Frozen Times

the act of trying to fit my fat, squishy body into something that would not go past my knees was embarrassing. but it’s doubled when i realized i was wearing the biggest size in that section, what was supposed to be my section. the look my mother gave me when i told her that nothing fit is seared into my memory.

so i cried. i cried because this meant i had to shop at the womens section. for some completely asinine reason, in my teens, i decided that if i ever shopped in the fat lady’s section, it meant that i had failed. at what? i still don’t really know. passing by the abundance of ugly, drab, boring clothes that the plus size section provided felt like i was in a funhouse, like this can’t be my reality.

but the pants fit there. i took no pleasure from this, and i cried again.

so that’s why i made this post. because the experiences that fat and chubby kids go through in dressing rooms is unique and so rarely talked about. i’m in a much better place now and have definitely embraced my fat thighs and hanging double belly, but i know a lot of us who grew up to be fat adults still have some pain we have to address and work through.

buff

dumb as rocks. not gullible or naive or airheaded like is usually the case with dumb female characters just give me ladies whose decision making is abysmal and whose ideas are as bad as they are awesome

scars that aren’t sexy or hideous or that have some dark backstory they’re just there

not that conventionally attractive and doesn’t actually do anything to her appearance but thinks she’s hot as fuck and is actually pretty correct

curses like a sailor

filled with rage

eats everything. has the metabolism of 12 horses

very talented or skilled but not insecure about talents in fact probably a little TOO confident about them

just a little shit

kind of unhinged mad scientist or wizard

BIG. tall. Large

always unkempt and covered in grime and dirt. has not washed socks in months. just a greasy piece of garbage

always loud and taking up space. manspreads. snores. props feet up on table to lean back in chair and then falls backward and takes the tablecloth and everything on it with her, screaming

chaos incarnate. causes problems on purpose and not in a cute way just thinks explosions and murder are fun

impractically large weapon

flirtatious but mostly flirts with people by punching them

covered in sickass tattoos

buff

an expert in something that’s not particularly useful

grey hair, still sexy

loves spiders and creepy crawly things more than anything

alcohol tolerance of a mule but still gets absolutely plastered and gets into bar fights

just really, really, really weird

pretty and spends time on her appearance but sometimes gets covered head to toe in blood and is fairly chill about it

snarls and growls at things

scientist that gets really excited over slime molds or something like that

did I mention buff

middle aged, has seen it all, sick of your shit

fat and chubby and not for tiddies reasons

enjoys affectionate brawling (especially with other female characters who also enjoy affectionate brawling)

motorcycle

will fight everything including god

lowkey stumbled out of the woods not knowing how to wipe her ass. will bite you if you look at her funny

It took me until my late 20s to convince my hindbrain that the average group of women weren’t actually all waiting to peck me to pieces so I could actually dare to be friendly and the tiniest bit outgoing.

Because the statistics basically say: In a given year, about 5-10% of children are bullied. Very specifically: Your average classroom of 30 kids will, with stunning regularity, choose about 1-3 children and ostracize them. When we get students to rank-order the popularity of their classmates, that is a very effective way to predict who the bottom tier will be, the 1-3 kids with 0 friends. (In lower grades of elementary it’s rare for those 1-3 kids to band together, and if they do, it actually sinks their social status with everyone else even deeper) Bullying interventions that work on identifying that bottom tier of kids and work on getting them as many as one or two friends in the rest of the class, their mental health outcomes improve significantly.

So basically, in elementary school, a bullied kid is always “not like the other kids” because the statistical experience of being bullied is being trapped every day for a year in a room full of kids who almost uniformly hate you. In effect, bullied elementary kids have been traditionally kept in parallel prison cells, unable to see each other’s suffering.

It is sad, MASSIVELY sad, that a lot of bullying victims come out of their experiences hostile and unready to trust anyone else. It’s also massively sad that a lot of them come up with dysfunctional and, yes, oppressive theories to explain what happened, like, “The other girls hate me because other girls are shallow bitches.” 

That especially happens to white kids–kids from minority groups are often more resilient to bullying (though other life forces might tank their mental health) because their parents were more likely to sit them down at a very early age and say, “Look, sometimes people are going to hate you and treat you horribly. They’re wrong, you don’t deserve it, and don’t take it personally.” Meanwhile white parents are more likely (although not the only ones) to go, “Well what did you Do Specifically to Make them bully you? 🙃 This is a totally individual problem independent of any larger social forces and also quite likely your fault.” And if all the adults are saying that, a kid is generally forced to conclude that it IS them, personally, and/or, find something or someone else to blame for what’s happening, and most of the available theories about Why People Suck are… really shitty to the people they’re describing.

Ostracism is an extreme result of relational aggression in that it denies the person any relationships at all. On the other hand, there are a ton of things people can do inside relationships that are still aggressive. In a way, although complete ostracism fucks kids up, it at least offers the chilly protection of distance. Friends are close enough to make excellent targets.

