The lore of donut #effyourbeautystandards

This is the lore I live by.  The lore of donut.  I’ve always been a comfort eater and that’s okay.  Eating gives me comfort and when the shit really hits the proverbial fan, my go to is a donut.  A jam filled one.

But there are always those armchair experts telling me about diet and exercise, who I wish would shut the hell up. They are everywhere, our culture is saturated with the fatphobic. Saturated with phobia, nah, let’s call it what it is – guilt tripping hatred used to shame women for holding their own space and being proud of who they are. Self esteem is not a dress size.

For 26 years I’ve had high blood pressure.  Ever since I walked out of a hyperbaric chamber after decompression illness (an injury that could have very well taken my life).  For six years the recovery was painful and I had a range of neurological issues, along with being Autistic (but I wasn’t diagnosed until much later). It was a rough time.  I went up to 107kg and down to 50kg in the period from 1994 to 2003.   I’m somewhere happily in the middle now.

It’s not my heart or related to my kidney functioning.  I’ve just the heart tests that I have every two years.  I pass with flying colours.  One specialist cardiologist a few years ago speculated it was to do with the injury to my brain (your brain plays a big part in the regulation of BP).  That has always made sense to me and I manage the condition just fine.


The woman on the left of this picture hates herself.  She is exhausted.  She is working 10 hour days and spending many hours of punishing training in the gym.  Trying to be “normal”.  She is trying to make her body conform, yet her BP doesn’t change.  She does not feel attractive and she is in denial of her bisexuality.  She is in denial of her disability and is subjecting herself to a gross form of internalised ableism.  She pushes herself until she breaks. On her fridge is a sign that says “food is fuel, not fun”.

The woman on the left is totally defined by what she thinks she lacks and what the male gaze thinks of her.  I shudder now to think of that.

The woman on the right likes donuts.  She loves her body, just as it is, because it’s not just for sexual partners consumption.  She is not ashamed of her sexuality.  She holds the stage with her bad ass self.

She has done things and been places the emaciated version of herself never thought possible.   She meditates and practices mindfulness.  She laughs a lot.  She produces comedy.  She is proud of her Autism even when it means she falls in a heap of sensory exhaustion, cause now she knows what to do; and it isn’t what the woman on the left did. She has an awesome day job and awesome people around her.

The woman on the right, the one of right now, she doesn’t give a fuck about “normal”, that’s only a cycle on the washing machine.

She is like a hot donut.  Round, hot, tasty and substantial in your hands.  I’m fucking proud of her.

I am proud of me.  #effyourbeautystandards that you try and say is for “health”: not healthy, it’s bullshit.

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