I am grateful I have amazing people, who understand, give me the space and allow my being dysfunctional without giving up on me. Ameya being one of them of course. And speaking of Ameya — the gift that keeps giving, she brought a wondrous discovery into my life recently — this post is dedicated to that…

She found that Myntra stocks clothes in larger sizes and they actually fit! She bought a gorgeous twirly dress that I tried on as well and was stunned. That started me on a quest and I have since then ordered not just dresses but also culottes and palazzos and shorts! Shorts people, shorts that fit me and I can lounge around in and just …. oh my god!

Now those of you who have seen me or my pictures know I love my flowy outfits, and I do — I love wearing them, they make me feel good and they’re a style that will never grow old. But they don’t work when one is in a loungy mood at home. Additionally, getting clothes made for my size is an expensive proposition and one that I have chosen not to spend on since I stopped a full time job in 2019 summer. Slowly and steadily therefore my stock of home clothes is now down to 3 kaftans I wear on repeat and are fast becoming more holes than cloth.

I was revving up budget and courage to go get some stuff made when lo and behold we found Myntra. It’s reasonably priced, fits me and is delivered to me within days and I can return, if it doesn’t — just like that. Click of a button! Now these are not clothes I would wear formally or to a party — but they are totally clothes I can wear informally and at home which is delightful. They aren’t the kind material I love, but for the purpose intended and the price — they are fairly reasonable fabric.

Most importantly, if my nightmare of losing my luggage ever comes to pass — I know I can find clothes that I can order in a jiffy and wear happily. And that my friends is HUGELY empowering for me! The one thing that has always, always been a sore point for me is the effort I need to make to get clothes that fit and look good. And I often wonder whether I can ever live outside Delhi given how dependent I am on customised clothes. Well I’m definitely feeling a lot better about this.

A world of opportunity has just opened up for me! The flexibility this gives me for outings, travels, trips, date night etc. etc. is phenomenal!

Last but not the least is Ameya’s glee at how much of my bare skin she’s getting to see — legs and arms and … well before you say TMI, I will stop here. Here are the links to the clothes that have fit and that I am enjoying wearing these days! Go forth and shop! Myntra — I hope you guys are listening to all the “shouting out” we’re doing ;)

These shorts in size 44 by Revolution, available in different colors.

This really fun lounge around dress in XXL which given the material will work better when it’s colder.

This dress in XXL which is absolutely gorgeous, I would totally wear this out just like Meya. Meya has these in multiple colors and we have been witnessing much jaw dropping, as she twirls about in them ;)

Culottes that fit and look good! Got these in Size 44.

Clothes that fit both waist and budget! was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

This is really the biggest lesson I have learned in (almost) 40 years.

I tend to come off as someone who is supremely confident — which I am about many things, but that confidence was earned with painful, traumatic repeated experience. I wasn’t born this way.

Except, maybe I was? But I was also born into a world that put all sorts of shit on me because of my body, made all sorts of assumptions about me because of my body, and punished me cruelly for not conforming to them. So much messaging before I had the time to solidify any sense of self just meant that whatever I believed to be true between 14 and 20 kind of became the base of my understanding of the world.

And what I knew to be true was that I, a fat girl, was ugly.

Certainly I was mostly mocked by everyone. I couldn’t buy stylish clothes that fit me. People pointed at me and laughed. Not one boy I liked reacted with anything other than horror. I didn’t even have to like them — all it needed was the words “Ameya likes you.”

I, a fat girl, was lazy.

I couldn’t run as fast as anyone else. I huffed and puffed and looked like a fool. I was never going to achieve anything at sports so I sat them out so I wouldn’t give people more ammunition to mock me. I stopped swimming because I was ugly and didn’t want to wear a swimsuit. Certainly I didn’t move much and after a point my muscles didn’t really develop the strength to move much.

I, a fat girl, was stupid.

Wait, no. I knew I was not stupid. I was smarter than most kids I knew. I also knew people were jealous of me because of that, they called me names and mocked me for it, but I knew I was not stupid. Still, I coasted a lot because I didn’t want to be called out for being “oversmart,” and thus I was lazy again.

