Girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch...and those that can't

*Kudos to you if you get the reference in my title. Oh, the 90's.

I've been hearing a ton about Abercrombie and Fitch in the past week or so. If you haven't heard yet, here's the basic gist: A&F's CEO, Mike Jeffries came out and said that they want thin and beautiful people wearing their brand. And basically, they don't want to make bigger clothes for bigger people.

Bottom line? NO FAT CHICKS (or dudes).

Some people have asked me how I feel about this whole thing, being both plus-sized, a size activist, and someone who blogs about body image and fat discrimination. And to be honest, I wasn't as outraged or surprised as you might think. Now, don't get me wrong: I think Mike Jeffries is being an ass. The rule in my house is: "If you have nothing nice to say, shut your f$%^ing mouth", and that's what I think he should have done. Because, ladies and gentlemen, his brand speaks for itself. Have you seen an Abercrombie and Fitch ad, shopping bag, or commercial? Their brand projects this image that basically says: If you are not young, white, thin, athletic, and want to drape yourself over the arm of a person of the opposite sex, A&F is NOT for you. I haven't set foot in one of their stores since I was about thirteen and wearing my middle school uniform, and I haven't cared to. I'm pretty sure that even back then, I only fit in some of their shirts. And I wasn't a plus-sized kid at that point.

So when this A&F thing came out and people were outraged, I was disappointed that their CEO is obviously ignorant and a hater. It's definitely discrimination, but I also think that in this case, it's their business decision to make. They have a brand. Their clothes, their models, and their ads are all going to back up that same brand. And guess what? My size 18 ass doesn't fit it (just like it don't fit in their shorts). I wish they weren't so ignorant, but they are. I support everyone's right to protest outside the stores, and boycott them. But at the end of the day, I am more upset about some of the response to this story.

Mainly, I'm upset about the fat-hating and ignorant people who seem to believe that anyone, if they try hard enough can be thin. The people who say, "Lose weight until you can fit in A&F's clothes!" to those who are saying this is discrimination. One of the most aggravating examples was this post by a woman named Jasmyne Cannick. I'm just going to warn you, the post is triggering and full of fat-hate and absolute BS.

Ms. Cannick wrote, "Now while I don’t subscribe to the idea that skinny equates to beauty, the reality of the situation with Abercrombie and Fitch is that they have every right to not want fat people wearing their brand of clothing—and fat people who dig Abercrombie and Fitch’s style of clothing, have every right to lose the weight, walk into their store, and buy their clothes."

Oh, Jasmyne. We almost agreed on something...and then you ruined it. I agree that A&F has the right to design whatever kind of clothes they want, in whatever size they want. They are a business, and it's their deal. It's discriminatory and plain rude to say, "We only want thin and beautiful people representing us", but that is also their choice. No one can make them do otherwise. Freedom of speech and all that. But it's ignorant and a huge lie to say that fat people can just lose weight and fit into A&F's clothing line. 

I took the liberty of going on A&F's website and looking at their size chart for some shorts. If I want to fit into the biggest size there, my waist has to be 30 to 31 inches. So what Ms. Cannick is saying is that I have every right to do whatever it takes to get my waist to be 30 to 31 inches around, and then I'm welcome to come shop at A&F too. It's just that easy. 

Let me be blunt here: The only way that I am ever going to be able to do that, and that's a big maybe, is if I go back to engaging in eating disordered behaviors. There is no way for me, simply by eating nutritious food and exercising (which, in case you're wondering, I already do), to make my waist that small. It's just not how my body is made. I can lose weight, and I probably will as my recovery goes on, but I'll just never be that small. I have friends who don't have eating disorders and aren't fat, and some of them probably can't fit into those shorts either. 

Ms. Cannick goes on to say, "Protesting Abercrombie and Fitch is sending the message to children, teens, and adults that it’s okay to be fat and if people don’t accept you being fat and make clothes to accommodate your fatness that they are somehow bad."

