My Guy Friends Can't Use The F-Word

With my blog's second birthday in the books, all the talk in my apartment has been mostly centered around self love.

It is also important to note that 98% of my new friends in Nashville are male; and while they are surprisingly well informed and extremely supportive of the self love battle, they are not always certain where they stand on it. And after writing and answering questions about this stuff for two years now, I'm not entirely sure my readers know where they stand on it, either.

"I really want to jump on board the body positive bandwagon," the men in my life reached a general consensus, "I want people to be happy and healthy. So I'm never quite sure how to be supportive of body positivity around women who are...you know..."

I let the hesitation hang in the air so long it made them uncomfortable.

"Fat?"

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief; that someone, particularly the girl of the group, had finally dropped the ever-feared F-bomb.

"See," the boys continued, "It's okay for you to say it, because you're a girl." 

I didn't see what my gender affiliation really had to do with it, but they seemed to think it made all the difference.

"If you say that word around us, it's okay," they explained, "But if we had said it around you, you would've been offended!"

I wasn't quite sure what that meant either, and I had a feeling we weren't talking about self love anymore. Was I supposed to be offended because I was fat, or because I was a girl? This was about to turn into a debate on body fat and double standards. And I was determined to keep them intrigued enough to prove my point.

"Girls don't get offended when you call us fat," I opened my grand monologue, knowing I would be interrupted.

"Bull crap!" and similar comments escaped immediately, "Have you met women?"

Why, funny you should mention that, boys. It's almost like I am one. And here's the deal:

Fat is not offensive. Fat is a three letter word. It is something that is contained in food, something that is printed on nutrition labels; something that our bodies (yes, all bodies) need. And some of us happen to have more of it than others.

And yes, some of us have too much of it. Some of us are riding that unhealthy line, and some of us are well beyond it. But I've found that these people usually already know this about themselves. Most body positive writers and warriors are medically identified as fat. They are also often found confidently calling themselves fat, but not because they are making an open point to self depreciate. (So there's no reason to counter them and say, "Oh stop it, you are not fat!"). Because they understand what this post is about.

The problem with the word "fat" is not the word, or even the meaning itself. The problem with the dreaded F-word is the connotation that our society has created for it. Because in our world, you have to be 5'7" and 90 pounds to be considered beautiful, and everything else is labeled "fat," (i.e., UGLY).

Women do not become hurt and offended because you called us fat. Women become hurt and offended because it feels as though you called us ugly. Because the word "fat" no longer means "you've gained a little weight and I'm worried for your health." Today, it means, "you've gained a little weight so you are no longer pretty."

In our minds, you have not called us fat. You have called us ugly. Even if that was not what you intended to say.

Every woman has a different body type. A different body shape. And a different healthy fat content. This means that there is no standard definition of what our weight should be. Even the most amazing men with the best intentions (and most women on their good days) realize this. However, there is a standard definition in our society of how pretty we should be, and unfortunately, in our media, advertisements, and health care magazines...pretty only looks one way:

Pretty = Skinny

Google will tell you anorexia warriors and eating disorder survivors have an overwhelming fear of being fat. That that's why they starve themselves. Or purge after eating. And advertisements are right there behind the "mentally sound" group of women to encourage them to lose weight. We think this is because they are feeding on our insecurity of becoming fat.

We. Do. Not. Fear. Being. Fat.

Eating disorder warriors do not have an overwhelming desire to be skinny. Weight loss programs are not full of women who want to be thin. The truth is...

The world is full of women who want to be beautiful. Stunning. Captivating. And our society has tricked us into believing that we are unable to achieve this intrinsic desire of our hearts if we have more fat than the average supermodel (who is, by the way 5'9" and 98 pounds...an insanely unrealistic standard).

So instead of just being kind and funny, we starve ourselves. Instead of channeling our motivation toward our passions, we hit the gym...often more than once a day. Instead of loving people and treating people as we wish to be loved and treated, we form a social group to go on diets with in order to achieve our bikini bodies. We channel absolutely all of our creative energy into making ourselves smaller. 

Because once we are skinny, we will be pretty. And once we are pretty, we will be happy.

No. No, no, no, no, no. Ladies, you do not have to be a certain weight, or have a certain body shape, or wear a certain size of clothing to be pretty. And you certainly do not have to do these things to be happy.

So if you like going to the gym, then go. If, and only if, you are going to improve your health and not simply to diminish a number on the scale.

