Critical Mass, or… Why Now?

October 25, 2007 at 7:36 am Leave a comment

It’s been several months now, since the posts about my mom‘s death ran over at Shapely Prose. When they first came out, there were a few people who suggested I ought to start up a blog of my own. I said, “Y’know, I think I will!” And so I did.

And then I didn’t post a damn thing until yesterday.

Which is not to say I haven’t been writing – I have. I’ve got an even dozen half-finished posts hanging around here, because I keep writing things thinking, “Dammit, that’s it, I’m just going to do this thing.”

And then I don’t.

To be fair, sometimes it’s not just fear that stops me. Sometimes it’s that I’m partway through and one of my kids needs me, and then it’s hours before I can even look at it again, and by the time I return the train of thought is utterly derailed.

But most of the time? It’s fear.

I’m not even sure, honestly, what exactly I’m afraid of. Being called fat? Entirely possible. It’s not like I’m in some kind of denial about being fat. It’s more that I’m in denial of having a body at all, no matter what it may look like.

And dealing with that kinda freaks me out. It means admitting a lot of things, and facing a lot of things I’ve mostly managed to avoid, and maybe even looking in the mirror and admitting I’m not just a brain in a jar.

So why now?

Actually, I was going to do this about a week ago, in response to these posts, but I never did get any farther than throwing the links into a draft post along with an opener, “Well,” that was it. Seriously. One freakin’ word. Whatever I was going to say about them, though, is lost. At least for now.

I do know the other thing that had me realizing I really ought to get my thumb out of my ass and start blogging finally, was discovering that people are still reading those posts about my mom on Shapely Prose.

I sounded good back then, didn’t I? All full of vim and vinegar, all fired up about the way fat people are being killed by prejudice from the very people who are supposed to be saving us.

But there was a part of me, to be honest, that just wanted to fade away. That wanted to put all that up and then meander off into the blogospheric sunset, like Shane in size 22 chaps. There was a responsibility there, a pressure which I just didn’t feel like I could face.

I’m still not sure I can face it, honestly. But I think I need to try.

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The Gift of Permission Hate the surgery, love the patient

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