Hot Takes on Hot Takes on Hot Takes

fatphobia, motherhood, gender, and asshole kids

8 years ago I was simultaneously dressed up and dressed down by self, by lineage, by every cell in my existence that turned into tiny fractals of who I was before. I bounced on a birthing ball while polishing off a cherry pie Lara Bar, wrote the staff schedule for the barbershop I ran because I was not supposed to be here yet, and rifled around my Dopp kit- readying myself to take a shower while I waited for my first born. I was started on the induction medication after my water had been broken for an undetermined amount of time and was positively ravenous for my baby to be on my chest already. It’s true what they say, at least it was for me, how your stomach aches with wanting- how you could literally eat your baby. Not like that, but also kind of? The moment she was born Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen swam through the room and my favorite nurse, Felicia, pierced the silence to state as such. “Listen to what’s playing.” I didn’t need to be told to listen but I am grateful for her saying it out loud. To call in the rest of the room that was bearing witness to the type of magic this baby was, that I was, that the moment was. I wasn’t just altered. I wasn’t who I was with motherhood simply being an anecdote. You aren’t raised the way I was, with a mother like mine, and turn up unscathed. I was still me, of course I was, but for me there was my self as the before-her and the after-her versions and they were not the same.

I read something a couple weeks ago that scratched me from the inside out. My lip curling and my signature nose-scrunch and I don’t mean in a cutesy (demure, even) type of way. It was a snarl, to be clear. I can’t remember whether or not she was a parent herself, I still knee-jerk to no, she was not, and perhaps that’s my wanting resurfacing again. Perhaps it’s my own shame manifesting as judgment. Surely a non-parent, a non-birther, isn’t spending time creating a thing when she hasn’t birthed a child herself? About birthing and the aftermath? How it changes or maybe doesn’t actually change you much at all? The long/short was “maybe motherhood doesn’t actually change you that much” re: identity (I’m very much summarizing/paraphrasing here) and I read this hot-take with judgement and curiosity. I still don’t know, can’t remember, whether or not she is a mother.

Everybody’s stories don’t have to be the same.

Two things can be true.

xxx

This time of year means it’s time to take the kids to their physical appointments and every time since Moonie was 3 I dread it because I know what will happen.

They will see me, they will see my kid, they will automatically place us into a box where assumptions will be made- certainly you can’t be eating homemade meals, be active, healthy, and be fat. You can’t tell your pediatrician that your favorite meal is Thai coconut soup and “my mom’s curry” because curry is not highly processed. You can’t say “ice water” when asked what’s in your water bottle because fat people don’t drink water- didn’t you know that?

Because there she sits with her fat-femme of a mom following right in her footsteps and nobody needs to get out the slide deck. Everyone’s minds have already been made up before she stands on the scale.

And then there’s Little who nobody bats an eye at even if he is classified by medical professionals as UnDerWeIgHt. He is little but he’s masculine, a real boys-boy (BarfTown, USA), he’s clearly active because all boys play sports, didn’t you know that? So they just tell me to feed him whatever he wants whenever he wants.

…

k?

I have had to sit in those shitty, vinyl covered chairs at the doctor’s office and announce, after I have instructed Moonie to excuse herself across the hall to use the bathroom before they get started, that if at any point they feel inclined to discuss her weight in any way that could potentially be perceived by her as “you need to be fixed” that you’d either better spare me or prepare to receive your own lecture re: Don’t say shit to me about the BMI chart as it’s wildly inaccurate and rooted in colonization and racism and/or I will make you cry in front of my kid(s) if you make them feel like shit about their weight.

It must be said that did in fact happen and we found another pediatrician after that particular appointment when she was just 4 years old and we have cycled through another two since. This year will be our second time seeing our current pediatrician and while she hasn’t launched into BMI chart chatter, she has raised her eyebrow at Scarlett’s responses to what she likes and what she does and what she eats. People think they can hide right there in the open and when I tell you I can literally see right through you.