This is the moment where the music warps, you know? Because, as soon as I got to college, where being smart was seen as normal and I could unfold all of it and wave it about, everything else that I had taken as utter truths about myself began to crack.

Was I really ugly? Was I really lazy? I had these secret thoughts, so deeply secret I didn’t even let myself know I was having them. I kept my head down, tried to find a style of work, pined desperately for various men, but stayed in my corner, you know, too fat to be pretty, nobody wants you, you should be grateful I’m willing to throw attention your way.

That is how I navigated the world. I assumed I had nothing of value to add, and so I accepted terrible treatment from everyone: friends, boys I liked, extended family, bosses. Some of it wasn’t terrible as much as just exasperating, but I put my head and down and I took it. I felt so guilty for ever thinking I could put my needs over what was offered to me, because I did truly believe that I was worth nothing, so everything I got was a gift.

I kissed up to fuck-all bosses; I lay down and let boys walk over me; I truly thought that it was my fault because, well, I was fat and they could hardly be expected to respond differently right?

Except, those secret voices I pretended I didn’t have, they came out once in a while. They would scream, “You are better than this, why are you wasting your time? You deserve better!” And for a brief moment I would think, yes, I do deserve better, I can ask for better, I can have better. But all too soon, the other voices would come and drown these guys out and they would be shoved back into their dungeon.

Luckily, as I got older, and I found people who forced me to rethink those instincts by literally being there for me over and over, I began to be able to have boundaries. In 2013 I drew the line with a couple of toxic friends. In 2014, with a man I was hopelessly in love with who was exploiting the shit out of it. And, in 2015, with a workplace that didn’t meet my needs.

And, I gotta tell you guys, the biggest shock was the workplace. Suddenly, I found that there were people willing to pay me well for the work I do well. Suddenly, I found that if I demanded certain behaviour from the people I worked with, I was only working for non-toxic people. And, what’s more, I had work. It might not have been dream work, but by god I was happy because I didn’t hate the work or the place I spent most of my waking hours. So much happier than when I worked for the “recognized” names or the super trendy places.

But, to get there, I first had to trust myself. I had to trust the constantly repressed voice that said, “Meya, you are worth x lakhs. You deserve work life balance. You are allowed to say no.” And then I had to leap. And, of course I crashed the first time. But it wasn’t a terrible crash, because I knew what was wrong. I finally trusted myself about that. And so I got up and used what I had learned, and didn’t crash like that again. Plus, I learned that if I crashed, I’d be okay.

And I took that learning to other parts of my life. I drew boundaries. My heart bled, I couldn’t breathe from hurt when I walked away from men who treated me badly. I was terrified to stand up to friends who treated me badly, and tried to make me think it was my fault. But the good thing is, once it was over, instead of being broken and worse, I was… better. Every time I chose myself, no matter the outcome, I loved myself more, I valued myself more and let me tell you, there ain’t nothing like that.

So I am here to tell you, in a long rambly way, to JUMP! Trust yourself to catch yourself! Trust yourself to be okay without other people! Because you’ll find out you can be, and then, the only people you’ll let into your life are those who genuinely make it better.

When you don’t trust yourself was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Part of the reason why I am this overwhelmed is a decision I made at 2.45am on Wednesday morning to speak out about something and that seems to have opened up a nuclear reactor of rage and things to say that I had kept fairly effectively sealed and contained. And clearly that cover was further hidden under a thick, deep carpet that kept the explosions muffled. And having wrenched the carpet off and ripped the security seal away — I can no longer contain ANYOFITTTTT!

A little context.

I did something called the Lifebook Online program in 2019 and frankly it is the most powerful program I have ever done. It was the first system that allowed me — a fat person, a fat person comfortable with her body, a fat person comfortable with her body and not trying to lose weight — it was the first system that allowed all of me in. It allowed me in as I was, to define what I wanted for my life. It gave me space to be me, to breathe, to set my eyes on my star and decide how to go about getting there. I believe in the power of this system because it allowed me, an outlier to hit the ball out of the park. Someone who has never really felt like she belonged in any system on the planet, was able to not only walk onto this field, she was able to play it and win!

