Tag Archives: weight

Your Size

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By S.D. Craig

Size matters. That’s what they tell me. Only a lot of the time, they’re simply not referring to a man’s pride and joy.

As I once again tuned in to my taped version of a Dr. Phil episode, I hear the man himself introduce a slender, pretty young woman who despises fat people. I shake my head, my husband shakes his. And we sit and listen to her opinion on why fat people are fat, stay fat and infringe on her space.

Next, Dr. Phil has her wear a 300 lb. suit for the day and they put fake implants put in her cheeks (yes, both sets). Just for the day, I said. Just to see how the other half feels and what they continually go through on a daily basis. Funny, but it isn’t that funny to me. You see, in order to understand how being fat really is, you must live it.

This young woman just didn’t get it.

In her eyes, her mind, those of us that are heavy can change our lives if we want to. Some people cannot. There are a myriad of reasons for overweight statistics in America. Some are guilty of overeating, not exercising, indulging themselves in their passion (mine is chocolate). Others have health problems, family heredity, or issues, as Dr. Phil calls them.

She abhors people larger than her taking up room in her movie theatre seat, her airplane seat, her bus seat. She thinks they’re disgusting, arrogant and selfish.

You know what I think? I think, no, I know, that she’s never even taken the time to get to know a person whom she’d call fat. Underneath everyone’s size, color of skin, or disabilities happens to be a real person. Someone special she’s just missed knowing because she can’t see past her own nose in the air.

Now, to me, a curvy woman myself, that’s what arrogance really is.

Size does matter. It’s all about heart.

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

Floating with the Flock

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By S.D. Craig

How many times have you thought something bad about someone who is heavier than you?  Or said it out loud?  And do you realize that this is discrimination, that it hurts, that it isn’t helpful or supportive?  No, probably you haven’t thought about those things until it was too late.  Or maybe, you just didn’t think.  Period.  Ouch.

So many times in my life, someone has hurt my feelings and though I admit I’m a ‘sensitive plant,’ (my husband says so), it doesn’t take much to have someone prick you in an area that they feel you need improvement in.  The key word here is “they.”  It seems that either they are insensitive louts or they’re busybodies.  All in the name of love, most times.  Whether you wanted the advice or opinion matters not.

They are floating with the flock, as it were.

The flock is society and the media, magazines and advertisements, flaunting that the only way to be popular, to be lovely, is to weigh no more than a girl of thirteen.  The damage this is doing to our young children, not to mention ourselves, is horrendous.  And floating with the flock sickens me.

People need to stop this behavior.  I would no sooner think to inform someone they needed to gain weight or lose weight than I would think to murder them in cold blood.  It just never occurs to me to advise where it’s not wanted.  I learned my lesson long ago to be tactful and keep my nose in my own business.  Most days.

If I thought someone was in grave danger, I might change my mind.  But for the most part, I try to be helpful in a myriad of other ways and, if someone needs me, to be there for them and be supportive.

Society will never learn if we keep pointing out fat people (is there a nice reason to do this?) or saying to a friend, “Doesn’t she need to lose twenty pounds before she wears that outfit again?”  It’s human decency, it’s consideration of feelings.

Floating with the flock will eventually mean you’re one of them.  The non-people.

Stay down to earth and love your neighbors, whether they’re big, little, old or young, rich or poor.  Wouldn’t that be a feather in your cap?

About the writer:

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

The Swooshing of My Thighs

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By S.D.Craig

Oh, the wonders of society, when they came up with the word “cellulite” for us women of thighs. We now had a name for that cottage cheese dimpling our legs, God help us. It’s kind of like PMS, isn’t it? Now that they’ve actually given a name out loud for it, we’ve all got it. There are meds for it, there are prescriptions written by the oodles for it, we must have it then. I wouldn’t doubt there are clothes for it by now.

The thighs have long since been one of the seven wonders of the world. Okay, maybe the ninth. They have been lean, tanned, muscular and toned. They have been wobbly, sickly, white and pasty in Winter, and downright jiggly. They have stood us up for years, and yet, we hate them. We want to trade with someone with cool thighs. Someone with legs to their armpits.

