You see, I have a confession to make. I’m a fat kid; you probably already know that. But what you might not know is how evil I am to myself because of it. How I’ve let my inner voices rule my decisions, my self-worth and my motivation for years. Forever, really. This is what I’m having trouble admitting to myself, and to you. I don’t really like to talk about my weight struggles much, outside of acknowledging that they’re there, however I have to now. I feel like I cannot move forward and share with you other sexy stories, other activist-like posts and so on, without being 100% honest with everyone about what I’m thinking all the time, under the surface. All. The. Time.

Fat in Grade 10. And obsessed with Shaq. Can you dig it?

After finally separating my self-worth from my body image, years ago, I thought I was free and clear of all that negativity. Who was I kidding? Sure, I reached a point where I realized that I could be valued as a person with opinions, fears, ideas and personality – and that had little to do with the size of my ass, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve always been comfortable with myself. Just comfortable enough to get by and fake it. I would say that’s a pretty successful and content place to be.

Then 2011 happened. 2011, or as I like to bitterly think of it as, “The year that my heart was stomped on and I allowed my confidence to be removed out from underneath me.” Never mind the fact that I had three relationships end; the most serious one of all dragged on with empty promises and ill intentions. And what was worse was that I allowed it to for far too long until I just physically could not take it anymore. But the damage was done.

Somewhere along the way, the mixed messages full of compliments and rejection broke me. Those two separate bubbles of self worth and body image became one again and I began to once again tell myself, deep in my sub conscious, that I wasn’t worth anything because I’m fat. To add insult to injury, I actually gained weight last year and took terrible care of myself. And not just a little weight, but enough that my comforting tights that have fit for years suddenly don’t anymore. I got dressed this morning, into a favorite dress, and it was tight and I felt terrible in it. And my tights wanted to fall down. And my underwear wouldn’t stay over my belly. Because it’s too big. And I just wanted to crawl under a rock and melt away.

The reason I’m writing this out isn’t for you. I think that’s pretty clear at this point in this sappy, emo post. I’m writing this post to finally admit to myself all of the hurtful and harmful things I tell myself without realizing. This is me coming face to face with all of my inner demons and starting down the path to set them free.

“I am a lazy, fat slob.”

This is a perfect example of a sentence that I have told myself for years. Of course I would never say it out loud to anyone else, unless it was in jest; instead it’s always remained at the surface, like a little invisible monster that nobody sees but me.

I must be lazy because if I wasn’t I would work out more, right? I must be a slob because otherwise I wouldn’t feel hungry enough to eat that one bite more than you had. I must be not worth dating because I have a larger tummy than I should have for this body.

Right???

I think a lot of us fat folk tell ourselves we’re lazy far too often. We’re so used to failing that it just makes sense that we’re lazy. Might as well just accept that fact and get on with it.

If I don’t want to go to store on the weekends, I’m lazy. If I don’t put my laundry away, I’m lazy. If I don’t do anything but sit on the couch and binge on Netflix, I’m lazy. Ok, well that one counts. Point is though, I tell myself that everything I do (or rather “don’t do”) is because I’m lazy. Because everything connects to how I feel about my body and being lazy is what makes sense.

Except I’m not lazy actually. Well, on a Saturday morning I am. In fact, most mornings I am, but I prefer to call that “night owl syndrome”, not laziness. Anyway, I digress. It took a good friend pointing out to me that when I want something, I pour my heart and soul into it. Last year when I planned Digifest, and my baby, Playground, I gave my absolute all to those events. So much so that I ended up with a 5 day flu that had me barely able to walk to the toilet after they were finished. I worked about 40/50 days straight, barely stopping to pee or MSN for months leading up to the events.

And yet, my inner voice would still tell myself that I was a lazy failure. And some illogical part of my psyche would agree, and the self-hate would perpetuate.

What I’ve learned from my friends’ advice is that I can, and DO, succeed at things when I really want them. It has nothing to do with being a slob, instead it has everything to do with motivation. I succeeded at writing 220 pages of my book but have yet to finish the remaining 30. How could I be so motivated for the majority, but fail on the rest? I’ve been secretly telling myself I’m a failure for over a year because of it, but I’m sure I’m simply scared instead.

A similar story is to be told when it comes to my weight. It’s not that I have no idea how to be healthy. I’ve done so many good (and bad) things to lose weight and get healthy over the years. Bernstein, Weight Watchers, anorexia, bulimia, a personal trainer, working out at home, yoga, WiiFit, changing my diet … blah blah blah. I know the things that work, and with many of those things I’ve been relatively successful. Then something would change in my life and I’d move on to either something else … or nothing at all.

“Get back in the gym!” “Stop eating that cheese!” “Stop being a baby and just lose the weight already!”