Why? Because it is an open system. It allows you to figure out what you want in life and set up your own process that enables you to move towards those aspirations. The process eliminates all the noise — society, family, partners, friends, children. And it allows you to listen to and capture your own thinking for your own life. While keeping into account 12 categories of life : health & fitness, intellectual life, emotional life, spiritual life, character, love relationship, social relationships, parenting, career, financial life, quality of life and the overall life vision.

And this is why I have worked and continue to work so hard to be a Lifebook Leader, because if it could get my life rolling in such a positive direction, it can help anyone who chooses to bring this awareness into their own lives. And I can’t feel more privileged than to be a part of that journey.

So where’s the problem? “We want the goss on the nuclear reactor drama, Pea!” Here goes.

The first category is “health and fitness”. And when explaining what needs to be done in the thinking around this category , the examples used are of “normal” bodies. The basic assumption being that thin means healthy and fit. For two years, this has irked me and I’ve said nothing about it. Comfortable in defining things as I am, and to hell with the world.

However, two nights ago, as we were being coached to coach, I realised I was doing a disservice by being quiet. I realised that were were 200 other people who like me were going out and being Lifebook Leaders, who would impact at least 10 other lives each, if not more, in the next couple of months. And to stay silent and allow 2000 other people to be exposed to fat phobia was just not something I could digest! And so I decided to break my silence and to speak. To let the leaders and the founders of this program, that I hold so dear, know my point of view. That the system is amazing, the system gives room for marginalised people like me. And to say to them, even if you don’t agree, and it is not my job to make you agree. But it is my responsibility to let you know that please hold that space!

And this is what I want to say to the rest of the world. You can go ahead and make the choices you need to make for your own bodies — you are entitled to that. But allow people like me to be entitled to the choices we make for our bodies. Stop raining on our parades. Stop telling us you come from a space of love, care and concern without educating yourselves on what the truth of our bodies is. Even if you do love us, realise that letting us know your concern for our bodies is not healthy for us. And all that contempt and disappointment and regret you feel around bodies and weight and shit — well fucking keep it to yourself and stop projecting. Just stop — because more and more of us are done with this crap.

And I am going to be silent no more!

Stay silent no more was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s funny how we think that things that happened to us many years ago — the “distant” past — have become, by virtue of our having processed or dealt with them, trivial to our current lives. I mean, it makes sense, right? Something that happened 25 years ago, however traumatic it might have been, is surely well dissected and understood today. Even if it was repressed in that moment, I’ve definitely unpacked it and discussed it openly and I even talk about it casually now. So, it’s like, healed, right?

Apparently not.

When I was in college, I effectively lost all my friends over the course of a week towards the end of second year. It is all ancient history, and the whys and wherefores are really not important, but essentially someone I considered a best friend turned on me, which split our group of friends. Only, because I was the more gregarious one, they tacitly assumed I had other friends and she didn’t so they effectively stopped being my group of friends. Many wonderful things came out of this — by things I mean friendships of course, with people I would never have spent the time getting to know as my time in college was coming to a close.

Twenty years later, two of those women are once again a regular part of my life, and we’re in a group, where a chance discussion of graduation dinner led to me pointing out that they had effectively ditched me, but I understood why, even at that time, and anyway we were all just trying to do what we thought was best given what we knew. But one of them held on to it and told me that even if it was ancient history she still wanted to apologise, and that they should have fought for me.

Now, notice, we are friends today. The other girl has vanished from everyone’s lives. I’m not hurt, or jealous, or resentful. I am very happy with the way my life turned out and I’m glad to have these old friends in my life. I love them. I don’t hold any of this against them.

But my goodness, when I read that text, my eyes just filled and I felt some kind of release, letting go of something I had no idea I was carrying! All these years and that time in my life has been talked about, cried over, raged about, dissected, analysed in therapy, and finally put to bed — so I thought.

But somewhere in there I was still carrying the weight of that heartbroken 19-year-old girl who was so bereft, abandoned by her tribe, who never let herself say the word because she was trying so hard to be strong, self-contained and rise above it all. She was trying — as I still do too much — to see the other person’s perspective, to be fair and reasonable, and use that to fence in her hurt, as if it were some kind of antidote. But what it actually is, as it turns out, is a carpet, under which I swept all that pain, and then stood there balancing on the unstable foundation, telling myself I was fine and wondering why it was so hard to stand steady.

