I lost 96 lbs

and hated everything, relapsed, cried a lot, and spent a lot of money trying to figure out why I was sick every waking moment.

I haven’t deleted or taken down most of the photos from that time in my life. Sometimes I want to because I know it can be triggering for some folx that are doing a deep-dive scroll to see before/after’s and then after/before’s.

I don’t take them down because sometimes I look at them and not in the way you might think. Not because I miss that body (it was easier to shop, I’ll say that) but to remind myself of how tirelessly and utterly fucked up I was while pursuing some patriarchal, racist, heteronormative body “ideal.” I don’t miss that body because I know how fucking miserable I was “achieving” it and living in it.

4 months after I had Moonie (if you’re confused, Moonie is what I have called my oldest child, Scarlett, since she was born and I use them interchangeably) I was like, I’m going to lose 100 lbs. I set out to do it (I am shockingly good at doing whatever I say I’m going to do), created a YouTube channel (FML), did several rounds of Whole 30 (FMLx1000), and ended up connecting with a #Fitspo (a human on social media, generally Instagram, that has an enormous platform and therefore reach, by capitalizing from fatphobia) that I had FanGirl’d over for years that was like, “hey, I’ll work with you for free” and I essentially became their/one of their proteges. I was so fucking thrilled that this person was giving me any sort of attention and time, and I made it my end-all-be-all to never let them down. We made it both of our missions for me to lose 100 lbs in a year. I ended up spending money I didn’t have to become a “certified nutrition coach” and I worked for their company; using my experience and what little professional knowledge I had to also sell fatphobia. I worked with folx wanting to lose weight- parents, a lot of moms, a lot of fat folx. I was an easy sell, I wrote content for them, I was their proof.

That’s enough of that. I didn’t come here to drag them, that isn’t what this is about. In fact, when I did leave, it was quietly- I sent an email to my clients and then to the “boss” stating my departure, yes, my email to the boss was much more strongly and differently worded. I did feel a deep sense of guilt and grief for disappearing on my clients, some of which have become friends of mine I still talk to today. But I never dragged them. I still haven’t. Back then it was because I was horrified of the pull I thought they had. I didn’t want to get “cancelled” (cringe), so I slipped out, shut the door behind me, received a couple nasty emails from them, didn’t get my last paycheck, and that was that. What I will say, since there are some folx that know who/what company I am talking about, is that I got paid well. It was the best I had ever been paid, actually. It was also just supremely fucked, and I have worked for a lot of abusive folx in my life, but never a femme that was abusive as her. I feel sorry for her, to be honest.

xxx

While I was losing my (almost) 100 lbs, I was also a brand new and first time mother. I was navigating entrepreneurship for the first time when I realized that not only could we literally not afford childcare, or qualify for assistance then, but that I literally couldn’t stand being away from Moonie. Like, paralytic anxiety. And so I started a blackmarket (hahahahahahaaaa) meal prep + delivery service *blackmarket because that wasn’t/isn’t legal as I was operating out of my home. It was successful to me because my clients were happy, I got rave reviews, and I also was poor as fuck. I would take care of Moonie during the day, work through the night, and then do deliveries with her in tow twice a week. It was… absolute vibes. I thought a lot about my sexuality and my identity during that time. Every pound lost I felt more “woman” which was disorienting but I felt affirmed. My already fragile marriage began to unravel for the millionth time. We racked up a lot of debt trying to make everything work. I relapsed for the first time in more than a decade. I already struggled with the idea of sex, even as a sexual human, and eventually lost my sex drive altogether. I went to countless doctors appointments, then spent thousands of dollars I didn’t have seeing a naturopath just to figure out why I was-

Experiencing a rash around my nose and eyes

Was so lethargic and exhausted I slept for two hours during the day when I put Moonie down (I have never been a person that naps. Ask anyone.)

Had constant stomach issues

Was so unhinged as a mother and as a person I then spent thousands of dollars trying to sift through the guilt and shame of that bit

All for, and thank fuck, the naturopath to be like, “I think you’re hungry. I think you need to shift the intensity of your workouts to, like, 20% of what you’re doing, and I think maybe you should reconsider being vegan.”

TLDR I went home and made a steak for dinner. A few months after that, and after I watched Moonie step on the scale, look down, and look back up at me clapping and cheering, at the ripe age of two, I was all the way fucking done. With all of that.

xxx

I knew I would gain the weight back and I knew I had to. I was scared about what people would say. I lost a lot of followers, I deleted a lot of followers. I swung the opposite way and hollered into the abyss about anti-dieting. I started to gain weight. I felt better. I was still scared. But then I didn’t die.

Better than not dying, I stopped using again. I ate. I pulled my cookbooks and food memoir and favorite food-writing out again. I still moved my body but it wasn’t for 3-5 hours a day, and eventually the idea of not exercising every single day didn’t give me heart palpitations.

I started writing again, and not ebooks or blog posts about “getting out of your own way” or “you’re the reason you’re not losing weight” or “here’s another macro-friendly recipe.”

I started cooking and baking again. I stopped using weird fucking substitutions and just used butter.

And flour.

And actually oats in my oatmeal instead of the SPAGHETTI SQUASH I WOULD USE AS AN OAT REPLACEMENT BECAUSE IT WAS LOWER CARBS.