I get it. Some of you might want to yell those things at me. Some of you might have been born with excellent metabolisms and the ability to wake up in the morning and work out without feeling like ass. You might have not had experiences with body hatred. Or maybe you have, and have gotten over it and forget how hard it is. Your parents might have never gotten divorced and lived across the country. You might have more than just one parent left alive. You might have never been mocked with fat phobic remarks like I have been my entire life. And while I don’t resent you your body privilege or ability to go go go, and while I won’t deny envying you, I will defend my right to be fucked up because of those things as the reason I am writing this confession to you now. It certainly doesn’t help that the first time I ever lost any fat I was anorexic, bulimic and an obsessive exerciser all at the same time. Because if there’s ONE thing I’m good at, it’s multi-tasking.

In order for me to succeed, I have to want to be successful. My lack of energy to try isn’t because I’m lazy, it’s because I’m unmotivated and absolutely terrified.

The absolute 100% truth in the matter is that I am pretty convinced that whatever I start to do for weight loss and muscle gain – I will fail in. And this is the battle I am up against. This stupid inner voice telling me that this time will be just like the rest. That I will have some success but then I will lose focus and get fat again. That I will never NOT be the girl who takes up too much space on the subway seats. That I will always be the girl who can’t wear heels because I’m too heavy and weak to hold myself up. And of course I will always be the girl pulling up my tights or my pants because they don’t fit me perfectly as there’s just too much fat there.

I WILL ALWAYS FAIL SO WHY EVEN BOTHER TRYING???

I don’t want to think that anymore. I don’t want to be distant with my husband because I can’t bare to take his compliments when I’m hating myself. I don’t want to avoid putting my laundry away because it makes me see all of the clothes I look terrible in. I’m finally trying to start owning it. I’m finally acknowledging those inner demons and trying to acknowledge every time, or at least more often, when I feed myself hateful language. I have only just started to realize how hateful and mean I have been to myself for years. And years. And years. I have let the fact that I have a large stomach rule almost everything I do, without even realizing it was happening. What’s funny is that I am comfortable as a big girl. I *could* be a smaller girl, but I’d be happy as a curvy girl forever. I have no big desire to be skinny. I mainly just want my tummy to go away. And I want to love myself again. And feel sexy. And give my love to others.

And fit into my fucking tights.

Now I just have to figure out which direction my baby steps need to go in and who can help me along this path. Because being stuck in my own head is obviously not working for me.

Let’s do this.

Please note: I am not looking for sympathy as a result of this post. I’ll take empathy and hugs, questions about what I’ve tried and what I haven’t, followed by suggestions if you have them. I didn’t write this or share it to have you tell me I’m pretty. I AM pretty, and smart, and sexy and pretty talented at a lot of things. I haven’t forgotten any of this stuff; the narcissist in me won’t let me. I just needed to share with the world. It’s a bit of a compulsion I have. If I tell the world what’s going on, I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. Thank you for reading this far. You’re probably a pretty awesome person and I hope lots of people love you.

David mentioned to me at some point before or after my Playground Non-Monogamy 101 workshop that he would be interested in doing a piece on non-monogamy where I would be featured. I’ve said yes to similar pieces in the past and had a great feeling about both him and the girl who called me a few days after my initial interview to “fact check”.

That article can be found here. To be honest, the only issue that I have with it is that it seems to focus on the fact that – a few months into non-monogamy I struggled extra with the little details – like the visual cue of my husband’s date’s wine glass being left behind in my kitchen. When we were relatively fresh other people fuckers, silly shit like that was hard to handle. So I share those stories with other people because those are the things that threw me for a loop back in the day. A few commenters on the article have latched onto the wine glass story, suggesting that if I’m not comfortable with that then I must not really be happy with non-monogamy at all.

And this is a mild challenge I always see that, for the most part, I ignore. There are a lot of assumptions out there about open relationships. First of all, people will often react strongly when they hear someone is in one. “Isn’t that hard? What about jealousy? What if you fall in love?”. On the flip side however, if I suggest mySELF that non-monogamy is hard and that sometimes those questions can have really tough answers, then I obviously must not be happy with it. It’s not a practice that we should continue if there’s any hint that it’s sometimes challenging to have your partner fuck someone else and not you.

*blink* #sarcasm

I find this attitude so ridiculous which is why I will constantly strive to be honest when discussing open relationships. I would make a terrible happy poster child because I don’t just talk about the good on this site (and at my workshops), I also talk about the bad, and the ugly. Maybe I need to talk more about the good, which is a fair point. It’s always so much easier to talk about something challenging that we learned from instead of something easy that we just breezed right through. However in the interest of clarity, I will list a few points here that maybe I haven’t said in some time.