Similarly, something happened to me in high school, once again my so-called best friends did something thoughtless and cruel, and I was SHOOK. But I dealt with it, and I took steps to show them I didn’t care about them and I moved on. I talked about it; I analysed it; I learned about myself from it. You’d think, since it was all so neatly packaged up, that it would take some time to find that pain, and to unpack it, and that when I did, it would be muted, felt through the fog of time.

Only, when I, at Judy’s insistence, did an active imagination exercise about that incident, I was shocked by how fast that pain showed up, and how intense it was. I don’t think I let myself feel that pain that much even in that moment, and yet, here I was sat 25 years later, rocking and wailing in grief for the unfairness of it all.

I didn’t even know till that moment when I felt those feelings physically in my body that those very feelings were the root of my despair and helplessness when it hits. It is that icy belly, those gasping lungs, that crushing weight that descends when I try to imagine my future and I find I wordlessly, hopelessly, cannot. It is exactly those things that I feel when I am lost and I don’t know where it’s coming from.

And to think I thought it was all sorted out. *shaking my head*

This is all from 2 incidents of trauma. Can you imagine how much weight we carry as fat people who have been shamed, abused and stigmatised all our lives? Imagine what it would be like to let it all go — it must be like flying.

Digging deep was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I am a dreamer, and I day dream… a lot. I would say, in fact, most of my waking moments that aren’t occupied with the real living stuff are spent dreaming. Ok. I am going to make a confession … one of the reasons I actually enjoy listening to podcasts and other online courses that are learning oriented is because they make these day dreams more interesting. I know it sounds crazy, but once I’ve been able to apply these new skills in daring, dastardly, bold situations in my dreams I find they start becoming easy to apply to my daily life as well.

Some of these dreams mean a lot to me when I dream them. I hold them for a while, wish upon stars for them. And at some point I let them go when they are much too frustrating to hold on to. Sometimes when I dream them, there is not even a horizon in sight, I feel that far away from them.

In this last fortnight, I have seen three of these dreams coming true. And the beauty is that I remembered they were dreams I had let go — that’s how far away their becoming a reality felt.

The first dream come true moment was on the 29th May, two Saturdays ago when Ameya and I completed our first workshop on “Dealing with the World” for fatsos. The energy as our participants said goodbye was electric, we had heard each one of them shift into more power when it came to defining strategies to cope with situations that would impact their mental health. I remembered how, in 2014, as I posted my first post on Instagram with the hashtag #effyourbeautystandards, I was terrified. I was all alone but I was determined AF. And in my head the dream was a community of women who own their bodies, own their space and have learnt to navigate the world of fat phobia and concern trolls (words that I was still to learn but had meaning in context to my lived experience). I remembered the sensation of euphoria and completion that I had felt when I was dreaming this. I felt exactly that at the end of the workshop!

Dream number two: in 2013, I had a day dream where I was the creator of a product that helped employees connect their daily productivity with the contribution to the organization and their own rewards. The dream was inspired by a study I had read on employee engagement and my newly found fascination for applied neuroleadership. I really wanted a system that made the employee feel seen and valued, that was kind and fair unlike the stress caused by the systems of the day, and supported the organization’s objectives of growth and success. As I went through the team self assessment presentations with the client I have developed this for; I realised that my proof of concept was right here in front of me. As every discussion ended with a smile, I knew my creation was out of my head and in the real world. I was left breathless and giddy with joy at the end of the day — just this Tuesday, 8th June.

And the most recent moment of exhilaration of a dream having come true was yesterday. I launched social media communications about my having become a Lifebook Leader and being able to offer the Lifebook Premium program, starting 30th June 2021. I have said this often, that for the longest time I was waiting to lose weight to live my dreams. When that layer of the onion was peeled off, I walked out of my life and started a new more empowered one — divorced, single, with a career that was more business and leadership oriented than corporate and HR oriented. But in 2019, I once again found myself unhappy. I felt I had given up on my dreams of a better life, and I did not know how to reclaim them. I was 40, still single, had no income and no idea what to do; I had also in one moment lost my whole tribe — the people I had considered family for almost 3 years. All of them turned away as I was asked to leave the company I was working for, which was a big reason I was in touch with them.

