Here are some things you and I already know about me:
– I am a dancer in the CinCity Shakers.
– I look really cute in a hot pink bob.
– I am fat (note for new readers. fat is a neutral descriptor in this case. not an insult).

And some things that may be news. In some ways they were to me…
I’ve been fat since college when the freshman 15 became the freshman 50. It didn’t feel like that big of a change because I had already spent my teens years believing I was fat so the mindset was easy to slip into. What was new was when the college guys moo’ed at me. It hurt. I pretended it didn’t. We all carried on with our lives.

As a fat person in pursuit of my own body liberation, I have transformed in phases. There was the “love myself” diet phase where I was convinced if I loved myself enough I would magically become thin. Then the “for real, no more dieting” phase. Then “donut land” (read Dietland for the reference). Then finding joyful movement and fat community via Fat Kid Dance Party and The Plus Bus. Then starting Cincifatty. Wearing crop tops. Dancing in the streets.

Most of these phases – while earnest were, on some level, performative. Meaning – not wholly authentic and not as transformative as they may have appeared largely because I was not being fully authentic. I was doing “what I was supposed to do.”

I was learning the language, becoming the militant advocate, getting the shit kicked out of me by the dissonance between my views/values/actions and my true feelings/fear/shame about my body, lightening up on the militant thing, not knowing who to be and what to say, retreating and re-emerging…

I “know” that body liberation doesn’t mean that I never have a negative body thought again. I know it’s a practice not a result and there is no expectation of “perfection.” But “knowing” isn’t knowing and it’s still hard to be a leader and have secret shame about my own body.

So maybe I’ll share some of it instead of hiding it.

Last weekend I danced with the Shakers in the Midwest Black Family Reunion Parade in Avondale, Cincinnati. This parade has THE BEST crowd. There is a great vibe and I love it.

Our summer costume is a white top with Shakers logo and silver bottoms. I chose a silver mini skirt I hadn’t worn before and learned as we were warming up tended to ride up as I was dancing. Oh well! I mean… the truth was I didn’t feel fully comfortable. I was showing a lot of the part of my body that I still unconsciously conceal: my belly.

Like I started with… you and I know both know I’m fat. No matter what I wear or how “flattering” my outfit is, you are not going to mistake me for a slim person. I let go of that a long time ago. I let my arms out of sleeves, I don’t try to hide the width of my ass or even the thickness, dimples, or jiggle of my thighs anymore.

This belly is new though. In the last year or two it has grown, dropped/folded over, changed shape. It has two distinct protrusions (called a B belly for the shape) and if I’m honest: I don’t love it. I don’t actively think about covering it. I don’t willingly show it. I cringe when my spouse touches it.

I’m stuck on the story of this belly as a symbol of my body failures (failure to diet successfully, become thin, etc) over the years and that it is now too late. There is no going back. I’m over 40, my body is aging, and because I’m never going to diet or have weight loss surgery this is it – I’m fat for life and my body shape is going to continue to change in ways I cannot control. Hint: never could.

So when I left the house wearing this silver mini skirt I was more vulnerably sharing this part of me in a way I had not yet before. In a way I was not fully ready for. And I was even more not ready for others to respond in the way they did.

I usually get two specific reactions to my body:

1. I get an appreciative look over from people (mostly cis men) who express their enticement by my size and shape.
2. I get a knowing glance of “I see you! You go girl” from people (mostly cis women) who know the risks of being fat in public.

Sometimes, despite how visibly fat I am, I am just invisible which can be welcome.

The risks of being fat in public are usually contained in my own mind/experience. I may sit in an uncomfortable chair and feel embarrassed or frustrated about having to ask for one without arms – and while it’s never fun to witness someone’s facial expressions of surprise, confusion, and recognition before they move into action and get me a chair I can fit into… it doesn’t wound me deeply. Instead it’s just another of a thousand little paper cuts that adds up to the experience of being fat in public.