There's a stunning thing I still remember is from when I was in 5th grade. I'd been bullied solidly to that point (for being brighter than average, and also chubbier than average, and not as well off) and had already developed a pretty cold, hard shell, because I knew if the other kids felt intimidated they'd leave me be. I was at a solo conference (everyone had them, Parent/Teacher conference kinda deal) with my mother and my 5th grade teacher. The teacher said she noticed that the other kids were teasing me, and I begrudgingly agreed, and my mother went, "What? I didn't know!"

And in that moment I learned about adults not caring/not listening, because I had told her. I had been telling her since like, 1st grade. That moment is burned into my mind.

I also learned that preferring to be alone is often a result of bullying. It's a way your brain tries to flip the trauma to protect you. Instead of being upset at being alone, your brain tells you, "It's okay, we like this." And that saddens me deeply, too.

References to “vagina envy.” This is what initially got me scrolling. This alone isn’t a sure indicator.

Andrea Dworkin quotes without criticism

Reblogging from troll accounts like confirmed-/-terf

I hope you don’t mind me reblogging your tags but these are my feelings EXACTLY

When I got married, I hadn’t had sex yet.  Waiting until marriage was important to me, so that’s what I did.  My wedding night was the first time I had sex.

It sucked.

I figured, ok, this is new for both of us, it’s probably going to take some practice.

A year later?  It still sucked  We tried a lot of different stuff.  A lot  of different stuff.  It sucked so bad, we even bought a copy of “Sex for Dummies”.

(it didn’t help)

I started working late so I didn’t go to bed at the same time as my husband.  Every time he would travel for work, I’d be grateful that I didn’t have to go through the awkwardness of avoiding his advances when I went to bed.

He didn’t think it was healthy for a newlywed couple to have sex less than once a week.  So we scheduled it.  Repeat, scheduled intimacy.  I thought I was putting on a brave face and doing what I needed to do to maintain a good relationship.

Because I had no idea that asexuality was a thing.

I talked to my husband, told him I didn’t like sex.  He didn’t understand.  I lost track of how many times I said: “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you.  I don’t want to have sex with anyone.”

So it was established, Amber doesn’t like sex.

But we still did it.  Because I wanted my husband to be happy.  Sometimes halfway through, I’d start crying.

And he’d always be supportive, and apologize.

After he finished.

So when I found out about asexuality, and told him how I felt, he suggested I go to a doctor.  Because obviously there was something wrong with me.

So I went to a doctor.

(surprise, surprise, I’m perfectly healthy)

Then I told my mom.  When she suggested meds to improve my sex drive, I broke down in tears.  I told her there was nothing wrong with me.  And my mom has been 100% supportive of my orientation ever since.  When people ask if I’m a lesbian, she teaches them about asexuality.  

But anyway back to my journey of self-discovery

So I tell my husband, I’m asexual, I don’t want to have sex.  You are not asexual, you do want to have sex.  One of us is going to be miserable in this relationship, and I’m tired of it being me.  I love you too much to make you miserable for the rest of your life, but I love myself too much to be miserable for the rest of my life.  We might have to face the fact that we’re not right for each other.

So his immediate response is “no, I can change, I’ll do anything, divorce is not an option, etc”

But I can’t exactly ask him to stop wanting to have sex.  Because that’s not how allosexual people work.  And he can’t seduce me into wanting to have sex, because that’s not how asexual people work.

Anyway.  He cries, I cry, we decide on marriage counseling to help our comunication.

Because we’d been married for almost 6 years by this point, and had been together for 3 years before that, and we still can’t really talk about what we want (or don’t want) in regards to sex.

So we go to counselling for 6 weeks.  The first 3 sessions individually, and the last 3 together.  During the together sessions, the therapist would prompt us with a question, and we’d talk to each other, being completely honest about things.

During (what turned out to be) our last session, I’d finally had enough.  I’d had enough of being embarrassed about what anyone else would think.  Enough of the gender roles I was being forced into.  Enough of paying someone to watch me talk to my husband.  Enough of pretending to salvage a relationship that I had been increasingly avoiding over the past 2 years, and I said:

“Josh, I love you.  We have communication problems, but we’ve been together almost ten years and I’m willing to work through those if you think we can make it work.  But I am never having sex with you again.”

(At this point, the therapist who’d been trying to get us to communicate put down her notebook and said, ok I think we’re done.)

Then and only then, did he agree to file for divorce.

—————–

I say all that to say this:

Don’t you dare fucking tell me that asexual representation doesn’t matter.  I would have six years of my life back if I had known.

And if you’re in a relationship, talk to each other oh my God.  About everything.  What dream you had last night.  That song from scout camp that randomly gets stuck in your head.  The reason you don’t like sweet potato.  That embarrassing thing you did in third grade that still makes you mad when you think about it.  If you and your partner can share these tiny, intimate details, talking about sex is no big deal.  And it takes practice, so practice.

————–

On a happy note, now, 3 years after the divorce, I am in a happy, stable relationship with another ace.  And if you happen to ask my mom how I’m doing, she’ll tell you “I’ve never seen my baby girl happier.”

ASEXUALITY IS A REAL THING, LOVING, SWEET ACE RELATIONSHIPS ARE REAL! Just because your partner wants sex doesn’t make you broken. Just because you don’t want sex doesn’t mean you should have to force yourself to do so.