As gross and complicated as it is to admit it is rather helpful to have Maddox with us when it’s Scarlett’s turn for an appointment because it affords me leverage in the form of-

You just told me to basically feed him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it when we were here a month ago. You didn’t ask me how many servings of fruit and vegetables I give him. You didn’t raise an eyebrow when he asked if he could have a popsicle with dinner like you looked at her as though she were lying when she said her favorite meal was curry. And if you’re so fucking worried about what she’s eating, please, pray tell, why is it that I have a child that you consider underweight and another one that you consider overweight despite the fact that they live in the same house and eat the same foods.

Unless, you know, you can entertain the idea that every body is different.

That particular pediatrician didn’t have much to say when I asked her that.

I’m not a dummy and since I am not a dummy I have been prepping for the Fatphobic Busting Olympics for years. We talk about bodies. We talk about our bodies and bodies that look like ours and the ones that are different from ours. We talk about how it’s actually not cool to talk about other people’s bodies because that might not feel good for them even if we don’t mind talking about ours. We prioritize complimenting their looks last and getting them in the habit of noticing and appreciating personalities they are drawn to- what those people like to do, how fun they are to be around, how considerate of other people they are.

We talk about what to do when a kid at school is being an asshole.

Is your kid the asshole?

Scarlett had a kid in her class last year that struggled with regulating themselves and often lashed out verbally and physically. She said this particular kid would chase and holler at the other kids. They would name-call. They would throw wood chips etc

you get the idea.

These particular conversations are easily summed up in our household as-

Some kids have issues regulating themselves and need help. Some kids might not get the proper rest, meals, and/or emotional support they need at home. Some kids have a hard time communicating in general due to a learning disability or perhaps they are neurodivergent. This is different than the kid that calls someone “fat” in an effort to hurt them. Grey area is important. Nuance is important. Regardless, we keep our mf hands to ourselves and we expect that to be true for others. We have softness for kids and people that seem to be struggling while having a boundary.

The end.

Our kid was stoked to buy a bikini this summer. I watched an exchange at the pool happening with another kid but I couldn’t hear it. I didn’t need to. When said-kid refused to wear said-bikini again, I wanted to literally claw my skin from my face. I wanted to tell her fuck that kid and sometimes I do. Maybe not exactly like that but if we’re being honest…

I am literally gritting my teeth and it feels like I’m talking through a wired jaw, I take a beat and explain to her that some kids have parents that don’t feel the same way that we do about fat bodies and that we can let it bounce off us, even when it stings. Even when we know what’s right and true.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t have to pick up the pieces of our generally-confident kid’s heart and put them back together because your kid asked her why she’s fatter than the rest of the kids in her class.

Why is your kid an asshole?

I know the answer to that but do you?

I want you to spend time educating yourself on why the BMI chart is outdated and harmful. I want you to educate yourself, your family, and your community on the reasons why perpetuating fatphobic narratives, beliefs, and language is dangerous. I want you to educate yourself so that you can begin to understand that fat doesn’t automatically mean unhealthy the very same way thin doesn’t automatically mean healthy.

I want you to be less of an asshole so that your kid is less of an asshole.

I want to raise our kids with realistic expectations- that some people and their kids suck. Period. That sometimes people are going to hurt our feelings. That sometimes being a fat person is hard and not because of our fatness but because of stigma.

I would like to spend less time wiping tears from my kid’s face because you’re too scared to spend 15 minutes reading.

I want you to quit raising asshole ass kids that I have to clean up after because I have enough shit to clean in this house and I’m tired.

All this to say and yet I can still access the grey. I can still challenge myself, my judgment, my defensiveness. It is a lot to undo. It is a lot to unlearn. I can have softness while you do so if you just promise to try.

Two things can be true.

Side note: all kids are assholes sometimes, mine included.

xxx

I read a well-intentioned essay about how gender isn’t real. But that’s all it was.

Gender isn’t real.

I am genderqueer. I am a girl because I’m a boy. I am a woman, I am not a lady, I am his girl, I am not a man, I don’t mind being ma’am. I am everything and nothing all at once.