• Just as all of our time together has evolved – as we’ve gotten older / had new experiences / grown closer – so has the non-monogamous side to our marriage. There are many things that are much easier to deal with now – 5 years in, but were very definitely challenging at first – like the wine glass example from The Grid article.
• Non-monogamy ISN’T always easy. Whether you’re in it as a swinger or poly, it requires a lot of you and a lot of your partner and can be very challenging. Denying that it’s tough sometimes would be doing a disservice to anyone that was thinking of trying it.
• Fucking other people isn’t the only benefit to being open, which is something I try to stress all the time. It’s certainly a huge one, but there are countless other personal benefits on top of sexy fun.
• Acknowledging the desire to be selfish and do things for yourself is healthy. It’s how you choose to handle those feelings that dictate whether or not you are an asshole. I recently went out and splurged some money on new (needed) clothes and a hair-do because I wanted it for me. It’s not that I didn’t want something good for Steph as well – he’s free to shop all he likes! – but this didn’t concern him as I am my own person, with my own needs.
• While I certainly don’t think that we were headed down a path to divorce (at the time of opening up), I feel 100% certain that opening up our marriage was the best thing for our future as it has brought us more self-awareness, more confidence and more understanding of each other.
• Steph and I are more in love with one another, each and every day. As we grow and experience life together, our bond is constantly growing.
• I was never a “forever” person and now – as I see what a strong “team” we are – I am much more that way inclined.
• I admit it and I KNOW it’s hypocritical, but it is much easier for me to be with other people than it is for me when Steph is. Does me admitting that it’s sometimes difficult mean that I can’t be ok with it happening? Of course not. Compromise / happiness and unconditional love are things that matter very much to me and I will work through my issues because they are just that – my issues. Sometimes you’ll read about them here too. That’s kinda’ the point of this blog. You know, the diary-esque site you’re reading right now that has my feelings in it.
• Despite other people’s objections that Steph and I are stomping all over the “traditional definition” of marriage, blah blah blah … we feel, deep down, that we are very, very married. We still make all of our household decisions together. We travel together. We support each other when we’re sick. We buy groceries at one of the local stores whose name he always forgets. We share many bills. We get into married sex ruts. We burp and fart around each other. We take our cats to the vet. We hang out with our friends, separately and as a couple. Many of them are hetero normative, living “normal”, traditional, happy lives, and some are queer and challenging social norms because it makes them happy to do so. And sometimes we hang out with our friends that we sleep with.
• Being open has certainly brought us a little heartache over the years; me more so than him because I tend to get more involved with people emotionally, but he is right there beside me as it happens.
• Being open has also brought us more love. We have a bond between us that no one can break. We have people in our life that we likely would not have met without this lifestyle that we love like family and I can’t imagine not having around.

There is some sort of mechanism built into me for the sole purpose of keeping me on task and not losing focus when it comes to what I’m feeling, mainly pain. Unfortunately it holds no power over my ability to stay focused on work; strictly other uncomfortable things only.

So when people tell me I should get out of the house and distract myself to keep my mind off the breakup, I resist. I insist on personal convincing: “You’ll still be upset underneath it! What if you have a breakdown? That would be embarrassing!”

Today I went out because I wanted to, not because I felt that I should. It’s almost as if my brain thinks that distracting myself means I’m being dishonest and honesty is yet another stupid mechanism built into my brain. Changing what I’m feeling, temporarily, instead of allowing it to just happen feels incredibly deceitful of my brain for some absolutely ridiculous reason.

The only things that seem to make sense are those that upon first glance distract, but in reality temporarily numb instead. Like watching movies or getting drunk. If I’m watching a movie, I’m thrown into other people’s emotions so I don’t have to worry about my own. If I’m drunk, my feelings are either squashed for a bit or mega enhanced, but they’re still there.

It’s the same logic I apply to being sick. A fever is there to help our bodies build up our immune systems. I never try to squash a fever, only doing the things that allow me to feel more comfortable while letting a virus run its course and do what it needs to do.

And that’s what has to happen here. As freaking annoying as the rest of me finds the whole grand plan, dealing with the rawness of what I’m going through is my hearts’ fever and all I can do is let it run its course. I know people will keep suggesting that I get out, and if I feel like it, I certainly will. We’re hopping on a plane in a few days to go to my brother’s wedding in Nova Scotia anyway. But if I ain’t feeling it, I ain’t forcing it, even if it’s good for me. I’ll take the hit.

Leann Womack – I Hope You Dance

And this “little” ditty was on a CD of my brother’s favorite songs and every time I listen to it I think of him, missing him daily. Stevie passed away in a boating accident in April 2008.

Lynyrd Skynrd – Free Bird