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that it is okay to be fat. Because fat isn't a moral issue or a moral failure, it's a BODY SIZE. And as far as the argument that being fat equals death and disease, I feel the need to point out that heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, etc. happen to all types of bodies. There are skinny people who have heart attacks and fat people who run marathons. 

But my favorite (and I use that term sarcastically) was this: Unlike your gender or race, being overweight is a choice that people make.

I know there are some people who will read this who will agree with that statement. I almost didn't say anything about it because I know what the majority of people think. But let me just say a few things about this. First of all, over WHAT weight? How are we defining overweight in this scenario? Are we doing it based on BMI? Because in that case, I'm pretty sure guys like LeBron James are "overweight" on that scale. Are we doing it based on what society considers overweight? Because then we're really screwed. 

I don't think body size is entirely up to choice. I think the type of lifestyle we lead (sedentary, active, etc.) can be a choice, at least for those of us who are able to move our bodies in some way. I think the food we eat is a choice (although some people's choices are more limited by their financial situation). But is our natural set point a choice? No. Just like I didn't choose to have a larger bone structure (thanks, Dad), I didn't wake up one day and CHOOSE to be plus-sized. I also didn't choose my eating disorder, which has contributed to the size of my body. I have, however, chosen at times to not eat well and live a less active lifestyle. But even now that I eat better than I ever have, don't binge, and am exercising regularly, guess what? 

I'm still "overweight". 

As I've said before on this blog, I don't expect people to suddenly embrace me for the size I am and say, "To hell with society's expectations, Ashley! We think you're beautiful the way you are!" Because there are people in my life who will do that, but society still looks at me funny every now and again. And that's not on me. But I do wish people would stop talking out of their ass and making comments like, "You can wear those clothes if you REALLY want to" and "You're acting like being fat isn't a bad thing!" I also wish people, including Ms. Cannick, would realize that not shopping at Victoria's Secret or Forever 21 isn't the worst thing in the world. Having the tag on my jeans say "18" is not taking away from my quality of life, or how I feel about myself. I've been thinner than this, but also more depressed and miserable. I've worn a size 12, but I was also a lot less healthy than I am today. When you hate on people based on their size, when you attack people based on their appearance and make yourself the moral authority that gets to tell them how to live their life, do you know what that means? 

It's not that you hate me. It's that, in some deep, dark place inside, you hate you. I'm not jealous of those people for being thinner than me or prettier than me or any of that. I actually think those ignorant people should be jealous of me. Because I love myself more than you ever will, and I don't have to starve myself or hate on myself every day anymore. I'm free from that. And I hope one day you'll join me. 

Graduation Day Recap

Last week, I graduated with my Masters in Counselor Education. While the day was approaching, I had really mixed feelings about the whole thing. Of course, I wanted to graduate. I just hated the idea of leaving my friends, leaving my internship, and moving on into this life of being a professional without any of the community I'd had for the past (nearly) four years.

Even when Friday came, I still wasn't totally excited. I struggle with depression and anxiety, and my depression tends to show up in those moments when there is a ton of change and a lot going on. Even when what is going on is positive, my brain is like, "Oh, you're totally overwhelmed and there's a lot of change? I'm here to screw up your life for the next several weeks!" And then, of course, my anxiety kicked in. When you do something big like graduate with your Masters, people kind of expect you to be happy about it. And I wasn't. I was totally stressed out, anxious, depressed, and constantly being asked The Ultimate Question: "Aren't you excited?"

I wanted to scream, "NO! No, dammit. I am not excited right now." But that's not exactly socially acceptable, so I had to smile and say something like, "Of course!"

But when I finally got to the arena and found my friends in the hallway, lined up to process in for graduation...it changed for me.

Me and my friend Andrea

It was a lot harder to be anxious and sad when I was surrounded by friends and classmates. People who have shared big moments in my life with me over the past four years. There's something about a program like ours...you make the kind of friends that really understand you.