I was hurting and devastated but determined to back myself up. And that’s where the Lifebook program with Jon and Missy Butcher entered. As I heard them talk about designing my ultimate life in 12 categories, as I heard them talk about building a community of self-directed people who trusted their own gut, I knew I wanted in. And I knew not only did I want in for myself to transform my own life, but I wanted in for all the women and men who are outliers in one way or another—and know they want to be and do more — but somewhere their dreams have lost a little sheen.

And so I invested in myself by joining the Lifebook Online program and the insights were phenomenal — as I wrote my purpose, premise (beliefs), vision and strategy in each category, over 6 weeks I developed a 100 page written document with not just dreams and aspirations that were completely personal and customised to me, but I also discovered strategies to make them happen and life changed. I went on to do the Lifebook Mastery Bootcamp — setting up my goals and daily habits and tracking them. I became part of an accountability group — we have met for 75 weeks — learning together, inspiring each other, and actually hitting targets week upon week. I started to feel alive again — the podcast happened, I started dating again, I started earning an income doing work I loved, so much changed!

And now, now I am a Lifebook Leader — one of 300 that were chosen out of 60,000 Lifebookers in 157 countries. I feel so privileged to have this program in my hands. Where I can hold space for people to uncover their purpose, to reclaim their dreams and to actually put in place strategies to get there.

How does it get even better?!

Reclaiming my big, fat dreams! was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

All your life, being an adult is seen as the ultimate goal. Grownups know what they’re doing, they have control of shit like the TV and bedtime, and they have special things they drink. They don’t have to listen to anyone. And then you finally make it to grownupness and… it was all a big con.

Far from having control, the hardest thing about being an adult is accepting that you don’t really have control over anything much more than going to the bathroom. You might want to sleep early, but you have to work late. You might want to sleep in, but hey you have chores or a workout. You might want to eat cake but hey you have to be thin/acne-free/healthy/whatever. You might want to lie in bed and watch trash TV but hey you have to write seventy billion pointless, boring emails and pretend to care about stuff on Zoom calls.

Jokes aside though, the reason adulthood is the biggest con is because it is built on a certain idea of life that is deeply discriminatory and programs us to ignore, suppress and repress important parts of ourselves so we can conform to the con. Adults “have to” live a certain way and follow a certain trajectory. Get a “normal” job, a partner, children; own a house and a bunch of other shit; dress a certain way; display your income by consuming in certain patterns… I could go on and on. These are the markers by which you are considered an adult by other people but also, thanks to conditioning, by yourself.

But what do these markers actually do? They make you think that money or market value is the only important thing. For example, to display my success, I need to live a certain way, which will cost so much, which I cannot afford if my work is something that is not valued highly by the traditional market. To get an acceptable partner I must be heterosexual and display a certain purchasing power as a male, and look a certain way as a female. To achieve that look as a female I must spend money on all kinds of things, from under eye cream and vaginal bleaching to nail paint and a diet and exercise regimen. To be a good parent I must give my children to certain kinds of education — and set them off into career that will give them enough money to display all that purchasing power when it’s their turn to be adults.

Very often we trade off the hollowness of our professional lives by spending money to feel better: I can drink single malts and holiday in Europe because of this job. So it’s ok that I hate every second of it and want to die. Besides, it pays for all this stuff (that I don’t even know I want).

We tell ourselves stories to justify these paths: I can’t draw and I’m good at maths, so of course I’m an engineer. when in actual fact you probably spent very little time on and got very little approval for drawing but worked very hard on maths with a lot of help.

We expend so much emotional energy on silencing the voices of dissent, the same voices that tell us it’s not right that we’re seen as less because we’re fat, or short, or dark, or whatever. If we could just channel some of that energy into breaking the mould and silencing the loud voices of conditioning, we might live much better lives for it.

I, for one, am totally ready to retire. I can see no reason why I should have to spend time and energy on frustrating unrewarding work when I could be doing more for fat liberation, or painting, or making things with my hands. No reason that is, other than the need to pay rent and eat food and buy clothes… and you see me sliding back down into the pit there?

