Tag: body positivity

Pinworthy: Cheryl Strayed Quote About Fear

I don’t have any tattoos (yet) but if I ever decide to get one, it’ll probably either be a mockingjay in flight or a Cheryl Strayed quote.

Anyone who’s been reading this blog for any amount of time whatsoever can probably tell you how much I love Cheryl Strayed. She is possibly the most quotable woman on the planet at the moment. I don’t have any tattoos (yet) but if I ever decide to get one, it’ll probably either be a mockingjay in flight or a Cheryl Strayed quote.

I saw that it was possible to not only not feel regret, but to be thankful for the mistakes I’ve made because ultimately they’ve shaped me into the person I’ve become.

When I read Wild for the first time, it really opened my eyes to the possibility of living in a state of acceptance. I saw that it was possible to not only not feel regret, but to be thankful for the mistakes I’ve made because ultimately they’ve shaped me into the person I’ve become. And is it even right to call them mistakes? You see, I grew up in an extremely religious household where sin was vile, hell was hot, and you most certainly wanted to do everything you could to avoid ending up there. That legalistic framework conditioned me to feel intense shame and regret every time I behaved outside the bounds of what was considered “acceptable” behavior.

You get treats (eternal life and salvation) for good behavior and punishments (eternal damnation and torment via hellfire) for bad behavior.

No one really talks about the paranoia of living that way. You live every day slobbering like a Pavlov dog. You get treats (eternal life and salvation) for good behavior and punishments (eternal damnation and torment via hellfire) for bad behavior. I can already hear my mom saying, “That’s not how it works. We are saved by grace, not by good behavior.” And I will give her points for that, but the act of living in grace and in a state of constant penitence functions exactly like the kind of conditioning Pavlov used on those pooches.

…the act of living in grace and in a state of constant penitence functions exactly like the kind of conditioning Pavlov used on those pooches.

I’m aware that I’m taking the long way around here, but I want you to try something for me. Think of fear as a border. Imagine it as a literal line of demarcation fencing you in. Fear tells you not only where you can go, but how you must behave there, what your limitations are, and ultimately, when you are allowed to leave. Fear is limiting. Now, don’t misread me. The opposite of fear is not bravery or courage—it is water. It simply flows.

Sometimes you must tell yourself you are safe and you are loved over and over again until it becomes the only story you know and the only sound that reverberates.

And like Cheryl says in the quote I’ve shared above, fear is borne out of the narratives we tell ourselves, the ones we play on a loop. Sometimes you must tell yourself you are safe and you are loved over and over again until it becomes the only story you know and the only sound that reverberates.

What I want for myself and what I want for all of you is for us to learn to tell ourselves a different story. From the time we were born, we’ve had narratives projected onto us. You’re too fat. You’re too thin. You’re too gay. You’re so needy. You’re too loud. You don’t fit in here. You can’t sit with us. You can’t show your skin if it’s not flawless. You can’t bare your midriff if it has stretch marks. The way you eat is disgusting. You must have a thigh gap. You must buy your clothes at Walmart. You must have muscles. Boys can’t wear skirts. That lipstick shade is slutty. Give more. Give less. Be quiet. Speak up. Sit down. Disappear. Become nothing.

What do all of these narratives have in common? They’re all lies. Tell your own story and live in your own truth. I promise you won’t regret it.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

Quote for the Day: August 16th, 2021

Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman by Lindy West

I don’t want the people who love me to avoid the reality of my body. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable with its size and shape, to tacitly endorse the idea that fat is shameful, to pretend that I’m something I’m not out of deference to a system that hates me. I don’t want to be gentled like I’m something wild and alarming. If I’m gonna be wild and alarming, I’ll do it on my terms.

Thank God for Lindy West. When I first read Sbrill, which in my opinion is one of those books we’ll look back on in twenty or thirty years as a seminal feminist text, it enlightened me to something I had never before considered—that I didn’t have to experience shame surrounding my identity as a fat person. Shrill taught me, or perhaps reinforced for me, the idea that shame is a cultural construct wielded as social currency by dominant groups to keep the outgroups marginalized and silent.

Shrill taught me, or perhaps reinforced for me, the idea that shame is a cultural construct wielded as social currency by dominant groups to keep the outgroups marginalized and silent.

I’ve had so many loved ones, so many friends and family members, shy away when the topic of conversation shifts to my body. Or worse, they say something like, “You’re not fat. You’re beautiful.” Ergo, I can never be beautiful and exist in a fat body. Meanwhile, I know they’re lying to my over 300-pound ass. I know it. They know I’m fat. I know I’m fat. We are both cognizant of the shared knowledge of my fatness. To pretend otherwise, to tacitly ignore the reality of my body, is an act of erasure. And it is unacceptable.

Ergo, I can never be beautiful and exist in a fat body. Meanwhile, I know they’re lying to my over 300-pound ass. I know it. They know I’m fat. I know I’m fat. We are both cognizant of the shared knowledge of my fatness. To pretend otherwise, to tacitly ignore the reality of my body, is an act of erasure. And it is unacceptable.

There’s also a nuance, just below the surface, subtextual, corrosive—that implies that I’m not like those other fat people, those disgusting people who shovel in food at buffets—I’m one of the good fat people who does everything right and just remains fat as a cruel act of God. It rains on the just and the unjust. Being fat, though, is neither a punishment nor an unfortunate act of God. It is not a consequence of poor choices or diet or any sort of ableist bullshit you’ll encounter on daytime television—that blesséd time of day when we degenerate fatties are vacuuming up potato chips with our hungry mouths and finishing everyone’s leftovers from the night before.

…I deserve—we all deserve—the unabashed and unadulterated truth of our bodies. Let us be celebrated or let us be damned. I will not accept a third option.

Fat just is. And I deserve—we all deserve—the unabashed and unadulterated truth of our bodies. Let us be celebrated or let us be damned. I will not accept a third option.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please follow, like, comment, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at thevoraciousbibliophile@yahoo.com or catch me on Twitter @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.