I decorated my graduation cap for the first time ever. I am not a great arts and crafts person, but I actually really love what I did with it:

Had to have those butterflies on there!

It was finally our turn to walk in. On our way to our seats, we walked in past some of the professors in our program. I nearly cried when I saw my Addictions professor, who was basically the first person I'd ever said anything to about how I suspected I might have an eating disorder. If it wasn't for his class, and the support he gave me during that time, I don't know that I would have found recovery when I did. That moment reminded me once again of where I've been and how far I've come since I started my Masters program.

While we waited for "Pomp and Circumstance" to finish, I started trying to find my family. We played the "I am waving at you, but you are clearly waving at someone else" game for a while. And then once they found me, they started pointing me out to one another. Which was pretty fun to watch. 

After we walked the stage and officially became Masters, we got a little bored and started taking pictures...

My favorite. A bunch of my friends from Internship!

And here's my first picture as an M.A....

After the ceremony, it was time to celebrate. My mom threw me an amazing party in a restaurant downtown filled with family and friends. I didn't really take any photos, since I was too busy enjoying myself. It was the best kind of party. One of my favorite things about it, though, was my cake. You just have to see it to believe it. 

If you're not familiar, that's Lucy from the Peanuts cartoons with her psychiatric help stand. I was completely obsessed with this cake, still am, and Lucy is still hanging out in my fridge, even though the cake is gone. I can't let her go just yet.

Lucy chilling in my fridge before we got rid of her desk.

If you've never seen Lucy in action, or you love her as much as I do, this is a great clip:

I had a wonderful graduation day, and I'm looking forward to blogging more about the next chapter of my life as a counselor.

Keep calm and...join the real world

*tap...tap* Is this thing on?

I've been away from my blog for many reasons:

1. I had no idea what to talk about, even though I wanted to write about SOMETHING. I so admire the people out there who can actually write every day, or almost every day, on their blog. That's where I'm trying to go as a blogger, but I haven't quite reached that yet.

2. I had a ton of things going on at once:

• Applying for jobs
• Interviewing for jobs
• Actually getting hired for a job (yay!)
• Taking classes
• Writing my final paper 
• Putting my portfolio together so I can graduate
• Closing up with my clients at my internship
• Getting ready to start my career (!!!!!) and start working toward my license...

And now, here I am. Tomorrow, I graduate with my Master's Degree after almost FOUR years of working on it. On Monday at 8 am, I start orientation for my new job. As a real, live counselor. Who is expected to know stuff. And, you know, help people. I've had jobs before. I've been a counselor before (obviously). But I realized the other day that on Monday, I'll actually have a career. This position I took is the start of my career. 

Am I old enough for this? When did I go from being surrounded by people who didn't know how they wanted to spend their lives to being around people who do know and have transitioned from "I'm going to be a _______" to "I am a _______". I mean, now, when I'm on an airplane and people ask me what I do, I get to say, "I'm a therapist." And I don't have to qualify it with, "I'm a grad student and I'm doing a counseling internship." Because tomorrow, I turn the page and start my life as a professional counselor. 

 A lot of people refer to leaving school as entering the "real world". I never really understood that, because I live in the real world. I pay bills. I work. I am a part of society. But I think now I finally understand. Leaving my life as a student behind means I'm held to a higher standard. It means I'm an actual professional, and not just someone learning to be one. It means that when/if I make a mistake, it can't be written off as a student's mistake. That cushion that surrounds you when you are someone "in training" is gone. This is the real thing. 

I'm not going to lie to you. I am going to freak the hell out in this next year. Maybe the next two years. Often. And there will be times when I say, "THEY DIDN'T TRAIN ME FOR THIS CRAP!!!!" Only, because it's me, there will be more expletives in that sentence. But I'm going to learn a lot. And live a lot. And enjoy the hell out of this time in my life. I'll probably never run out of things to write about again...at least not for a while. I'm absolutely scared to death, but I'm excited. It's going to be an amazing ride. 

I hope you'll come along with me. 

My graduation cap!