If you like dietetics, then keep blending your meal-substitute smoothies. If, and only if, you are still getting your correct calories, vitamins, and nutrients for your body.

And gentlemen? It is about health. And it is about beauty. And it is about happiness! And I am so sorry that the F-bomb busted out of it's home on the nutrition label, came into our society, and screwed everything up. I'm sorry that it has made women even more confusing to you.

This is not your free pass to go around calling anyone fat. This is your education on why you aren't allowed to do so, and how you should respond if anyone calls themselves fat.

Because people should be healthy. And people should feel beautiful, whether they are a size 2 or a size 22.

Rephrase:

People are beautiful, whether they are a size 2 or a size 22. Whether they are fat or not.

So instead of being worried about whether or not people are fat, we should be worried about where their health is at. This includes their weight, their muscle mass, their fat content, their vitals, their cholesterol, (the list goes on and on)...and their mental health, too. Like seriously. Do you even know anything about it? Do you know how hard they're trying to lose weight? Do you know if they have a medical condition prohibiting them from doing so? Do you know how hard they're working to love themselves as they gain weight back to a healthy range after recovering from an eating disorder?

Do you celebrate their workouts because they are improving themselves? Or do you celebrate their workouts because they are losing weight?

Think hard, because we're all guilty of it. Be honest with yourself.

Is their weight really any of your business? Is the number on their scale the first thing you should be estimating about them? Are the clothes they wear for you to decide? Answer honestly. Does their physical appearance have anything to do with you?

If you are not their parent, their doctor, or their personal trainer, the answer is no. If you are a workout partner, be supportive. If you are a co-worker, be encouraging. If you are a friend or boyfriend, be complimentary on their strengths. Trust me; they already know plenty about their weaknesses.

As for what you can do? Become more aware of the thoughts running rampant in their head. And in your head. Are you a victim of the F-bomb? Or do you utilize it often to put people down? This includes the judgements made inside your head. (Yikes.)

The answer is probably both. Someone has probably called you fat, or has looked at you and thought, she needs to lose weight. But if you've ever looked at someone and thought "Wow, she looks horrible. She needs to lose weight," you are guilty of doing the same thing. You are not in the proper mindset. You are linking fat to ugly. And these two things are not direct correlations of one other, though society has taught us that they should be.

If you have ever looked at someone and thought, "Oh dear, she needs to lose weight. I'm worried because she is not healthy, and if she is not healthy, her life might be in jeopardy. And that would suck because I love her so, so much! I wonder what I can do to help her be healthy again..." then congratulations! You are in the correct mindset. But most of us have that thought after we subconsciously notice how terrible they look, if we even take the time to have that selfless thought at all.

It is also important to note that we are in the 21st century. Health no longer means physical health alone. It also means mental health. So if you are noticing that someone is gaining or losing weight, it is your job to scan their motives. Do not compliment someone on their weight loss if you do not know whether they are eating healthier or not eating at all. Do not compliment their physique unless you know they are not addicted to watching the number on the scale go down after spending four hours each day at the gym. Because if you are unknowingly encouraging unhealthy, disordered eating habits, your compliments can be just as devastating as calling them fat. If not more.

And this goes for girls and guys. Let's just get that double standard debate out of the way. Girls are more likely to experience these cases, and I am a girl, which is why my posts so often come from the female perspective. But men are victims to this as well. So once again, the point of this post matches the point of all my other posts on the blog...

Pay attention to others. Be kind to others. Encourage others, support others, love others. Take care of others. And do the same for yourself when no one is there to reciprocate. That's what self love is. That's what love in general is, and so many of us have lost sight of how important it all is.

Fat does not equal ugly. Skinny does not equal pretty. And I'm sorry the world has taught us otherwise.

Be hungry. Be happy. Be healthy.

Today Is The Day!

It was a Monday afternoon when I sat with my head buried in my hands.

Lord, you made it so clear that I was supposed to move to Nashville. It was a prayer I'd prayed a million times. You brought Dylan back into my life with perfect timing. You brought my attention to the perfect apartment so suddenly. You made it so clear that I was supposed to move to Nashville, and continued to prove this was the right choice as things just kept working out... 

I'm sure even God could sense the "but" approaching. After all, we can't just be grateful for all that we have. We always need something else.