One of the most annoying things about having heavier legs than normal is that noise. You know the one. The whispering of thighs in certain materials. Pantyhose, silk, satin, that warm-up suit you wear. The noise means your thighs are too big. It means, oh dear, that you cannot see through them.

For a big woman, I have always had this dream that one day a man could stand behind me, yes, and really see through my thighs. Not THROUGH them, but between them. Yes, air. Those legs like Ally McBeal has, when she stands there, you can see through her thighs. It’s disgusting, isn’t it? I mean, Ally needs some fat. Good Lord, in a breeze, the girl will fall over, I’m sure of it.

But I hang around, continue to walk, swim, do a bit of Tai Boxing here and there. All this in hopes that not only will my health be better, maybe I’ll drop some weight, but it’s the swooshing of the thighs thing.

You might think I’m odd, but I’d like to hear other things, as I move about. Like a conversation, music, the tinkling of wind chimes, the bird singing overheard, the sky thundering, cars honking. Maybe my Walkman. Can I hear it? With all the swooshing going on, I want one thing.

I want silence when I walk.

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

A Cryin’ Slim

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By S.D. Craig

Okay, so they got to her.  Kate Winslett, our Titanic dame of curvaceous beauty.  The one who wasn’t afraid to show it all and flaunt her voluptuous ins and outs.  They’ve done it.

Hollywood has put the fear of slim in her.  If you ask me, it’s a crying shame.  Funny thing is, I know men love her.  They have flocked to her movies.  Those winsome white-skinned curves have cast their spell upon many males since Titanic splashed us.

Rose had a baby.

Well, then.  We all know that when a woman has a baby, she usually gains some extra weight.  It takes about nine to twelve months to lose these unwanted pounds, according to my gynecologist of record back then.  Apparently, Hollywood doesn’t want to hire a motherly Kate.  Oh dear, dear me.  And waiting isn’t an option for them.

Being a woman of curves, one that has fought diets and pounds for decades now, I resent that.  I resent it big.  The men of the universe appreciate a woman like Kate on the screen, one who just might not be crushed in a manly embrace.  One who could stand up to nursing her babies, holding one in each strong arm, and look sexy as hell doing so.

I beg for the men of the world to unite.  Vote for Kate and her wondrous figure.  We don’t want a tiny Rose, we don’t want a paper-thin model type.  We’ve seen what damage that can do to our society.  What message is Hollywood sending out to the young women, the teenagers, the adolescents?  Have a decent size twelve or fourteen shape and you’re out.  Bye bye.  Statistics have it that the average size in the USA is a size fourteen, in fact.

Our males want a real woman.  Just ask Trisha Yearwood about her song, Real Live Woman.  It’s an anthem that needs to be shared and heard around the world.  Let’s get our paints and paint the words on the streets of Hollywood, on Sunset Strip.  We’ll use fluorescent paint, won’t we?  Make it stick.  Make it permanent.

Let all our cries be heard.  Women are sick of this obsession with thin.  The media, press, magazines and advertisers are hurting our girls.  do away with paranoia, anorexia and bulimia.  Let our children grow without the fear of fat.  The fear of their looks being the most important thing besides making money.

Who said that anyway?  They should be whipped.  I’ve got a hitching post and a crop ready to go, send them my way.  We’re killing our kids, we’re destroying wonderful women’s egos and all for what?  So that bones can show in their cleavage?  So that they dress like boys in the movies?

Oh, bless her heart, wouldn’t Marilyn be mortified?  And Kate, dear Kate.  She once was quoted as saying in 1998, “I’m happy with the way I am.  I’m not like American film stars.”  But damn, double damn.  These Americans have finally gotten to her.  She succumbed to the hype.  She wants to “get her baby weight off.”  Most women do.  But that Hollywood won’t hire Winslett due to that is preposterous.  We’re going to see the acting, aren’t we?  The talent?  Oh, but maybe not.

During her last publicity tour for her recent movie, “Quills,” it was almost painful for me to hear Kate say, “It’s so insane and bloody boring (to diet).  I despise myself for it and feel I’m letting a lot of people down…  I constantly wave the flag of ‘Don’t go on diets because they are rubbish,’ but I’d like to get a bit of the baby weight off or I won’t work.”