On Saturday, though, the risks were outsized and the impact was wounding. Several people – I counted three, which makes me shudder to think how many more there may have been that I missed – spoke loudly enough about my body and their experience of it that I could hear them over the parade music blasting over any normal conversation.

The first said, “oh look at Miss Piggy here” with a tone that was hard to read. I found myself questioning and grappling as I shook my body through the streets. Did they mean that as an insult? Missy Piggy is an icon! The tone wasn’t outright shaming but it wasn’t celebratory either. The person it came from had a slim, muscular body. Does the tone/intent matter? I attempted to mask my hurt, smiled bigger, moved with more energy and then I stumbled (emotionally and over my feet), now a little off center.

The second “oooh fatty!” happened when my back was turned. I didn’t see who said it. There are so many contexts in my life where that would have been okay, and this wasn’t one. I stumbled more. My shoulders started to slump, my smile faded, and I was aware of how exposed I was. Slumping made my belly bigger – there was nowhere to hide.

The third and final happened just after I had gotten some energy back. They were looking me straight in the eye as they pointed their phone and then their finger at me. “Look at that one! She’s soooo big!” and then they burst into raucous laughter with their friend. At an opportune turn in the choreography I found myself facing them again even after I had walked past. They were still pointing and laughing. I am supposed to represent the group when I’m in my uniform but the flight and fawn responses had already come and gone and fight was the only one I had left.

Instead of looking away I shouted “is that really necessary?” over the noise. They laughed again – maybe surprised that I was a human who could speak and not a lifeless installation presented for their entertainment and ridicule? They responded “you’re really big!!!” As if I don’t know that already. I shook my head. “I know, and you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” There was some recognition on their part then that we weren’t congenially engaged. I was still dancing away as they started to express regret and say “no no no…” Before I was out of earshot I said one more thing: “why don’t you try this? Come out here.” I couldn’t, they responded. I know I said to myself and choked back my sense of defeat and exhaustion.

Later I found out they approached another member of our group and apologized. Said they were just trying to “spread the love” and I shouldn’t “take it that way.” Interestingly, they didn’t approach me directly to share this apology or insight.

The rest of the crew was very loving and protective when they found out what happened. My son said he wanted to punch the guy in the face. I was hugged and loved on by my spouse. My best friend’s text response was exactly the right words: equal parts furious defense and compassionate lens widening. I was taken care of by some incredible people.

I felt angry, and hurt, and embarrassed. I was not eager to see the photos and videos of myself for fear of the really big, miss piggy, fatty I would see. When I saw the first whole body picture I actually had a moment when I rationalized what people had said to me. Oh yeah, it make sense… look at me. I deserve that.

Are you kidding me, inner critic?! No. No no no. None of that.

This experience was painful. I was also very well taken care of by people who love me and I am deeply grateful.

There is no moral here, friends. No nice easy clean wrap up. No I’m so glad I did it. No I love dancing so it was worth it. Nope. Just a true story and real emotions. No plea to think and be different. No list of instructions about how to treat fat people. Just a reminder that we impact each other. Just another window into a perspective you may not have. Do with it what you will. I am going to do my work and make sure it does for me.

I thought about quitting. I probably will not. I thought about never wearing revealing clothing again. I probably still will.

OK wait… Turns out I do have something. A reminder that in this world where we see more of peoples curated lives on social media then we spend actual time in deep conversation with them… Remember this:

You don’t have to be perfect to do the thing. The person who is out there appearing confident or pushing past their limits or doing the thing you believe you could never do is not necessarily doing it from a place of 100% authentic sureness. They may just be tired of living in fear. Or they may just not be sharing with you how scared they feel on the inside for fear that that isn’t what they are supposed to say. Or maybe they are naively stepping into the world forgetting it is often unsafe and getting the wind knocked out of them when they remember.

None of it is a reason not to live. Be kind to yourself – not everyone else will. But some people will.