Capitalism.

FAUGH.

Resigning from adulthood was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I meet a gorgeous man and he’s interested in me, and I’m like “nah, this can’t ever work out. When has it ever worked out?” And then I think of all the shitty men who this man may perhaps have one characteristic in common with, and I draw parallels and I’m like, yeah, doomed from the word go. And rationally I know there are no guarantees, as well as multiple possibilities and opportunity, “give it time…,” says the other part of me. But my subconscious then resorts to sending me dreams about how it won’t work…

Or there’s the fact that I am launching a new program — it’s actually my first real “offering” as a coach. And as excited as I am, there’s also this part of me saying… “Hah, there goes Pallavi on another harebrained venture, of course no one’s going to sign up. ” This is for a system that I invested in when I had no income and zero direction. A system that has made me think through my whole life and understand what I want in all 12 categories AND got me on the path to it. A system that I say is the reason for why I am here. My improved self esteem, my improved health, my inner state of more balance, my doing the podcast, my finally choosing to build a career doing what I love, my choosing to take the plunge into dating again, my having made new friends. And then my investing further and becoming a coach for this system, is testimony of how much I believe in it.

But, as with men, my question is “Who will invest in me? Why would anyone invest in me?”

I was brought up on this ideal — a slim woman wearing beautiful clothes, a husband who kisses her before they leave for work, happy children and a wonderful extended family. A beautiful house, cars and a fabulous lifestyle, with lots of friends, entertaining, travel etc. Juggling a successful career and home effortlessly with hair in place, nails manicured and a beautiful, peaceful smile on her face.

Basically, you know the stereotype. And you know it’s a figment of my imagination, built up by my conditioning.

Yet this woman pops into my consciousness and sneers at me, lets me know all the ways in which I am not her. If I send her packing in my waking state then my dreams torment me and I wake up feeling like shit. Dreams where I feel infected, dirty, worthless. I wake up feeling guilty as hell about everything and so, so judged.

And so what do I do? I cannot extinguish her, she’s a part of me. And I sure as hell will not stop being grateful for what I know is a fabulous life. Am I then cursed to forever be at war with this inner stereotype that taunts me? It’s exhausting to say the least.

Judy (our therologer as Ameya calls her — therapist + astrologer) says I need to be compassionate with these parts of me that feel this way — being dirty, worthless etc. I also need to be compassionate to the part of me that is the judge of myself. And some day I will find my way to healing them. And that thought does give me relief.

It also answers the question about “who will invest in me?” The fact is — NO ONE.

After all, I did not invest in the system that changed my life nor have I ever invested in the men I have wanted. I saw enough value in them, to invest in my Self (time, money, effort). And as broken, flawed, imperfect, rebellious, haunted as I may be, I know there is tremendous value, in just being me — as I am.

And hopefully, this will help me live with my demons and allow their judgement without really buying into it.

Judge-y, Judge-y, Judgement was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I spent many many days nauseated and unable to fully open my eyes, feeling like the weight of the world was on my head. Almost all sounds annoyed me, light annoyed me, and I just wanted everyone to go away and leave me the fuck alone. Obviously, this was not an option back in the days when we worked in offices! I was, at the time, involved (traumatically of course) with a neurosurgeon, who told me I needed to go and see a doctor about this because they were persisting so long and not responding to the usual things I did. I never got around to it, he removed himself from my life, and I carried on with every few months being in terrible misery for as much as 20 days of the month.

One day I noticed that the damn things synced perfectly with my period. I would get them 5 days before I started ovulating, and they’d stick around for a week or so, and then I’d get them again about 10 days before my period. I promptly googled PMS migraine and discovered that fluctuating estrogen levels (ding ding ding ding ding) can trigger migraines, but of course, ain’t nobody looking into it seriously. I did finally talk to a doctor who gave me some multivitamin and enzyme supplements which, if I take them faithfully (which I haven’t this week because I ran out and didn’t have time to get them), mostly keep them at bay and I have at worst 2 bad days a month.