What Hollywood now tells us by their default actions is that they want thin, they want toned and fit.  Okay.  Understood.  But not agreed.  For the more fit, toned and thin these actresses become, the less believable and real they are, their films are, and they and we’ve lost a lot in the bargain, along with their pounds.  Haven’t we?  Be honest here.

In a recent article I read, the man complained about this situation with Kate Winslett and Hollywood.  He said that the less real the movies become (by using gaunt actresses), the more trouble it creates for the normal women, and for him.  He can no longer convince a curvy date that she’s lovely, or even make her see that she doesn’t have to have perfection in her man either.  It’s a double-edged loss, I’m afraid.  A sad one.

If we worried about men as much as our diets (and figures), they might not have to go through living with us during the phases of starvation.  It’s not a fun thing to co-exist with.  And, well, our men like to have fun with us.  They don’t like to see the struggles, the hurts, the painful way of getting slender.  A woman becomes so focused on how she wants to look, she forgets to have fun today, as she is now.  Oh so damned sad.

What I worry about almost as much as what it’s doing to society and our children, is that being slim doesn’t mean happiness.  After all we’d go through to get there, are we truly happy?  Can we buy that?  Can we make that?  No.  And in the process, what else did we lose along the way?

Say no, Kate.  We don’t want you without hips, without breasts, without a motherly glow.  Didn’t anyone tell you how sexy that is?

A rose is but a rose…

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

A Hook In The Flesh

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By S.D. Craig
© August 2000

The world of being heavier than normal is not easy to live with, especially around your family. We all realize we cannot choose our family. God, fate (or whatever your belief is), has done this for us. This past Sunday was a day of huge reflection for my husband and I, and we touched upon this subject among many others.

Having struggled with my weight for over half my life and facing age fifty in a few years, I am hoping to gain new wisdom. Wisdom that will help me stand up for myself in front of those I love, no matter what my weight status is, my body looks like or my exercise pattern might be.

Now that I’m writing, they have found another way to sting me. C’est la vie. I have read several times that WE give others permission to hurt us. I suppose that is true and I am working on figuring out how to stop that.

The thing about families is that they know all or most of your secrets. They’ve spent their whole lives living with you and seeing your faults, your past mistakes, your personality traits (good or bad, which are remembered most?), your general flaws in approaching life and work and relationships. They’ve seen it all. You have no escape from that, no matter where you move.

A hook in the flesh.

You can’t get rid of it. When they tug on it, it rips pain afresh and that hurts. And believe me, they know the way to hook you. Right where to put it in to get the old fish flopping the hardest, while fighting to get loose. You bet. For all intents and purposes, you’re caught in the family net. The memories are always there.

How do you break free? If I knew that, I’d have already given you the answer months ago. First off, I think we must take back the permission we’ve given them to get to us. Answer for ourselves, stick up for ourselves. Instead of being stunned by their tasteless or hurtful remark, and standing there open-mouthed, why, reply to it. Of course. Simple. Only it’s not. Not so simple. I stand there and take it, time and again. Someone inside of me is screaming loudly, why are you sitting there silent, Sherri? Tell her what you think. Really.

Is it to keep the peace I remain quiet? Is it because I’m intimidated, scared? Is it because I’m so taken aback I have no idea what a great reply would be at the time. I believe it’s all of these things. Did I mention before I felt it was not my place to tell someone else how to live their life or do their jobs? Well, that is true. I don’t try to interfere in my family’s doings, unless my opinion is explicitly asked for. I learned that the hard way.

That means I am particularly surprised, time and again, when they do this to me. It knocks the wind out of me. I don’t know what to say. Later, I’m angry, and get angrier still as the days pass by. I think of terrific rejoinders I might’ve thrown out. I go over all the reasons they had no business saying what they said to me. Bottom line? I didn’t say a word, unless it was to scramble in agreement or sit there without speaking, thereby acquiescing them in their verbal perusal of my life and habits.

I wonder if they’re envious of something in my life, in some cases. In others, I know it’s the “for my own good, well-being, health” thing. There’s more to it than we know, or perhaps, even want to know.