I drank less because I didn’t have to save my calories for it, oof.

I went outside with Moonie and not because I made us go on an 8 mile hike otherwise I wasn’t doing it right, but because she wanted to swing and so did I.

I ate pizza, actual pizza, and not some Frankenstein mish-mash, sorry, sad replacement. I didn’t weigh my peanut butter or get the dehydrated kind that doesn’t have any oil and therefore doesn’t have fat…

Jesus H.

The way I am cringing right now. I wish you could see me and simultaneously very grateful you cannot.

Anyways, this entire post was inspired by the fact that I had finished moving my body in a way that makes me sweat a lot. It feels like a cleanse. It isn’t sustainable every day or through every season but it feels good for now and that is exactly how and why I choose to move my body these days.

I did gain all of the weight back, and I needed to and I’m glad.

I don’t make it my mission to tow the anti-diet line but I do challenge folx to push back on beauty standards through a queer and anti-racist lens.

I eat. Honestly, not enough these days, and sometimes just a big ass dinner. That isn’t something I intentionally do or recommend, and instead of kicking my shit in, I sometimes set reminders to eat and actually follow through.

I hike and I even go for nature walks that are not intense at all which is a huge shift from a person that wouldn’t go on a hike less than three miles or rated as “moderate” for years. No lie.

I stopped using a fitness tracker 90% of the time and spontaneously use it to gauge how much activity I am getting in, especially as my job is much more sedentary than it ever has been.

I haven’t owned a scale in five years.

I don’t get weighed at the doctors office.

I push back if and when any medical professional tries to diagnose any ailment with “probably its because you’re fat.”

I destigmatize the word fat for myself, my family, my friends, and my kids.

I teach my kids that fat isn’t a four letter word.

I continue to divest from societal norms and conditioning and programming of what’s good, what’s beautiful, what’s meaningful.

I feel more alive in my body than I ever have.

I don’t turn the lights off when I have sex and instead leave them on so I can get glimpses of my fat thighs wrapped around Anaya.

Sometimes I don’t love the way I look every day or every moment, and that’s okay.

I teach my kids and advocate for body-neutrality. You don’t actually have to like or love what you see in the mirror at all times, and that’s okay too.

I feed myself and my loves and my community. Whole, round meals that are full of flavor and nutrients and fat and carbs.

I make brownies with my kids and I serve them alongside our dinner.

I don’t assign moral value to food, food just IS, and the language we use matters.

I don’t “work off” or “earn” holiday meals or cocktails.

I move my body because my brain needs it. My skin needs it. My heart and lungs need it. My aging bones and joints need it.

I keep three different sizes in my closet at all times because bodies fluctuate because they’re meant to.

I use my own thoughts and feelings and desires to lean into what gender and gender expression in a fat body means to me. Knowing and learning and understanding that they are two different things.

I am fat. I am healthy and I’m a mom and friend and lover and writer and artist and shower-singer and home cook and reader and painter and hiker and sex-haver and practicer and novice and laugher and do’er and swimmer and baker and builder and gardener and walker.

I am grateful for my fat and able body.

I am beautiful because I say so.

I eat with gusto and sometimes I don’t eat.

I make laborious meals and I make instant ramen.

I don’t try to cover up my body anymore and have found this to not only mean that clothes actually look better on my body, but that it has also helped me swim through how I want to be perceived. If I want to be perceived.

I use food as medicine and as a love language.

I use food as a means to pay our bills.

I use food to bring people together and be a vessel for community.

I don’t care what other folx do or decide for their bodies but I will tell you that I don’t want to hear about your diet when we hang out, thanks for understanding.

It’s been a journey and several lifetimes. It has been a lot of critical thinking about what it means to be fat. It has been a lot of softness for myself and for others. It has been a goddamn pleasure, if I’m being honest.

Instead of a recipe, I offer you these things-

Eat a meal because it tastes good. Cook something you have never made before. Go for a 10 minute walk and after the 10 minutes is up decide if you want to keep going or if maybe you want to go home and dance your face off in your kitchen by yourself. Eat a tangelo. Make a loaf of bread and put some butter on it while it’s still warm. Make a three layer cake just because. Eat the pasta. Prepare your favorite vegetables in a way you never have before. Discover the wonder that is za’atar. Roast your broccoli with good olive oil. Go to the rec and swim laps, or don’t, and instead splash around. Touch yourself. Take a bath. Put lotion all over your body while it’s still damp and lay in your towel on your bed. Lay down and don’t even nap, just because. Kiss your lover and see what happens next. Buy a crop top. Stop pulling your shirts below your hips. Look at your body naked and even if you don’t like what you see, acknowledge that that’s your rig, and we’ve only got one.

This meat sack of mine has been through the ringer and admittedly, I put it there. But it’s mine, and I’m grateful. I’m grateful for y’all spending time with me each week. I hope you’ll stay because me and this fat body ain’t going anywhere, k?

Speaking of things you should and could make, maybe you want to join us for a hand-pie making class, hey? Pie lovers, pie-crust detesters, savory and sweet folx, unite. I’ll even give you Butter Moon’s recipe xx

Come to class!

Biggest love,

AT