Taking Up Space

I had a weird experience the other day. I was sitting in an office, filling out paperwork for a job offer, when I came across this:

Height: _______________   Weight:__________________

I stared at it. Why did they want to know? Why was my height and weight critical to my position as a therapist? Finally, I just wrote it down and moved on. But that wasn't the end of it. On a sheet that asked me about various medical conditions I may currently or have previously experienced, was one that gave me pause: Obesity (30%or more overweight).

I was stunned. What the hell do I do? I thought. Do I check it? Do I leave it blank? Do I say, "No"? Thirty percent over WHAT weight? I wondered if they would check "yes" for me if I left it alone, or question me about it if I said no. After all, I am "overweight". I'm a plus-sized woman. They can see that. So does that make me obese? Who determines whether or not I check that box? Well, this math equation does:

The above is the equation for Body Mass Index, or BMI. Sometimes I feel like this math problem runs my life (somehow, I knew math would come back to haunt me). Even though the CDC admits that this number is "not diagnostic of the fatness or the health of an individual", my BMI has dictated time and time again how I am treated by doctors. Armed with this number, they've come into the examining room guns blazing. Those two digits are all the proof they needed to say, "SEE? YOU'RE OBESE!!!!! AND NOW WE HAVE PERMISSION TO TREAT YOU LIKE SHIT!" Which, of course, they have. Many times. It also seems to determine what my health looks like to a prospective employer. Or how people treat me, or other people who fall in the "obese" category. I realized the other day that as a plus-sized, Hispanic female, the most discrimination I've faced comes from being plus-sized. And that absolutely horrifies me. 

Some people reading this might think, "Well, you could just lose weight. Stop complaining, and do something about it." I've heard that "do something about it" mantra a lot. It's like people think that everyone who is bigger than they are must not be doing ANYTHING to take care of themselves. Like everyone is sitting on the couch saying, "No. I'm just going to sit here and try my hardest to get fatter. Just to piss you off." 

The thing is, I know my body. I will never be a thin person. I have big bones (seriously, people who know me can't believe how big my feet and fingers actually are). I have no idea what my body will look like when I reach the "recovered" stage of my treatment, but it's not going to be a size 2. Maybe it will be a size more acceptable to our society, but what if it isn't? What if my natural weight is actually still an "overweight" or "obese" weight according to BMI? Do I still have to check a box? Do I still have to live in fear of going in for an annual check-up? 

I feel like I exist in a weird section of the box we put fat people into. I'm a larger person than most of my friends, but I can still shop in some of the same stores they do. I face discrimination because of my weight, but I don't have to worry about buying a second seat on a plane, or being kicked off a method of transportation due to my size. I understand what it's like to be judged simply because I take up more space, but people don't point and laugh at me when they see me walking down the street, or exercising. A news station hasn't taken my picture and taken my face out of it for an "obesity" story. I feel like I don't really belong in the "fat" community, but I also feel different than an average-sized person. 

The sad thing is, no matter where I fit, society's expectation is that I'm the one that needs to make the change. Apparently, it's not fair for me to expect that I should be treated with respect at a doctor's office. Or that my weight is not a company's business, but mine alone. If you listen to enough news stories or blog posts, the consensus is that I should just make myself thin and avoid all of this hate and discrimination. But I'm not interested in making myself smaller just to be treated like a human being. I deserve to be respected right NOW. 

I can't change society, but I can change myself. I can change how I respond to this kind of bullshit and ignorance. I have the right to leave a doctor's office if I am abused because of my weight. I have the right to call my insurance company to complain about said doctor and the way I was treated. I have the right to leave questions like, "Are you obese?" and "How much do you weigh?" blank, and I also have to right to check those box and write that number and not be ashamed. I have the right to correct someone who assumes that the size of my jeans is an indication of health. 

I have the right to take up space. 

