My Own Fat-Talk Narrative

Hey! It's Fat Talk Free Week! Yay!
And to celebrate I thought I would participate in a little third-wave feminist contridictions.

For Health Comm today, PGM asked us to write a little story about something we have done lately that we weren't proud of.

Story time:

I tap it with my foot and impatiently wait for the blinking "--" to stop, focus, and ask me to step on with a welcoming "00.0". I look ahead, then down. It's still thinking. I look up, trying not to shift my weight so I can get an accurate reading. (Read: Not add addition non-existant pounds)Heaven forbid I have to do it all over again. I look down and there it is.

Like an over timer, my weight "bings" in my head. And from it I quickly mentally count my calories for the day, remember the foods I ate, the lack of exercise I participated in, calulate the time of month it is, and step off. Disappointed. Again.

I did this about an hour after sending an email to my students and peers, posting on social network sites, and reaching an "empowerment" from my everyday activism of addressing and "rallying" behind Fat Talk Free Week. My brain says "Research maintains that third-wave feminist not only embody politics (Fixmer & Wood, 2007), but are also comfortable with their contridictions (Sowards & Renegar)."

But I feel like a big, old hypocrit...

Pencils down!
We then went over concepts from Frank's "The Wounded Storyteller"-- What do you wish to become from the experience, how does a story represent movement, who does the listener become, telling a story is a form of resistance.

And then we were asked to write the same story over...

Draft Two:

The early orange glow of sunrise peeks into my office window as I sit down at my desk, type in my password, take a sip of green tea, and open my inbox. In bold, unopenned email font, there it is. RE:Fat Free Talk Week. Click, Click.

"Thank you!" it says," I've been harrassed most of my life, mainly from family. Just little comments but you know. I really liked the blog!"

I feel as if I have just left the ocean's waves, I am awake at 6am. Rather than wondering and debating breakfast options, a cup of cereal with non-fat milk or egg whites with spinach, I have a slice of Harvest Loaf. Pumpkin bread with chocolate chips and walnuts. Unlike last night, I bypass the mirror and scale and take a shower. Today, shorts and t-shirt seem comfortable and unrestricting.

My mind is not reeling over a missed morning run or a calorie count or the large and ever growing "Thesis Article" stack of feminist ideologies and rhetorical strategies. I just feel free.



After reading Shapely Prose today, I wonder if this is my survivial technique. Just to take it one day at a time and slowly let the guilt and shame go while transcending my identity.

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almost 6 pages of thesis proposal done!