Look What I found!

Searching through my e-mail today, I came across a letter I once wrote to our local newspaper.  I wrote it on 5/2/2009.

You can tell by reading the letter that some douche bag named Charles wrote a letter to the paper saying something like:  "Fatties are fat.  They should just not eat so much.  They are stupid fat fatties."

I used to just ignore those mean bullying letters.  But then I started fighting back.  I actually thought that http://www.giftoffat.com/ would be a lot more about providing a voice for fat people and a lot less about pushups and kids.  The fact is, however, I can't keep up the anger 24/7. 

Some of my life is about getting angry at stupid, sanctimonious morons who vilify fat people.

Most of my life is about other things.

When I saw this, however, it rang as true as it did the day I wrote it. 

So now YOU get to read it!

Sent to Caller Times, May 2009:

In response to Charles C_________'s letter of 5/2 regarding obese people should ELF - Eat Less Food:  Duh.

As an obese woman for my entire life, the ELF strategy is used by most of us all the time. With the billion dollar diet industry, ELF takes many forms: the no carb diet, the grapefruit diet, Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the list gets larger every year. The result: metabolic chaos. I am sorry that Mr. C_________ was "horrified recently" to learn that obesity causes a slew of health problems. Fat people have known this forever. Obesity also causes social and psychological problems -- frequently triggered by ignorant individuals who think that the solution to our medical issues is simple: ELF. The letter is made even more insulting by the tacky cartoon above it which shows the US flag cracking under the weight of an obese person.


Obesity is not a character flaw. It is a medical condition that can sometimes -- but not always -- be controlled by various strategies. When I was a girl, I was the only fat kid in class. Now all the kids are fat. The only upside to this sad situation is that the public is finally waking up to the fact that obesity is a chronic medical condition that needs to be addressed at all levels. Hopefully, the insurance industry will follow suit and begin to pay for reasonable medical intervention before the patient resorts to drastic measures such as gastric bypass or lap band.


It's no fun to be fat. I'll bet it's not fun to have asthma either. Chronic medical conditions don't have simple solutions. Let's stop being so condescending.






Mary A.
Corpus Christi

Gift of Fat: Empathy

I feel bad when people are hurting. 

I think I have empathy because I know what it's like to be teased.  To be judged. 

One of my friends killed himself last weekend.

I can't imagine what he felt, how he struggled, what was going through his mind.  I have no idea.

I have no idea what his family feels right now.  All I know is that it's pretty bad.

I know that whatever he was feeling that night, he was struggling to get away from it. His bible was with him, passages were highlighted that give some clue of what he was asking God.


In the end, the depression -- or whatever it was -- won.

Is it empathy to be annoyed with people for saying things like:

"All he had to do was reach out and we could have helped him"
"Why did he do it?"
"Nothing could be that bad."
"He was a Christian, how could he?"

I know we all grieve differently.  I know we are all sad -- and mad -- that this happened to our friend. 

I just can't help feeling that people are judging him.  And it makes me angry.  Is that empathy? 

KK, I hope you are OK now.

This one really isn't funny. . .

I like to be funny, because I love all the positive reinforcement I get from you wonderful people! I took a personality test once that said I was "recognition motivated". I was working in a sales office at the time. The sales managers wanted everyone to be "money motivated", so my motivation was looked at as somehow lacking.

Ummm. . .boss? I think the point was that you meet people where they are. So by RECOGNIZING my results publicly, you will incent me to produce more, capice?

Regardless of the results of my personality. I do like recognition. (And blog comments, so feel free to add your 2 cents!)

Today I am going to tell you about someone I saw in an elevator recently.

This is the honest to Jesus truth.

I saw this girl in the elevator who I swear was the personification of every insecurity I have ever had.

She was about my size. She was about my age. Her coloring was similar to mine. She had long, fine, light brown hair that was clean, but not styled. (It would have looked healthier if she had cut about six inches off of it -- because fine hair looks limp and stringy if you don't care for it properly. I know this from personal experience.)

She was wearing a baggy tunic and baggy shirt and flats. She was clean, but clearly not wearing clothes she loves. She had on no makeup. No jewelry.

She was standing in the back corner of the elevator -- pushed against the wall, as if she was trying to take up less space. She was standing in that classic fat-girl-don't-want-anyone-to-notice-me pose: hands clasped in front of her, head down.

She looked so much like my secret insecure self that I wondered for a moment if I was imagining her.

Then another person stepped on the elevator and said "Hi Lisa!".

Insecure self said "hi."

