i read this piece the other day. you should too.
"
The other day I was talking to a friend, thinking about weight loss surgery.
I was thinking about weight loss surgery.
I told her I never say never. I dn't believe in foreclosing possibilities. Not in some weird naïve hyperoptimism way, but in a queer way, which maybe is the same thing.
I told her I wouldn't get weight loss surgery--at least right now--but if there was some way for me to have the genetics for thinness I would take it in a heartbeat.
(Are genetics just a way to blame my ancestors?)
I told her I believe in an easier life, and if there was a way for me to have an easier life I would absolutely take it.
I mean, that's why I'm in grad school. In an attempt to make an easier (read: upwardly mobile, financially stable) life.
I told her these are scary things I wasn't ready to say publicly yet.
I told her that these things aren't actually about fatness, though. There is nothing inherent about fatness that makes it difficult. It's the social experience. We are social beings. Pack animals.
I think. If I could have the same access to sex and dating that I see my thin friends. If I could just walk in to any store and whenever I wanted and find clothing in my size. Maybe it's cold and I forgot a jacket. Maybe i dropped something on my pants, or a shirt got ripped. If I could be fungible. I have never gone in an H&M in my life.
If I could find a seat--any seat--seat and not feel the legs swelling under me. If I went to school and fit in the desk. If I could fit in a single bathroom stall. A restaurant booth. A roller coaster. If my fear of flying was about perhaps heights or speed and not about being forced to leave a plane because they didn't fit me. If people didn't think automatically think I was stupid by my body. Or ugly. If It didn't make me stick out in any social setting. And not because of my race, which is also about body.
These are not problems with my body. These are problems with the social world. There are no excuses for this to be my experience.
I've learned to just stay home instead.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
I went to an event on Friday. I was excited to try to get out and find queer community in Oakland, something I have up until this point been apathetic towards. I was optimistic I could meet people. At one point I turned around and saw a sea of thin, mostly white people. And understood. This space wasn't for me. I left early, for a few related and unrelated reasons.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
A few weeks ago some friends and I were talking about going to Ships. I felt insecure and said I'm not dressed for Ships. Then I thought, who am I kidding? It's not like anyway would talk to me no matter how I'm dressed. That night we stayed in and watched YouTube videos.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
On Sunday I witnessed the intentional, consistent and adamant exclusion of Deaf and Disabled folks from the Oakland Book Festival. I left early, for a few related and unrelated reasons.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
Last night I'm in a book store in Alameda, there is a table full of white people talking to eachother. One is wearing a Black Lives Matter shirt. I hear them talking about prisons (badly). I look over. They smile. Tell me they like my shirt.
I ask, "Is this a white people's book club?" They laugh, uncomfortably.
They say, "it happens to be, tonight. This is Alameda for Black Lives."
I say, "Oh, ok. Cute." (It's not.)
One says "I always strive to be cute." (They're not.)
I walk away.
They keep talking about prisons. About criminals. About violent versus non-violent offenses.
I bought my book and left.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
When I see groups of only white people or thin people I wonder if they notice. By which I mean, I wonder if they think about who's not there.
I doubt it. I don't think I notice where there aren't any disabled, or trans folks in spaces I'm in.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
I grew up in a household with a mother who is hard-of-hearing. The closed captioning was always on on the television, and I still watch everything with the captions on. But I've never asked why there are no Deaf or blind folks at the movies when I've gone, for example.
I have been thinking about isolation a lot.
Our movements think about interdependency, about relying on and supporting each other until we are all free.
But do we think about the ways we exclude eachother? The structural ways our joys, our entertainment, our book clubs, our sex, our party spaces, our conferences do?
What does it matter if you hold a meeting in a wheelchair-accessible, scent free space close to the BART with ASL interpreters and comfortable, armless chairs if we don't know the folks who needs those resources to invite them?
On Sunday Stacey said that accessibility is really just step one. Accessibility is just about getting the people necessary into a room to begin to have the conversation.
What would it mean if we weren't already saying to eachother that our bodies mean we don't belong, and we are okay with that?
Why do we fault people who take steps to change their bodies in ways we are already always telling them is necessary?'