Source: nearsightedowl.com via Ashley on Pinterest

You, me, and Edie

As a lot of you know, I've been in a long-term relationship with the greatest man in the world, Rob. We're celebrating seven years together this summer (yay!), and we couldn't be happier together. But sometimes, there's a third person in our relationship. Someone who really wants me to spend all my time with her, and a lot less time with him. Her name, of course, is Edie.

I don't know what it's like for other people in recovery, but Edie has often inserted herself into our relationship. Before I was in recovery, she had lots to say about where and what I could eat. I remember crying at dinner time on the weekends when we were about to have a dinner out, sitting in front of the computer looking at nutritional information for every entree and restaurant I could think of. Nothing was good enough for Edie. I couldn't eat anywhere. Nothing was okay. Every one of those places was sure to make me gain all the weight I'd just lost.

And then there were the nights where I suddenly couldn't eat the dinner I had made, because Edie told me it wasn't okay to eat it. Or when I had to switch what I had planned to make for dinner at the last minute, because it wasn't what Edie thought I should have. Rob attempted to roll with all of that, even before he knew Edie existed. He still does, because that type of nonsense from Edie hasn't totally stopped for me just yet.

Edie got in bed with us sometimes, whispering her sweet nothings in my ear. She wanted to be the only love in my life, the sole focus of my attention. 

"He's probably thinking right now about how disgusting you are," she'd tell me. "He's probably pretending he's with another woman, so that he doesn't have to think about being with you." There were moments when I wasn't focused on being with Rob, even though he was in my arms. I was focused on Edie, and how she must be right. Surely he was thinking about how heavy I was, how I weighed too much, how disgusting I must look. No one can kill a romantic mood quite like Edie.

Edie never wanted me to accept compliments from Rob. I could not possibly be beautiful, sexy, attractive. I wasn't thin enough to accept those compliments.

"He's lying," she'd hiss. "He's lying to make your pathetic self feel better, but you know he would love you more if you were thin. He would drop you for a thinner woman in a minute. You know it's true." Of course, I believed her. It didn't matter how many times Rob told me he loved me for exactly who I was, at any size. Edie's voice was stronger. She told me I didn't deserve love, to feel beautiful, to feel worthy.

When I chose recovery, Rob was there to support me. He doesn't always understand Edie, or how she works in my life (who does, really?), but he always listens and tries to empathize as much as he can. The thing about eating disorders is sometimes (okay, often) they don't make any logical sense. "Voices" talking to you? Fear foods? Triggers that seem to come from nowhere? Fat days? Thin days? It's a whole other world. But it's meant the world to me to have my partner and best friend by my side through all the days of my recovery.

I don't think recovery is something you can do alone, and Rob has always shown me that I don't have to. Even though there were moments when I could have let Edie hurt us, working to get rid of her has brought us closer together.

Source: freedomnotfear.tumblr.com via Ashley on Pinterest

On food journals, and other things I hate but have to do

Sometimes, recovery is a pain in my ass. We all know that in life, we have to do things we don't want to do. Didn't your parents tell you that all the time growing up? I know mine did. And of course, we all found out that it's a true statement. It's been especially true for me in my recovery, and I was reminded of that today.

I see a dietician on a monthly basis who specializes in eating disorders. On our last visit we'd discussed me returning to using a food journal in order to take a look at my relationship with food, what foods make me feel at my best, what triggers come up for me with food, etc. Now, I think you need to know something about me right now: I hate f%$&ing food journals. I'm sorry to use harsh symbols here. But that's how much I hate them. Writing down what I eat is a huge trigger for me, because some of the diets I used to go on when I was engaging in ED behaviors involved tracking everything I ate. When I write my food down, I feel like I have to eat a certain way in order to please the person reading it. I feel like I have to be perfect.

Also, asking to see my food is like asking to see me naked. I'm really not exaggerating. Even though I rarely binge, I still feel uncomfortable talking about what I eat with another person. Food has always been a secret, private thing with me, which is how my eating disorder was allowed to thrive in the first place. It doesn't matter what I just ate, I really don't want to tell you about it. It makes me uncomfortable. So when I have to turn in my food journals, I feel like someone is asking me to strip down in front of them. Sometimes I just want to scream, "I'M WEARING THE LACY BRA AND THE UNDERWEAR WITH THE POLKA DOTS ON THEM, ALRIGHT??????"