But what about my husband that, while refusing societal norms of what gender should be, is a (trans) man.

Anaya is very much a man. Gender is very much real to him.

The essay meant well. Of course I agree that gender can be expansive. Of course I know that this person’s intention was to be radically inclusive.

The irony so often found in between the lines of our attempts at calling-in and even shit-talking.

Do things have to be so absolute? Must we make blanket statements that miss the mark? Can we pour a big glass of nuance for the table to share?

As I write this I take note of my own heels-in-the-sand hot-takes. Where I have puffed my chest, written from a place of projection, and that’s my shit. I own that.

I love nuance.

Rarely can I give straight answers when asked what my favorite film is or what my favorite album is or what my favorite food is and I almost always ask follow-up questions before responding.

What’s the vibe? What season are we in? What genre?

Not having an ultra-defined niche is often criticized as being lazy or uneducated or flakey. But, like, who cares? And is it laziness or is it a byproduct of my ADHD? Perhaps it was my lack of access to higher education when I was a kid and teen resulting in shame and making choices out of survival and therefore trauma? Or is it not that deep and do I, like a lot of people, enjoy not having one lane while valuing, respecting, and consuming highly niched content?

Who fucking cares?!

Can we make cultural criticism and hot-takes more accessible so the very discourse you claim to be seeking and encouraging is available to everyone and not those within your specific echo chamber?

Can we, and I am absolutely including myself when I say “we”, bring in more grey to what we create and dare to turn the mirror to our own faces in an effort to get curious where are our biases and perspectives could potentially shift?

It must be said, or at least acknowledged, that shade disguised as cultural criticism is ultimately shame you’re not willing to sit with right now, and that’s cool. You don’t have to touch it and I say that with my chest. Let’s just say what we mean and mean what we say. If you think that somebody liking something is cringe or dumb or basic (I have been guilty of this myself in regards to the hype around macarons. I think they’re a technical masterpiece. I also think they taste like sweet air and are meh and I own that) go ahead and say so but I appreciate it more when we are willing to show our own hands rather than finger-pointing or posturing.

Maybe I’m too soft- what with the requests for more accountability and introspection. I am drawn to writing and writers that are willing to pull their own cards whilst they pull the cards of others. I appreciate hot-takes that are rooted in expansiveness and knowledge and understanding- not ones that are born from insecurity. Silly musings about “I don’t get the hype of Sweetart Ropes” hits different than “I don’t get the hype of every person calling themselves a writer” type shit.

I think we can do better.

Biggest love,

AR

Currently Listening To: silence

Currently Reading: I am doing some hopping around but have a lot of quiet, solo time this week to hopefully lock something down

Currently Cooking: this tomato risotto that is a major fave around here and I have plans to eat lots of BLTs with tomatoes from the garden on a slice of this (super easy/no-knead) bread and pesto because Anaya doesn’t like it and isn’t here

Recently Published: Baby (I am baby) is in print for the first time. I have an essay in the latest edition of Oh Reader! magazine

What’s (Not) Working: turning toward Anaya and committing, out loud, to one another while the current hand we’ve been dealt has the cards quite literally stacked against us is working. We are good at loving each other well and in the ways we need and that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it needs to be said, out loud, “let’s do an even better job at us right now.” The world could be, and is, burning but if we’re good, the rest is easier to cope with. I am also continuing to limit my access to quick dopamine-hit things and that is also working well. Doing this has helped me quiet-down mentally and physically which makes it easier to stay embodied. When I am making accommodations (for my ADHD, for my triggers, for my cycles etc) and when I am honoring my boundaries and asking for what I need I am inherently the best version of me and therefore giving you (everybody) the best version of me. I am feeling critical of self-inflicted wounds, all-shit//no-soft talking, and overly sarcastic people and that’s what is not working.¹

1. I am able to see the way I have perpetuated these unhelpful/harmful narratives in the past. I can recognize when I’m actively projecting or reflecting on the way I have projected in the past.