were dealt this hand. But I don’t think you’ll be this way forever. Not when you have me, when you have Ria and the older girls to support you.” He rubs comforting circles on your back as he gives you a moment to process this information.

“A-and you’re not… going to get sick of me?”

He laughs a little hollowly. Not because it’s funny, but because he finds the idea completely ridiculous.

“Sick of you? Before you, I thought I would die lonely. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d never run out of people to fuck and keep me warm at night, but I never expected to find someone who mattered again. Do you truly think that your brain being cruel to you and a scar are enough to make me stop loving you?”

The way he says it, it sounds like a ridiculous concept, even to you in your fragile state. So ridiculous that you laugh softly.

“I… I guess not, when you put it that way.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. To the tip of your nose. To your lips before he pulls away from you as Ria stirs in her crib; he only leaves your side to go to her so that he can bring her to you to hold and comfort.

You watch him without speaking; within moments he’s back beside you, his arms around you as you cradle your half asleep daughter. Her dark curls are his, her closed eyes obsidian like his, too. She has your nose, your lips. Her tiny fist curls around your finger, and you smile slightly looking down at her.

“I know it isn’t easy. But I’m not going anywhere, love. And any time you need reminding that you didn’t fail? Look at her. Look at her and remember you did everything right. You’re doing everything right by her and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” He presses another kiss to your temple, and you have to bite back another little sob, eyes blurring with tears again; they’re different this time, grateful and relieved rather than tears of pain and sadness.

“I love you. Both of you. So much.” You manage to get out finally.

There’s no magic cure for what you’ve been through. There isn’t. You can’t wave a magic wand and erase the trauma, the pain. There’s no medicine you can take that will fix the damage to your body. It’s something that will take time. Time and patience. You know you need to be kinder to yourself, more gentle and loving to your own mind.

However, you do feel a little better having voiced what’s been eating away at you. At knowing that he doesn’t care at all that your body has changed. That your scars don’t bother him; that he loves every part of you, especially the visible reminders of what you’ve endured to bring his daughter into the world.

And he’s right; it will get better. Slowly but surely, the pain in your mind will ease. You’ll slowly start to accept your changed body, your scars and stretch marks, until acceptance turns to love. Until you can touch your incision site with a soft smile and pride rather than regret and disgust. Until you see yourself the way he does. Because even when you’re clouded by your own self loathing?

He’s always going to be there, always going to love you, always going to support you, because even if you can’t see it? He’s your sunlight, and he knows you deserve all the love in the world.

[the-delta-quadrant]

non-ableist alternatives to "phobia" when referring to oppression

-misia: examples: JKR is transmisic. they're struggling with internalised fatmisia. "-misia" comes from the greek word for hate and it's already used in other oppression terms like misogyny. out of all the options, it's the most similar one to "-phobia" grammatically. there is no agreed upon noun for someone who is

-misic, though i have seen -miser,

-misist and simply -misic used for that. examples: JKR is a transmiser. transmisics are having a go under my youtube shorts. some transmisist insulted me.

anti-: examples: anti-aceness is detrimental to aces' mental health. transmedicalism is inherently anti-nonbinary. "anti-" means "against" and it's already commonly used when it comes to lawmaking, so it's intuitive. there is, however, no noun to refer to someone who is anti-.

-antagonism: examples:

amatonormativity is aro-antagonistic. bi-antagonism is still common in queer spaces. the weight loss industry is full of fat-antagonists.

"antagonism" refers to hatred and hostility.

-negativity: examples: using "gay" as an insult is homonegative. i have encountered transnegativity in the medical field. this suffix is pretty self-explanatory. it also complements "-positivity" which is often used to describe affirmation of a marginalised group. there isn't really a noun to refer to someone who is -negative, but you could just say "-negatives".

example: transnegatives are ruining our community.

-hostility: examples: transhostility is on the rise. expecting fat people to hide our bodies is fathostile.

another self-explanatory one, and another one without a noun to call -hostile people, but once again, you can just use the adjective as a noun. example: there were a lot of homohostiles at my school.

-hate: examples: IGM is a manifestation of intersex-hate. pan-haters think bi is the only valid label for multi-attraction.

this is another very straight-forward one, although there isn't really an adjective to refer to something or someone who exhibits -hate. maybe

-hating or -hateful.

examples: banning transition for minors is trans-hateful. TERFs are trans-hating misogynists.