But couldn't you maybe help me out with a job to pay for that apartment? Couldn't you give me a purpose in Nashville, aside from simply being here with Dylan? 

I was so frustrated. God knew what I wanted; everyone did. I wanted to teach kindergarten. I wanted to be in Nashville with Dylan, living in my first apartment all to myself, surrounded by a city that appreciated performance art the way I did. God knew all of that, and He had managed to give me everything except the thing I needed most.

A job.

"Maybe I should start applying to Williamson County schools," I told Dylan when he rounded the corner. He didn't even try to hide his skeptical eyes.

"I thought you wanted something in Nashville."

"I want a job in Nashville, but I need a job."

"Okay," he shrugged, knowing that once I have decided something, there's really nothing he can say to change my mind.

I was shocked. Not even a minor protest! "...okay?"

He shrugged again. "I just think it's a little early in the game to be giving up on what you really want."

True. Patience is a virtue; one that even Dylan knows I don't have.

Never settle, my mom's voice rang out in my head. You should never have to settle. And while I'm pretty sure she meant that regarding the men in my life, I was so prepared so settle for a job. I wanted kindergarten, but I'd teach anything I could. My license is Pre-K through 3rd. I could do it. So maybe I'd teach another grade, or drive a little longer to teach outside the city.

My anxiety was kicking in, and I was giving up on God when He had time. He never promised I would have everything I ever wanted, but he certainly hadn't promised anything based on my schedule. He had instructed me to obey Him. To listen. To trust Him.

And I'm not very good at that either. So it took a lot of will-power to close my laptop.

"Okay," I told Dylan, "but if I haven't been called for an interview by July, I'm applying outside of Nashville."

He shrugged again. "Deal."

I woke up the next day and noticed a sign beside Dylan's door. Today is all that matters. That sign had been there for months, but today, I needed it. It mattered. And in a strange bout of positivity, I went on about my day fairly relaxed. ...Until one of Dylan's friends came over and the anxiety started right up again.

"So Bethany, I hear you live in Nashville now!"

"Yep! Been here three days."

"Wow, what are you doing here?"

"Hopefully teaching kindergarten."

She didn't say anything.

"I'm still looking for jobs. It's still early."

It was much more of a reassurance for me than it was for her. But by the time she waved goodbye and went home, there was an email in my inbox.

Hi Bethany, 
I was wondering if you were still looking for a teaching position. Bellshire is looking for a dynamic Kindergarten teacher. Let me know. 

I had sent out emails to 76 different elementary schools in Nashville the second I noticed a vacancy. And out of 76 emails over the span of three months, one had responded. One. 

You know you really shouldn't be so picky, a voice in my head rang out.

Hey, God. I know. But I sent over 70 emails and it's ONE response.

Well you only need ONE job. 

...Touché.

Yes I am! I emailed back. Kindergarten is my ultimate passion. I would love to meet you and look at your school. When would work best for you? 

I'm actually in Florida right now. Can you do a Skype interview? 

Sure that sounds great! What time? 

How about tomorrow at 8am? 

Sounds perfect. See you then! 

The next morning, I talked to the principal for an hour and was offered the position on the spot.

All that worrying. All that anxiety. All of those plans, and for what? For nothing! Because God had it. He'd always had it. And sometimes all you need is to realize that you don't have it on your own, and all He needs is for you to ask for His help. Trust Him. Believe Him. Obey Him. And He will take care of you.

So after two weeks of waiting for contracts to be signed and authorization by the Metropolitan Nashville Public School System, I am so excited to OFFICIALLY announce that I will be teaching Kindergarten in Nashville next year at the Bellshire Design Center. They believe in reading every day (like me); not because the teacher told you to, but because reading is something to be enjoyed. They believe that the best gift you can give a child is an intrinsic value of self worth, and the curiosity to foster creativity. (And in case you're new around here...that's kind of my deal.)

It is the absolute perfect fit, and it had very little to do with me.

All this to say... This "happy ever after" did not come without anxiety, fear, and a whole lot a tear-shed prayer. If you are struggling with something today... Or waiting on something... Or praying for something... Don't give up. It's too early to give up, because God does things on His time, not on yours.

This is part 3 of the Suitcase College Grad series.
For part 1 of the trilogy, visit The Suitcase College Grad. 
For part 2 of the trilogy, visit Madly In Love and Broke As Hell.

Madly In Love and Broke As Hell

I remember the first time my Aunt Beth ever spoke of her glory days.

