Something I had cause to write today in a discussion about the term “Obesity Epidemic” – especially as it’s paired with over-consumption/consumerism. Felt share-worthy, so I’m sharin’ it.

This is not just a fat people’s issue, and it doesn’t have a physical face. My fat body does not engender consumerism or over-consumption. My fat body is not an epidemic. My fat body is a combination of genetics and shame breeding compulsion and failed diets adding pounds I wouldn’t have gained had my parents known how to encourage me to love my body as it was. It’s also the empty calories of a standing in line for government cheese, working class, meat and potatoes, latchkey kid, TV as my babysitter kind of youth. My fat body is also a warrior that carries my tender heart safely through a world that judges it every single day. My fat body is not a signifier or a dark omen. It is not part of the fall of mankind. My fat body is mine and only I know its story. This is true of all fat bodies and lumping those of us with them together and calling us an epidemic is both insulting and dangerously oversimplified.

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