Placing distance between myself and the object of my hurt is one way to deal with it, but not the best. Then I miss my children. Letting it roll off my shoulders is another, and harder yet. So I’m faced with the alternative. Talking back. Me, who never has a problem talking must force herself to talk back.

Might it go like this?

My reply: “No, I got off track when we moved and can’t seem to get back on it. I’ve been eating out too much, not walking as often…”

You understand now? What should happen is:

A family member says: “Are you still on Weight Watchers? I’ve lost ten lbs. since I started.”

My reply: “Oh, that’s great, and no.” or “Why do you want to know?”

I’m working on it. Once, when I was in Florida fishing off the dock in our backyard, I was instructing my younger brother how to cast. Probably about eight or ten at the time, I proudly whipped that pole forward, showing off. The hook was in my big toe. I wailed. Family members had to rescue me. My pole hung dangling from my foot over the edge of the dock, my pride with it.

Sometimes nowadays, I wonder if it was my youthful imagination. Did they really take it out?


SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

Blame It On The Jeans

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By S.D. Craig
I’m here to tell you, I am all for making stretch a capital letter word in the Webster’s Dictionary.

I bought a few pairs of jeans recently, and when I went back to exchange a sweater, I decided on that pair of stretch jeans (fits tight all the way down to the ankles kind) I’d tried on before, after all.

Only a woman could have designed these.  And bless her, please, for me.

I love these stretchy things.  Wish I’d have bought every pair they had now that I’m two thousand miles away from Dress Barn.  These pants, they move when I move (and don’t cut off circulation to vital organs, muscles, and bones), give when I squat to pick up the thousand things I drop, stretch when I want them to stretch (after a big meal or when I bend to get in those damn paddleboats and the like.

Not only that, they make a woman feel sexy.  At least, they do me.  I’ve even taken to not wearing such long tunic tops with them now.  I went out last week and bought five of the same stretchy ribbed sleeveless tops, clingy and all.  My husband loves them with the stretch jeans.  And the curves.  Sigh.  I need to marry that man all over again.

I’m also thinking of inventing jeans (let’s go the other direction) that constrict upon command for ex-wives.  We could have a remote control to do our damage, don’t ya think?  A grand idea!  Men shouldn’t be the only ones who know how to run those things (I mean the remotes, not the ex-wives).

Remember the old days, back when Urban Cowboy hit the scene?  Well, women had to jump off the roof to get into their jeans then.  And not only that, we had to use a pair of pliers to zip the suckers up.  Why ever did we think that was cool, or comfortable?  I know it was ‘in’.  In respect of retrospect, being ‘in’ has never felt that great, has it?  Not to us curvy women, anyhow.

I look at mini skirts (how do they sit down without showing the world their wares?) and evening dresses slit to heaven and back.  My mind is racing.  How do they work, how are you a lady when you wear these things?  I know I’m curious; I can’t help it.  I need to rationalize my moves before I find I’m out somewhere one night, making an idiot of myself.

I picture it like this:

“Oh, did you see Sherri at Sizzler last night?  Whatever possessed her to come out of the house wearing that leopard print get-up, tighter than saran wrap on a meatloaf?  Looked like she left her underclothes at home, didn’t it?”

“I heard she just plumb forgot ‘em.  Once she became a writer, she lost her mind.  And her taste.”

Do the stars ever say under their breath, “Oh shit, I forgot my panties and my skirt’s got an opening wider than the Colorado River?”  I doubt it.  But I would.

With the ACM Awards ready to air on TV tonight, it brings to mind the Academy Awards show I was witness to recently.  God, what were those women thinking?  I’m supposing that when you’re that rich, you have people who tell you what looks good and what doesn’t, what to buy, have made, and so on.  Well, those folks must’ve all been on vacation, then.

I’ve never seen such an array of strapless-type dresses on women who had nothing to hold them up.  Now, forgive me, those of you less well-endowed, but you gotta know your strengths as a woman.  If you’ve got the legs instead of the bust line, then show those off instead.  It’s not that hard to figure out.

