Fat-positive post coming up here. You’ve been warned.

So I took myself off of my diet this year because, well, I’ve been on a diet since I was 8 and it wasn’t doing me any good. Oh, and did I mention that I noticed that if I was doing what I was doing and I was skinny, it would’ve been an eating disorder? Because yep. Totally. Obsessing, eating nothing, exercising way too hard, and all for nothing. Nothing. My metabolism basically stopped. Yay.

At any rate, I stopped dieting and started thinking about being healthy and putting good food in my body that would keep it running optimally and help me to feel better. And I actually lost a little weight, not a ton, but it’s a process. And I’m working on not obsessing about weight anyway, because that’s a big part of the problem.

So last night at rehearsal, I was sitting next to this lady who tells me every year how she does this intermittent fasting thing (tried it, didn’t work), and how I should try it because it’s much easier at my age and if I don’t take care of my weight now, I’ll be sorry. I know she means well, but every year I try not to sit next to her because it just makes me crazy. But this year, well , this year she’s feeling a little, hmm...different. Yes, I’m a little smaller than I was last year, and yes, she’s a little larger than last year,  but she’s also fasting 18 hours a day. And seems kind of miserable because it’s not doing anything. So she tells me about it, and tells me her age and all of this stuff, and I’m thinking that if I’m starving myself 18 hours a day when I’m in my 70s, that is going to be extremely depressing.

So after rehearsal, I got in my car and was driving home, and I realized that labeling ourselves as “fat” is just another way we are grouping ourselves into tiny little clumps, instead of recognizing the fact that we’re all human. That’s it. And we have different characteristics, but we let “fat” take up so much space in our lives. As though it’s the be-all end-all of existence.

And it’s just not.

I’m fat, but I’m also tall, and I’m smart, and I’m strong, and I’m pretty darn healthy. I’m so many different adjectives that may or may not have a negative connotation at this point in time, that could just as well be positive in another circumstance, I have other women tell me all the time that they’d love to have my height, or my curly hair. Well, I’ve always wished I was tiny, and I think straight hair is much easier to deal with. Probably because I don’t have it.

The point is, why does that one adjective in its many forms take up so much of our personality profile? And people spend their entire lives trying to get rid of it, when they could be concentrating on being healthy (physically AND emotionally), and get better results and feel better inside.

People are dying from dieting. They’re killing themselves, and they’re hurting their own hearts, and they’re doing things to make their bodies work in ways they were never designed to work. It’s really an awful thing.

I’m not saying not to eat healthy and exercise. Bodies need good-quality fuel, and they need to move. But maybe the reasoning behind it matters. Maybe if you hate your body and starve it and do exercise in a way that makes it hurt, that’s not as helpful as you’d think.

Maybe recognize the fact that all bodies have fat, and all bodies have bone, and all bodies have muscle, and your body is a wonderful machine JUST THE WAY IT IS. Take care of it and treat it the way you would treat a mansion or the most expensive car in the world. It’s not replaceable. If you mistreat it, you can’t get a new one, and eating some nice vegetables and healthy, less processed things is a heck of a lot cheaper and easier than going to the doctor or being in the hospital.

Being kind to yourself isn’t something that comes naturally to a lot of us. Many of us feel like we need to whip these bodies into shape as a sort of punishment for not lookin the way we think we should look. But we can’t think like that. If you want to get in shape, that’s awesome! Your body will love the exercise, and you’ll probably end up a lot healthier. Just don’t do it as a punishment; you didn’t do anything wrong, and , if you did, you probably can’t exercise it away.

So, I guess the point of all of this is that I realized that maybe, after all, I’m on the right track for me. Dieting is just not a way I want to live anymore. Self-loathing is not a state of mind in which I feel like I need to spend time anymore. It’s probably going to take a while to get used to that, but I think it’s important.

Dramatic drive home, right?

Last night I realized that my husband and I went and had a baby and didn’t even notice it. A bird baby.

This sounds a little cuckoo.

Well, maybe that’s okay. We are a little weird. At any rate, we have this cockatiel, and we love her like crazy. And buy her all the toys and treats and do training stuff and all that. Which I think keeps us in normal pet parent mode. Last night, though, we shifted into this place which was much more like people with a human baby times, and I don’t know where that puts us now, but it’s a little embarrassing.

This kid demands love and adoration ALL DAY. Guilt trips included if we don’t comply. And birds aren’t like dogs. If you give them food they don’t like, they will quite seriously starve themselves until they die. They’re weirdos like that. This girl will not eat if she doesn’t like where you put her bowl, and she has an issue with climbing down her ladder to get to her food.

A month or so ago, I was riding my exercise bike and she figured out the ladder. We have had this play gym since Christmas, so it’s been quite a while, but she doesn’t like going backwards down the ladder, so when she gets hungry, she will sit at the edge of her upper perch and sadly tweet at me until I move her down. I have tried ignoring her, but she will do it for hours and then not eat, and then dramatically throw herself off of the entire thing onto the floor and go hide under the coffee table. But when I’m on the bike she knows I won’t get off to move her so she tried and figured it out. And then climbed up and down three more times because she was proud.

Of course, by the next day, she completely forgot how to do it and hasn’t done it again since,  no matter how strict I am with not putting her down, and how many times we try training tricks. Nothing has worked.

Three weeks ago, I had surgery so I was at home recovering for two weeks, and we had all-day training time. Nope. She wasn’t having any. She wanted to be held and petted all day, and that was pretty much it. She’s really snuggly and sweet when she isn’t angry and trying to rip off your face.

Then I went back to work a week ago, and the kid was mad. So, so mad. Wouldn’t let me hold her. Screamed at me whenever she was out. Basically just acted like a jerk for three or four days.

And then we got her some new toys and that helped put us back to normal.

So, last night we finally got some dinner and were watching TV, and the baby was up on the top bar of her gym, as normal, grooming her favorite toy and chattering to her bell. And then, all of a sudden, with no warning, she tilted her head funny and looked at the ladder. She got all quiet so I was looking over to see what she was doing. And then I nudged my husband and he looked over. And then.....believe me, it was as majestic as it sounds.....she grabbed the top rung of the ladder and headed down and started eating out of her dish. Like it was no big deal.

And we were clapping and saying “Yay! Big girl!” for ages.

And I knew we had stepped into a weird area.

So now I feel like I need to start wearing Mom jeans and carrying around fruit leather and baby wipes in my purse. Which needs to be larger and more sensible. And my husband needs to start saying, “Hot enough for ya?” to complete strangers.

New territory. Kind of creepy.