That's when I knew she was real. My insecure self isn't named Lisa. Mine is named Martha.

I am not trying to pick on Lisa. For all I know, Lisa's house caught on fire last night and her 60 year old neighbor's things were all she could wear to work (because she is SO committed to her exciting career). All her makeup, hairdryer and accessories got burned up in the fire, and she hasn't had time to stop by the mall. Maybe Lisa is really a lot of fun and has dates every night, and doesn't have a cat because really? With a schedule like hers? She'd never be able to care for the damn thing. Maybe Lisa is hysterically funny and also super outgoing. Maybe Lisa regularly contributes to CNBC and is a sought after expert in her field.

Or maybe Lisa is a shy, insecure fat girl who is just trying to get by.

I really, really identify with that Lisa.

Wear your hair long to hide your body. Keep your clothes big. Don't style your hair or wear makeup, because why bother? Shoes should be comfortable, not pretty. I'll buy cute things when I'm thin. Until then, I'm going to hide in plain sight and hope no one notices me.

I wanted to take Lisa home with me. I wanted to tell her she's pretty and worthy and decent. I wanted to take her to see my friend Kasey so she could get her hair done. Take her shopping at Catos for fun & trendy clothes. I wanted to run her by the Clinique counter at Macy's, then off to Nine West to get some shoes. I wanted to go to Charming Charlies and get some cute accessories. I wanted to make her stop feeling bad about herself, dammit! Make people notice you!

Because then, I wouldn't have to look at my own insecurity.

It's not funny, is it?

The Blame Game

When my mother was in seventh grade, Sister Urban Maria sternly advised the girls to eat a hearty breakfast every morning. “I don’t want to hear that you are taking after these fashion models”, she said, “All they have for breakfast is a cup of coffee and a cigarette!”

With this in mind, as soon as class let out, my mom and all the other aspiring fashion models ran to the corner store to buy their first packs of Chesterfields.

Philip Morris owes Sister Urban Maria a commission.

Sixty years later, my mom still smokes.

Mom is the most polite smoker in the world. She would never smoke in someone else’s home, or car, or in a non-smoking designated area. She won’t smoke around my kids, although it doesn’t bother me if she smokes in front of them. They see her for a couple of days a year. It won’t kill them to be around cigarette smoke for a few hours. I lived immersed in second hand cigarette smoke for 18 years. I am fine. Mostly. Nevertheless, my mom wouldn’t dream of smoking around the boys.

I don’t smoke, but I can identify with smokers.

Smokers are bullied. They are bullied socially, medically and legislatively.

Just like fat people.

Here’s an example:

When a smoker gets cancer, people shrug and say “what did you expect?”

When fat people get diabetes they say the same thing.

It’s the Blame Game. Blame the sick for causing the disease. People behave as if smokers deserve cancer. Fat people deserve diabetes.

Remember in the 80’s when HIV and AIDS emerged? Remember the awful jokes? The irrational fear? Remember how people shrugged and said “what did they expect?"

Those were dark days.

I am not denying that smoking is a cause of cancer. That does not mean smokers deserve cancer.

I am not denying that obesity is a cause of Type 2 diabetes. That does not mean fat people deserve diabetes.

I am standing up to the social, medical and legislative bullies.

Sister Urban Maria, pray for us.

In All Fairness to Jillian Michaels. . .

Sometimes I wanna yell at fat people too.

The other day, I took my 2 year old to the grocery store. As I was walking in, I saw her. You know who I mean: a big girl with greasy hair and no makeup wearing a sloppy, oversized t-shirt, baggy shorts and chanclas (that’s flip-flops to those of you outside of Texas). She had a filthy dirty kid in her cart. The kid had a binky in his mouth, even though he had to be at least 2 years old. A real White Trash Wanda.

And I admit it. I started to judge. I am not proud of that, but I did. The first thing I thought was “have some respect for yourself”. Then I thought “Please God, don’t let me get stuck in line behind them”. Because I just knew that she would load up her cart with Ho-Hos and bacon rinds and I would have to listen to her gripe to the cashier about how her Lone Star Card wasn’t working. I knew I’d have to look at the whiny, snot nosed kid drinking Coke out of a bottle, while his mother yelled at him to “shut the eff up.” I had the whole encounter mapped out in my sanctimonious little mind.

Then I realized that I was looking at my reflection.

The filthy kid in the cart was none other than my precious miracle baby. (With a snotty nose, a dirty shirt and a binky.) (But he does not drink Coke out of a bottle. He uses a cup.)

Jillian Michaels would have had a field day with me.