I had no job, she told me, I sold jewelry to get my first apartment, and I had rent-to-own furniture. 

I did not know what rent-to-own furniture even was.

I'd go in once a month to see my furniture, she told me, I'd wave at it and tell it how pretty it was. Then I'd turn in my payment once a month until it was paid off and I could take the pieces home. 

As a product of my fortunate upbringing, I could not understand such a thing. I mean, what did she sit on for all those months?

Lawn chairs. 

It puzzled my anxious heart even then, as I have always been a planner in desperate need of as much control as possible. How did my Aunt Beth even get by?

Well darlin', she shrugged, You just do what you gotta do. 

I've probably lived my entire life by that statement since that moment. You do what you gotta do. Never a word so true. And we revisited the story of her furniture the night before I left for Tennessee; the night before I was to embark on my "glory day" part of my story.

"I'm a little anxious," I admitted, "Excited. But anxious."

"Oh darlin'," she smiled again, "I think you're about to experience the best part of your life."

It's strange to think of what my life was like only a month ago. I had a routine. And I was comfortable. I was celebrating the end of student teaching with my cooperating teacher's baby shower and 21 incredibly enthusiastic five-year-olds, all wound up and ready for summer. I was tossing my hat in the air, receiving a diploma from Missouri State University and praying that I had passed my teacher certification exam. I was looking forward, never backwards; excited to move to my first metropolitan area, excited to have my first apartment completely to myself, and excited to be able to go out with my Nashville music man whenever I wanted.

I was applying to jobs every day, updating my resume at every turn and anxiously awaiting phone calls for interviews. Any time anyone called from a 615 area code, I would mentally prep myself for the tone I was to answer the phone and the things I wanted to make sure I said before meeting the principal in person.

The 615 calls always ended up being a telemarketer, or my apartment calling to say they'd fixed the locks on my door, or the pharmacy up the street telling me my prescription was ready. I always ended up more stressed than I was before. Go figure.

But nearly a week ago, I was cooking out of an electric skilled plugged into my living room outlets via extension chord (since my kitchen outlets didn't work), when my boyfriend walked in with a surprise. I froze when I saw the little round Kate Spade box in the corner, attached to a small envelope with my name on the front in Dylan's handwriting. A designer gift from my music man who was, while more established than I at that present moment, was by no means in the most comfortable position to afford such a thing.

The envelope contained a letter explaining that I was worth a little extra money, a little extra time apart, and a little extra struggle from a long distance relationship. It was a letter to remind me that we had made it five months through the most transitional part of our lives, and that there was certainly no intention of giving up this time around since we had already lost each other once. It was a letter to remind me that if we had reconnected after five years and done all this in only five months, there was no way to to fathom all that could happen for me, and for us, in the next few months. Or the next year. Or the next five years.

And so I found myself sitting on a blanket atop a cold apartment floor, adorned in golden spade earrings, eating chicken and rice with the love of my life. One small lamp was on because my electric bill came with a start up charge, and a bottle of champagne was poured into coffee mugs to splurge and celebrate my move since we saved money by eating last week's dinners together. I made no money that week, and I didn't know where rent would come from if I didn't get hired soon.

But I was hopeful.

And years from now, when my music man has won a Grammy for his productions... or when I am recognized as an educator who established schools in third world countries... or when sparkling wine can be more of a regular occurrence because finances are comfortable... I will still remember this night over all.

No fancy Italian restaurant can beat this. No five-star vacation can beat this. You do not make these memories employed. Or on a comfortable budget. Or in a furnished apartment with your electricity on.

Apparently you have to be madly in love, and broke as hell.

So here's to my new adventure: to everything it does and doesn't entail. Here's to my romance: full of spontaneity and more joy than I thought could ever come from another person in my life. Here's to my past identity as a failure: the suitcase college grad with a Bachelor's degree and a teaching license going unused; and here's to my identity as a present victor: the girl who will never stop fighting to care, to love, and to teach. (And to pay her rent.)

Would I have a job earlier if I had stayed in Springfield, Missouri? Maybe. There's no way now to know. But one thing is for certain...that particular life was not meant for me. Oh yes, it has been made very clear that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Madly in love.

...and broke as hell.

This is part 2 of the Suitcase College Grad series.

For part 1 of the trilogy, visit The Suitcase College Grad. 

For part 3 of the trilogy, visit Today Is The Day!