-ism: "-ism" as a suffix for oppression is already known from terms like ableism, racism, classism or sexism.

a short list of -isms:

if something is anti-gay, it is heterosexist.

if something is anti-bi/mspec, it is monosexist.

if something is anti-trans, it is cissexist.

if something is anti-ace/aro, it is allosexist.

if something is anti-intersex, it is intersexist or perisexist.

if something is anti-nonbinary, it is exorsexist.

if something is anti-fat, it is sizeist.

there are many ways to not be ableist. choose one.

[my-exmo-life]

|| TW for Mormonism, internalised fatphobia, discussions of fatphobia and diets, negative self talk ||

Pls excuse me I’m mildly tipsy (but not tipsy enough that I can’t add a TW bc we respect people here on this blog)

You know what we don’t talk about enough? The idealisation of thinness in the Mormon church.

All the aesthetics and ideals are of these size 0 blonde white women and, shockingly, that’s harmful.

I discovered this week that wearing a skirt is triggering for me bc it makes me look a little bigger and makes my belly relax from the default “must suck in”.

IM NOT EVEN OVERWEIGHT.

I’m a little “bigger” than I “should be” according to society but dear fucking god who cares?? Call the goddamn police, I guess it’s a crime to love food.

I bought a beautiful skirt. It’s got kinda witchy vibes. These cool suns and moons and it’s so breathable and comfy. I wore it work. AND GUESS FUCKING WHAT. I was uncomfortable all day.

I looked fucking amazing even tho I was just at work. But my stomach said lol nope you don’t get to be comfy without suffering.

I’ve taken to just measuring the waists of pants I want to buy so I don’t have to try them on (usually works just fine) so I did that to a pair of jeans I was wanting to buy (I’d already bought a smaller size that didn’t fit and I was doing a great job feeling neutral about having to size up)

So I measured the waist and saw it should fit but out of paranoia I measured my own and IT HAD GONE UP 10 FUCKING CENTIMETRES.

So I tried the jeans on anyway bc hey, why not, I feel like shit anyway. And it was too tight. Logically I know I was just bloated and shit but there was that little voice in my head that was going “fat, gross, disgusting, whale, etc”

And it sounded just like all the Mormon women that came before me. My mom. My grandmother. My aunt. All women I love and adore and who I don’t have a single memory of when they weren’t on a diet.

I hate that fat phobia is so baked into this religion. I’ve been out for going on 3 years and it’s still fucking affecting me. I can’t wear my beautiful new skirt because it fucks me up too much.

I’m planning to deprogram myself so I can just wear the fucking skirt but I have no idea how long it’ll take. I’ll do it tho. I know that much.

Also guess what. I measured my waist again the next morning. Back down ten centimetres.

If we ever want girls and women and just people in general to feel even slightly normal about their bodies we need to teach them about weight fluctuations and that they’re normal.

I know through experience and research that they’re normal. But I still felt like shit in that moment. It’s just fatphobia, plain and simple.

[bm-blog01]

Addressing some Anon Asks

I have debated whether I would address some anon asks I have received, I wasn't going to due to the hate and racism in some of them, but I have decided to address the issues generally rather than individually.

Before I address the issues I will say to any of those cowards who sent me the anon asks, if you truly believe what you have said then do it openly and with your username, stop hiding. Though it is no surprise you all throw your hate towards me (and Simone Ashley) anonymously considering what you have written to me.

So, as to the overriding comment brought up in the anons, the idea that disliking Penelope makes me fat phobic. So a question, does disliking Kate make you racist? Because that is the logic you are putting forward. However, to more directly address the allegations, I have never talked negatively about Penelope's weight or size, nor have I discussed the actress's body, in fact what I have seen is those who throw the fat phobic allegations around are the main ones that talk about Penelope as being fat and only in terms of her size, same with the actress, (and I am deliberately not naming her so she doesn't find this and see how hateful her fans are). The fact that it is her 'fans' that are most likely to be calling her fat, and talking about her size makes it look like you are projecting your own internalised fat phobia onto those who have a dislike of her character, putting your views onto others.

As for those that have used Simone Ashley (yes, the actress because very few talk about her in terms of her character) in order to push more hate towards me by making claims that I only like her because of her looks, again you are projecting your own shallow view of actresses onto me, please look in a mirror and self reflect for a bit as to why you feel so threatened by someone preferring a different character / actress to you. Kate is my favourite character from the books and the show, as is Hyacinth, I will openly admit that. There are many things I love about them as characters, and the least of them is their looks.

