My World's on Fire

A few months ago, I did something called a Cheer Session at Ludy Luck Photography Studio.  It's a photoshoot in which the owner, Jennifer, sprays or splatters you with the paint colour of your choice and you celebrate yourself while Jennifer documents it on digital film. 
 

It seems pretty simple, but there's more to it.  Jennifer spends a crazy amount of time promoting fat acceptance and body positivity on her various social media sites and in real life.  It really is a transformative experience.  And a portion of the proceeds for each Cheer Session is donated to CAMH.  

Jennifer asked me why I was there - usually, people have something to work through when they're there.  I gave her a true answer: I hadn't quite rebounded after the excitement of my wedding last summer.  That was the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth.  I chose red because my world's on fire.

It's been a tumultuous few months.  I'd blame Mercury in retrograde, but it's bigger than that.

It started with some bad news I'm not ready to share.  Then came my annual physical with my doctor.  The idea of an annual physical makes sense - screen me for risk factors, signs and symptoms of common ailments and give me advice and treatments for the same.  The reality is it's really just a time where my doctor makes it clear to me that she has not read my chart at all prior to our visit, has no idea who I am, and then pockets $50 or more to tell me that my BMI is above 25 kg/m2 and I should "keep an eye on that."  You know, because every magazine I've ever read hasn't already made it abundantly clear that EVERYONE ELSE is already keeping an eye on it.

This time, even though I had just finished telling her about my work AS A DIETITIAN she suggested I try Weight Watchers, OR THE DIET COMPANY THAT CAUSED A FAMILY MEMBER TO LOSE A GALL BLADDER.  All while wearing a johnny shirt that doesn't tie up around me.

And I wanted to tell her all about the work of the Health at Every Size movement and the fact that zero percent of my other chronic disease indicators were throwing up red flags so the point of this appointment was for her to fat-shame me and make me even less engaged with my personal health because my primary care provider makes me feel like a giant waste of space (emphasis on giant).  But I didn't.  I held my johnny shirt together, nodded politely, put my clothes back on after she left, drove home and cried.

I'm fairly lucky, actually.  I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy.  What I mean by that is that I was born with a great deal of privilege already loaded onto my pre-paid credit card. The only ticks in my negative column are the fact that I'm female and obese.  Even so, it feels like there's a boot on my neck a great deal of the time.

About a month after that, I started listening to this podcast: Uncover: The Village.  It purports to be about the serial murders by Bruce McArthur that took place in the Church-Wellesley area of Toronto, but branches out into the history of the gay village in Toronto and the multiple reasons its occupants might have to distrust the police and their handling of the case.  Spoiler alert: It's because, for decades (and likely centuries before that), the popo and the system of governance they represented engaged in a systematic campaign to ruin (and sometimes end) the lives of those who lived a homosexual lifestyle.

And then last week, a man with an assault rifle walked into a Wal-Mart in Texas with the express purpose of killing persons of colour.

And, of course, the earth is ACTUALLY on fire.  Fueled by a crippling reliance on petroleum and an endless supply of single-use plastic packaging.

And I just can't anymore.

When I talk to people about how I feel, they tell me I'm taking on too much.  I'm shouldering other peoples' burdens when I should really take care of myself.  But since I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy, and if I'm even a fraction as woke as I think I am, self-care has to be something a little more meaningful than a bubble bath and a pedicure because the things that are keeping me up at night are bigger than me.

The photoshoot with Lady Luck was a great start.  It made me feel good.  It sent a message about how I should feel about my body to everyone who sees the pictures and hopefully inspired some people to feel differently (better!) about theirs.  It supported a business that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.  And, in a small way, supported an organization that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.

  

In my effort to learn about how to make the world a better place, I saw one of those inspirational quotes on an Instagram account I'm following that said that the world doesn't need one person doing things perfectly so much as it needs a million people doing things imperfectly.  Part of what's burning me right now is that the fire is so fucking huge that I'm not sure I can handle the extinguisher I'd need to put it out by myself.  I feel like I've got the equivalent of a garden hose to fight a forest fire. I need more people.  Who will fight fires with me?