I’m telling you this because it never ceases to amaze me how few fucks the medical community gives about female reproductive health! By god they will invent Viagra because 1 in 5 men sometimes have trouble getting it up, but god forbid they investigate PMS, which 9 out of 10 women suffer from. Nobody really talks to young women about the terrible side effects of the pill. I, for example, was on dosiprenone for 5 years to help with PMDD, which it did, but I ended up with chronic tachycardia and cannot get back on the pill. There’s one. Then there’s increased risk of breast cancer for some. Then there’s the environmental consequences of flushing vast quantities of estrogen into the planet (because like all pills, the dosage is far higher than you need because your body doesn’t like to absorb things from pills). All so that men don’t have to wear condoms. (Okay I’m simplifying I know.)

And then there’s PCOS. I can count on the fingers of one hand the women I know who don’t have it. Yeah that’s right. Most of them go undiagnosed, because who really talks about how severe your period is, how much you bleed, how long, what a regular cycle is, and so on until they’re checking the cow for her fertility you know? That’s the only time they really care and maximising fertility is the focus of most of this stuff.

Take that lovely old story about obesity causing PCOS. There are correlations between the two yes, but it is far from clear that obesity causes PCOS. You could make a very good case for the reverse in fact, especially since puberty is a time when a lot of shit is going on with your hormones and your set weight, and PCOS does appear to cause insulin resistance. Regardless, there aren’t many people looking into it. Why?

And then there’s just the usual stuff around menstruation, you know, bleeding, having blood clots and uterine tissue drop out in the shower. Being exhausted and emotional. Worrying all the time about “leaking” and staining, and forever concerned about the shame of revealing the fact that your body is… doing exactly what it’s supposed to be doing? And, in biological terms, is doing the one thing its entire existence is geared to? What’s the deal with that?

Oh, also! The euphemisms!! Golly gee. “Aunt Flo is in town”, “chums”, “strawberry season”, “the rule”, “that time of the month” — it goes on. While I do love some of them — “the Red Army has taken the south” and “down for maintenance” — what even is the damn point? I had a friend in college who used to say, “I’m bleeding”, and by god if that isn’t my favourite way to say it, just to watch people blanch in horror.

Of course, for fat women, it’s even harder because, of course, until very recently, they didn’t make pads that worked for us. When I was in my teens and twenties and my god I bled like mad, I learned all sorts of tricks to stack and layer pads, to overlap them so I’d have full coverage and the blood couldn’t run out down the creases in my fat and spill out. Till today I have dark sheets and underwear heh. As for tampons, forget it. I tried them once without and once with an applicator and was so terribly uncomfortable that I knew I couldn’t get them at the right spot. I’ve been dying to try the cup, but I’m so worried about being able to reach in because my arm has to go over my belly and I don’t know if it’s long enough, and then what if I drop it by accident? Or the seal beaks? And so on.

The thing is, though, why ARE we, in TWENTY TWENTY-ONE FFS, still thinking menstrual blood is gross? If you had a nosebleed and stained someone’s bedsheets, would you sneak around in the dead of the night desperately trying to clean it off and then dry the sheet and replace it before anyone could know your shame? I’m gonna say no. To quote the hysterical and wonderful Caitlin Moran,

Have you ever tried to scrub blood out of a Premier Inn sheet at 6am, using just travel shampoo and your toothbrush? It’s one of the defining aspects of being a woman.

Remove Premier Inn and it really is.*

Whether you know or not, we’re still menstruating. Whether we like it or not, we’re still menstruating. And just like all biological activities have their consequences, so does this one! And just like all humans are different, so are our experiences of menstruation. So can we all please grow the fuck up about it?

*Please do read her incredible books, and this article.

If you do not cut me, I will still bleed was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Nevertheless, I got home, showered and got into bed. I slept for 90 minutes straight, whereas I’m usually a power napper (20 mins). When I woke up I was hungry, craving cheesy stuff — specifically. I was also still feeling very sleepy and was feeling horny (really… it was a thing, and confirmed by another friend as a possible side effect :D). But that was it. My friends on the other hand, poor babies, had fever and body ache (from hell, as they described it.) But here I was just feeling sleepy and hungry, a little arm soreness and wanting some comfort (ahemm…)

I started wondering, what if the vaccine is useless on me? What if my body is too big and those who developed the vaccine did not take higher body weight into account, etc. etc. A friend mentioned how the others were probably having a stronger immune system response and that it was a good thing. And that my immune system probably reacts slower. This triggered my existing insecurity and I went down a rabbit hole of questioning my immune system as well! All of those awful fat phobic triggers hit me like a truck.