I will also comment on what some have said to me about my criticism of some of the costuming this season. Disliking the anachronism of the costumes DOES NOT equate to disliking the actress, in fact it has nothing to do with the actresses or their looks. The reason that I dislike more of Penelope's costumes is simply because she is the lead, she is in more of the season, and she has more costumes. I have commented that she has had some lovely costumes where she has looked beautiful, I have also commented on not being happy with some of Francesca and Eloise's costumes, so your projection that I dislike Penelope's costumes because of her body size and your idea of fat phobia is ridiculous.

Finally to the idiot anon who tried to tell me what I did and did not like, claiming I did not like Bridget Jones, well the joke is on your because Bridget Jones is one of my favourite RomComs, it is funny with a great main character who doesn't have to trash other women anonymously for the whole world to make herself feel better about herself. Perhaps you should look at the character of Bridget, not just her body size/shape and then look at the character of Penelope, you may begin to see why Penelope is a badly written and awful character.

[dandelioninajungle]

I used to be* so beautiful, and I thought that I basically looked like a big toe.

Internalised fat phobia and dysphoria is a wild ride, guys.

[thebearcametoo]

I’m watching Rizzoli and Isles for the first time and am shocked by the fat phobia both internalised and the way they comment on other people. I don’t know how much is in the source material and how much was added by the tv writers but it’s a real shock to see it so often in a show fronted by some amazing women.

[chubbymuffinclub]

sophthickfitnesss

I have an important message for you to read 👇🏼📖 … {SAVE as your reminder} 💌 I am the biggest size I have ever been AND I am the happiest I have ever been ✨ (in regards to the relationship with my body) I never thought that living in a bigger body would allow me to do the things I wanted to do! I always had this perspective of “if you put on weight, you’ve failed! If you put on weight you’ll be unlovable! If you put on weight you will be DISGUSTING!” … that was my internalised fat phobia shouting as loud as it can! 😓 I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that I thought I had to be skinny to feel a loving connection with my body. F*CK ME I was wrong! I take the time during the day to hold my belly and say “thank you for being here with me”. I hold my saggy boobs and say “girls, you’re doing great! You look good today!” And I give myself a big squeeze and say “today was tough, but you got through it!”

[pea-restharrow]

Tw: mild disordered eating

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I'm learning new things about myself.

So I've been sick since about the 11th Nov. It was either flu or Covid and it hit me like a truck. I've still not regained my sense of smell. My ability to taste food just flatout disappeared for days.

Food is my world. I've realised that if I'm not eating then I'm thinking about eating. I wake up and one of the first things I do is plan what I'm going to eat for breakfast. I work for myself so I can take my time over it. When I'm eating I'm enjoying every bite. I wallow in the flavour, the texture and how the whole meal works together.

If I go out I'm thinking of where we could eat. What food will make this experience better. Or I'm planning dinner. I often don't buy a lot at the supermarket because I'll stop in to the shops often to pick up a certain thing I fancy eating.

All of that was taken away from me while I was ill. I just...... stopped. I stopped eating because..... why should I bother, it's not like I can taste it. I stopped thinking about what to cook.

This greatly affected my partner because I'm the one that thinks about food. He was lost not knowing how to put together a meal. He's not just some useless man, he's autistic and struggles with food prep. He wasn't brought up with food because of poverty so hasn't learnt how to do it. We're working on it but it's very hard for him.

For days and days I just didn't eat, I struggled to even drink. I've lost weight which is something my body can afford to do.

Yesterday my sense of taste got so much better overnight. I ate a slice of fake ham (Quorn vegan ham like slice to be exact) and I cried. The flavour was so strong. I could finally eat with joy again. So I ate a wrap with fake ham, salad leafs and mayonnaise with a glass of chocolate alpro soya. It filled me physically. But it filled my heart so much more.

So what I've discovered is that for all the years I've fought my weight. Fought against my thoughts about food. I would hate to not enjoy food.

A supposed friend of mine years ago quoted that phrase "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" and it wasn't something I could get behind then, but I faked agreeing. I can wholeheartedly say today that a ham salad wrap tastes better than skinny feels.

I'm fat. I'm not unhappy about that. I'm also beautiful. I'm normally pretty fit and will build my strength back up once I've rested my body post illness. I'm not going to traumatise my body and mind with purposely starving myself by dieting.

I'm never going to buy in to diet culture again.

Food is important to me and I'm totally fine with that.