I can honestly say the prettiest one there was Ashley Judd in her lavender confection of (what I call) a ball-gown.  She had a perfect color for her complexion and a perfect fit.  She was a vision.  Most of the rest, I could pass by easy, if I’d been a man.  A real man.

I say play your best assets as they lie.  Show off those long, tan legs with a skirt slit to heaven, if you’re brave.  Show off that chest of yours with the neckline diving to your bellybutton, I don’t care.  I say, if you’ve got it, girl, flaunt it.

If it feels strange at first, flaunt it around the house.  You’ll get used to it.  Once I wore a halter top to a Chinese restaurant in Athens, GA.  I think those men are still trying to recover, but I tell you, my husband is still amazed at the service we got.  The waiters were all over the table, all night.  I wasn’t thin or a perfect size ten, mind you.  But voluptuous is something men really do admire.  Remember Marilyn?

I knew that by the end of our meal, though I spent a lot of time blushing and feeling fidgety, it was an experience I’d never forget.  I felt like a real woman that night.  Damn.

I blame it on the jeans.  Or, er, maybe, the genes.

About the writer:

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.

Loving Your Curves

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By S.D. Craig

Have you fought your weight all your life?  I know the feeling.  Why can’t we just give up and love ourselves?  Quit comparing skin with Jennifer Love Hewitt or some other tiny thing?  For once, I’d like to see someone more normal on Friends.  Do they have to be THAT attractive?

I, for one, welcomed Rosanne, a thicker Cybill, Rosie, and the rest.  And Rose of the Titanic fame was a normal size.  She even floated!

Is it this world and the way they view women that are larger?  Our upbringing?  What we read, see on TV and the movies?

It’s all of these things.  Society has drilled into our heads for decades we need to be thin, thin, thin.  Do you remember seeing many itty bitty pioneer women?  And the nudes on the paintings years ago?  No way.

Family who are concerned over your health, your living longer, sometimes do more harm than good with their comments and suggestions.  Don’t they know SUPPORT is the key?

Why not stand up for women with substance?  There’s more to love.  I really enjoy the articles in Mode magazine, too.  Cheers to curvaceous ladies.  Reading that magazine makes me feel good as a woman.

My husband thinks soft bellies and voluptuous lines, big breasts and acres of creamy skin is what a woman is all about.  He loves curves and something to grab on to.  Am I ever lucky?  You bet.

Whew.

I mean, somewhere after giving birth, the body just relocates where it wants to.  Some friend once told me it just shifts to a new shape with each kid.  ARGH!  So I stopped at two daughters.

I have found that enjoying life means enjoying food, too, for me.  I love eating out, having some man slave over the chef’s stove in the back of a restaurant for me.  Ain’t life grand?  I mean, what woman doesn’t want to hear these words on a Friday night, “Would you like to eat out, honey?”  Hooray!  Was it written on my face?

And doesn’t exercise play a much more important role in your life than you ever dreamed in high school?  So much I took for granted back then, the daily horseback rides after school, the sports we played, the walk to the bus stop.  Then, you graduate, and poof.  It’s all over, you go to work, have babies, and (is that what Baby Boomer means, they’re talking about our body?) expand.  Also, you forget to exercise.

I began walking seriously in the Fall of ’93 and walk five or six days a week, at least 2-3 miles.  Walking does one obvious thing for me — I’m a *firm* big gal.  Most people think I weigh 80 pounds less than I do.  Walking keeps me going, gives me hope, keeps me in check.  It makes me feel good about what I’m doing for myself.  Being a writer, I take time and smell  the outdoors, see the flowers bloom, admire the dew of a fresh rain, and am amazed at storm clouds gathering.

Yes, weight is always a battle.  The scales (who the hell invented those dreadful pieces of metal anyway?) leer up at me after every weekend.  You bet I own stock in New Balance shoes and walking shorts/pants.

Am I yet at peace with being a larger woman?  I’m trying.  I am also still trying to be a smaller big woman.  But I strive for happiness as I go…

Next time you look in the mirror, embrace the curves.  As your husband puts his arms around you and finds softness, be glad.  He needs a cushion from the real world and you are it.  You are beautiful and worthy, any way you want to be.

Let’s celebrate women with curves!

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.