I spent two hours googling whether it was OK not to have severe side effects to the vaccine. For a change, googling my symptoms helped. Apparently, it’s OK. Also I am in my 40s, and those friends are in their early to mid 30s. Apparently that’s a factor in responses to the vaccine.

And yet…

As the days progressed, my friends healed from the fever and were back to their normal selves within 48 hours; it took me 72 hours of feeling tired and just wanting to never get out of bed. Also feeling really really hungry with specific cravings. The last week has been extremely busy but I am still concerned my energy levels are not where I’m used to having them.

The shadow of whether or not the vaccine has worked, whether or not I am too fat for it to work continues to lurk. And I do not have a good answer. I have not spoken to a doctor — I really don’t think it would be fair to do so with everything else they need to handle. I have NOT googled the effect of the vaccine on fat bodies because I am sure something I read will trigger me and right now I don’t have the resources to deal with that.

And this is the thing about fat phobia and how deeply conditioned we are. It doesn’t matter how much I work on it. It doesn’t matter how happy I am in my body or how well it is. There will always be this demon lurking around waiting to get me down in a weak moment. The additional concern is that there are very few people I can speak with to garner comfort even though I have more people who get me than a lot of others out there.

Which is why the concept of building a community where fat people can connect and fat allies can be connected as well is so important to me.

As a first step Ameya and I have announced a series of six workshops on Dealing with the World, starting 29th May. The workshops will be 2 hours each and typically happen on the last Saturday of every month from 5 to 7pm, IST. We will run these from the perspective of a fat person’s experience, and participants can expect to leave with tools they can use and a community to lean on. The series has:

⁃ Dealing with mental health

⁃ Dealing with concern trolling

⁃ Dealing with spaces

⁃ Dealing with family

⁃ Dealing with healthcare

⁃ Dealing with relationships

For more information on registration and costs: message either one of us or leave a comment here with your email ID :)

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Am I too fat for the vaccine to be effective? was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

(Pallavi interrupts, “Factually incorrect, Sheru has not had his debut.”)

This handsome boi is Nawab Harami Miaon, aka Sheru, aka “Stop that you little shit!” He is most doglike in that he comes when called and loves humans and pets. However, last year he ran away for a month and when he came back he had changed into a scaredy cat who attacks his sister every time he’s a little upset, causing much drama in the house, sigh.

Sheru loves to sleep, especially in weird ways, birthing the hit hashtag #HowSheruSleeps. He specially likes to burrow under clothes and sleep, and usually unmakes the bed 5 minutes after it’s made. It’s very useful though — just toss a sheet over him and he passes out. These days he likes to nap on Pallavi’s feet while she works, and purr and rub himself all over her study.

This fancy lady is Rajmata Agneshwari Devi, aka Agni, aka uggsie. She is a lot braver than her brother, but she also takes her time to explore things and people before going up to them. She really likes to climb shit, and is a super stealthy sneak. She figured out how to open our kitchen door (sliding and held closed with magnets) so we now have to tie it shut with string at night. And she still keeps trying to open it.

She doesn’t sleep as much as her brother, which is why it takes great sneakiness to get a photo like this. It’s next to impossible to come up on her without waking her up. She’s so sneaky, I made a Dungeons and Dragons character based on her, and it works really well. She is usually quiet, but once she accepts you as friend, she will shamelessly demand pets, by yelling, purring, tripping you up, lying on the floor and wiggling her butt at you. But she will not stay still for the pets, thus luring Pallavi (it doesn’t work on me) wherever she wants to go.

Both these two rascals love nothing more than sitting in my clean laundry (sigh), scattering litter all over the house and generally behaving like they are neglected and abused instead of royal critters with their own custom built catio. Still, soft warm fuzzy purry kitties are the best thing ever, so no complaints here!

Meet the kittehs was originally published in Fat. So? on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.