[chronic-confessions]

Confession #5, 261

I don’t like the shape of my body - my stomach is so round and disproportionate where it used to be normal. I know the liver causes this to happen but I can’t find clothes that look even just ok, I hate looking in the mirror and for some reason I’m angry that it isn’t far it’s my liver problem because at least maybe I could lose fat - even after transplant this almost certainly won’t be any better (it might even be worse!) - I keep crying in fitting rooms when I have to see mirrors

[spiderkiss]

One thing that fucks me up about my weight is my family.

My dad’s side of the family are all shaped like me, we carry weight in our torsos, we are fat.

My mother is pretty slim, as are her brothers and her dad.

My brother is also slim. He goes to the gym a lot and works out and has nice muscles to show for it.

I’ve always been fairly strong but I also carry a lot of fat. But the thing is. My brother has always been thinner than me.

The whole going to gym thing was something my mum got me to do in high school in an effort to “make me healthy” when what it really was, was to make me lose weight. Because what my mum had always called ‘puppy fat’ was not going away like she had said it would as I got older

I was working out at the gym for far longer that my brother was.

But I was still always the fat one. No matter how much I exercised or denied myself food that I wanted.

looking back there has always been a lot of fat shaming in my house growing up.

no wonder I always felt like utter garbage. Because I was always going to be fat and I was still comparing myself to my brother and mother rather than being told they just won the beauty standard genetic lottery.

No wonder talking about weight loss is enough to make me burst into tears, so much of my life was spent hating myself for something I couldn’t change and absorbing the messages that that made me lazy and hideous.

[camille09hart]

People always tell me, and I have to keep telling myself:

"Don't let it get to you."

Dude, EVERYTHING gets to me. And I don't know how to stop it. 😢

[the-delta-quadrant]

NON-ABLEIST ALTERNATIVES TO "PHOBIA" WHEN REFERRING TO OPPRESSION

this post is NOT here for a "debate" on whether calling oppression a "phobia" is ableist or not (it is) and "debate" and ableism apology will be blocked. this is a post of the many non-ableist options there are to talk about oppression. choose one.

-MISIA

examples: JKR is transmisic. they're struggling with internalised fatmisia.

"-misia" comes from the greek word for hate and it's already used in other oppression terms like misogyny. out of all the options, it's the most similar one to "-phobia" grammatically. there is no agreed upon noun for someone who is -misic, though i have seen -miser, -misist and simply -misic used for that.

examples: JKR is a transmiser. transmisics are having a go under my youtube shorts. some transmisist insulted me.

ANTI-

examples: anti-aceness is detrimental to aces' mental health. transmedicalism is inherently anti-nonbinary.

"anti-" means "against" and it's already commonly used when it comes to lawmaking, so it's intuitive. there is, however, no noun to refer to someone who is anti-.

-ANTAGONISM

examples: amatonormativity is aro-antagonistic. bi-antagonism is still common in queer spaces. the weight loss industry is full of fat-antagonists.

"antagonism" refers to hatred and hostility.

-NEGATIVITY

examples: using "gay" as an insult is homonegative. i have encountered transnegativity in the medical field.

this suffix is pretty self-explanatory. it also complements "-positivity" which is often used to describe affirmation of a marginalised group. there isn't really a noun to refer to someone who is -negative, but you could just say "-negatives".

example: transnegatives are ruining our community.

-HOSTILITY

examples: transhostility is on the rise. expecting fat people to hide our bodies is fathostile.

another self-explanatory one, and another one without a noun to call -hostile people, but once again, you can just use the adjective as a noun. example: there were a lot of homohostiles at my school.

-HATE

examples: IGM is a manifestation of intersex-hate. pan-haters think bi is the only valid label for multi-attraction.

this is another very straight-forward one, although there isn't really an adjective to refer to something or someone who exhibits -hate. maybe -hating or -hateful.

examples: banning transition for minors is trans-hateful. TERFs are trans-hating misogynists.

-ISM

"-ism" as a suffix for oppression is already known from terms like ableism, racism, classism or sexism.

a list of "-ism" terms:

if something is anti-gay, it is heterosexist.

if something is anti-bi/mspec, it is monosexist.

if something is anti-trans, it is cissexist.

if something is anti-ace/aro, it is allosexist.

if something is anti-intersex, it is intersexist or perisexist.

if something is anti-nonbinary, it is exorsexist.

if something is anti-fat, it is sizeist.

no excuses for ableism.