Ahem.

So when I explained some of this (leaving the naked part out) to my dietician today, I expected her to say, "I understand. You don't have to do it. It isn't necessary." But you know what really happened? She handed me ANOTHER F^&*ING FOOD JOURNAL! The nerve of that woman. Trying to help me and shit. She was super nice about it, and understanding. But she explained to me why I needed to do it, and how it helped her to help me make progress. She assured me that she is not judging my food choices in any way, and that if I ever feel like she is, I am allowed to yell at her. In other words, she was doing a great job and doing what I pay her to do, which is help me recover. Damn it.

I came home and told Rob what happened.

"Well, why do you have to journal?" he asked. I explained the importance of it and how it helps me to recover. How providing that kind of information to my dietician allows her to find connections between my food and my emotions, my eating disorder and situations around me.

"I just don't like it," I whined.

"That's okay. You don't have to like it," he said. And he's right.

Recovery isn't easy. Any kind of healing is hard. And you don't have to like it. But if you want to get better, and live the kind of life you deserve, you have to do it. And sometimes, that means writing some f%$#ing food journals.

Sick Enough

I read this awesome post by Kelsi Cronkright this morning about what it means to be "sick enough" to get treatment for an eating disorder. She talks about her experiences in a treatment facility and how when she would look around at the other people there, she could see that they were underweight, but was unable to see this in herself. Even though the type of eating disorder I have is different, I completely understand and empathize with those beliefs and feelings. Those feelings almost stopped me from getting the help I needed.

I've mentioned before that when I sought treatment for my eating disorder, I didn't actually think I had one. I picked an eating disorders specialist intentionally because I figured she must be able to help me with my "food issues" if she could help someone with anorexia or bulimia. But there was always that voice that said, "You're being dramatic. You don't belong here. She's going to think you're ridiculous for showing up thinking you have as much of a problem as someone with a real eating disorder."

The thing about having BED is that I don't project the image that most people imagine when they think of an eating disorder. I am not thin. I'm a plus-sized woman. I do have some health issues (which I now attribute to fourteen plus years of ED behaviors), but nothing that would run me to a hospital or have my family begging to admit me to a treatment facility. When I walk around, no one sees me as someone needing help. I've actually had experiences where, when I tell someone I have an eating disorder, they say, "Really?!?!?" Yes, really. This is what an eating disorder looks like.

But I'll be honest, I still struggle with feeling as though I "belong" to the recovering community. Even though BED is actually the most common of all eating disorders and affects the largest amount of people, a lot of people don't view it with the same sense of urgency as anorexia or bulimia. To some extent, I get that. A lot of people with those disorders need immediate medical attention to save their lives. But I'm here to tell you that BED is just as important. I have to tell myself that a lot, because there's a part of me that still hears Edie saying, "If you were starving, you'd feel more like you belonged. You just don't have the willpower to do what these other people have done. You took the easy way out. You see? You can't even have an eating disorder the right way."

Even just looking at that, I see how sick that thought is. Like Kelsi said in her post, "If you are sick enough to not believe you are sick enough, there is a very good chance you are sick enough to need help." And she's right. No matter what we are recovering from, whether it's trauma or an eating disorder or mental illness or a difficult experience in our lives...we deserve help. There is no such thing as being "sick enough" or "deserving enough". We all deserve help, because we are all valuable people. And we all deserve recovery.

I cannot truly begin to love myself and give myself the life I deserve if I'm constantly saying, "I don't deserve this experience." Recovery has allowed me to see how valuable I am and what it can be like to live a full and healthy life free of the chains that Edie put on me and my relationship with my body and food. And that is something everyone deserves.

Source: ilove2banggg.tumblr.com via Ashley on Pinterest