Not a day goes by when I don’t see something that makes me think. Articles in the papers, snippets on newsfeeds, posts on Facebook. Some things get my goat, make me angry but at the weekend, I saw something that really made me sit up and think.
A Tibetan proverb that someone posted on line:
For a long, healthy life you must –
Eat half Walk double Laugh triple Love without measure
Now, I know it doesn’t sound like much but I know this works, I’ve seen it. I live in a town that is home to a large Nepalese community. Not Tibetan, I know, but by the way they live I can see there is a similarity in philosophy. The elderly walk, laugh and browse the market with a real joy and interest on a Thursday morning – you could almost believe they hadn’t seen carrots and onions before. And I was saying goodbye to my Mum as she left in the car with her boyfriend yesterday morning, when two ladies wandered past – brightly coloured, well-shod. Both easily north of 70, they jumped and laughed when we offered a Namaste. I later saw them perusing the root veg in Morrison’s – their need to walk, explore, laugh, interact is strong, inbuilt, vital.
And then this morning, someone posted something on one of the pages I follow on Facebook to remind me about a fabulous plus-size yoga teacher by the name of Dana Falsetti. I’ve known about her for years but her approach to whole body and mind connectedness served to crystalize in my mind the key reason why diets and exercise programmes don’t work for some of us. We’ve concentrated on the first two principles of the proverb for so long, we’ve forgotten the second two. And in terms of quantity, it would seem they hold more weight, as it were.
I can offer some suggestions why this might have happened. Food intake and activity are easily measured, not to mention even easier to make a charge for. But how can you eat half and walk double if you don’t laugh triple and love without measure? It’s so clear to me now, I have no idea how I’ve not seen this before.
So what does it mean? Well, what if it was more than just OK to kick back and have a giggle with your friends and family, what if this was essential to living a healthy, happy life? What if laughing and loving were treated not merely as additional elements but critical components of a health regime? What if we dumped self-hatred and body-loathing in favour of acceptance, confidence and joy?
What if we took the brave step of connecting and thinking?
Eat half, walk double are key to the commonly held notion of calories in vs. calories out, granted (and there’s enough research out there to support the health benefits of fasting). But this principle is meaningless without the second half – the balance is way too out of kilter, too many grand efforts are bound to fail, too many people lost to empty diets and self depreciation.
So, today I ate a modest breakfast and climbed a hill in the North Downs to catch some early sun. I laughed with my Mum on the phone this morning and now I’m sharing this with you.
Have a great day x
Time to breathe and think
Walk double – I suppose climbing the 115 steps and running down the sloped route would count?
(If anyone else reading this hasn’t already seen Nicole’s six minutes of insightful commentary on obesity, then don’t bother. Make yourself a cracking cup of tea and watch the clouds passing the window instead, you’ll get more from it. If you’ve already fallen over it on social media, like a fluorescent safety cone in a shopping centre, you’ll either feel cross about someone else’s lack of concern for health and safety or the amusement that us bipeds at the upper end of the evolutionary ladder use to cover embarrassing situations.)
I want to thank you, pretty lady because although your message seems young, funky and ‘out there’ (thanks for showing us your Kesha hair, so we know just how hip you are), it is a latecomer to the fatshaming bandwagon: a bandwagon that having already shakily rambled along a long, bumpy lane with three wheels and a broken axel, now sits rotting gently in the corner of a forgotten barn with only pigpoop and a lonely donkey for company. And the fact that your ranting about something this old, tired and unfit for purpose reminds me of how far we’ve come in our conversation about obesity.
I won’t pretend that this conversation started in my lifetime. But I did used to eat my Weetabix to the Green Goddess shaking her thing on breakfast telly in the eighties. I engaged in the low-fat insanity going around at the time, believed wholeheartedly in pasta as my saviour and like millions of fellow tubbies likely picked up an insulin intolerance along the way. Protein came under fire with the food-combining frenzy of the nineties and now the new century is waging war on carbs.
You’ll be happy to know that the myth of the weight control one-size-fits-all silver bullet now seems to be on the wane. Even a shallow search of the internet throws up issues such as:
Is it a matter of calories in vs. calories out any more?
Is the adage ‘just stop eating’ helpful for long term weight loss and health gain?
What role does exercise play and does the hunger it creates outweigh the benefits?
Is it possible to be fat and fit?
Are obese people more prone to getting diabetes or are people already prone to getting diabetes more likely to develop an obesity problem as well?
What role does mental health play in eating and exercising habits?
What of the multi-million dollar, multinational diet industry? Are they doing a Tyler Durden and selling rich women their own fat arses back to them or providing a valuable service?
I can’t say that I have answers to any of the above questions but you don’t seem to either: you present no credible evidence to support your ‘facts’.
D’oh! Of course you don’t. And this isn’t because you’re a blonde explaining simple stuff to people who should know better, it’s because your video is part of your act.
Of course it is, I hear you say, you’re a writer and comedian. But there are moments when the woman behind the mask apologises for the tripe she’s ranting about – a smile, an apology, an awkward caveat: then the one-woman Punch and Judy show starts again.
And so, for the woman operating the puppet, I’d like to propose a vote of thanks.
Thanks for highlighting all the reasons why the futility of fat-shaming is still a relevant issue.
Thanks for making strong, agile but fat arsed people like me run faster, write harder and shout louder.
Thanks for motivating people to search out body positive sites like Callie Thorpe’s From the Corners of the Curve, organisations who can help with real life obesity issues like the charity Hoop and Facebook pages like blogger Debz Aiken’s plus size life/no weight loss chat page which offers an alternative place to talk about feeling good and living life without the constant hum of yet another diet in the background.
Thanks for encouraging all those women who will be sat in a PCOS clinic this morning to turn their backs on the destructive narrative of fat as a defining verb.
Thanks for creating an environment where the fabulousness that is Tess Holliday can blossom, pushing out the senseless, archaic and quite frankly spent ideas we used to have about size and aesthetics.
Fat shaming is just not on trend anymore – and your video is all about fat shaming, whatever label you choose to use.
I mean, putting a pair of boots into an oven won’t make them biscuits.
(Just imagine the last sentence was cut in black and white and said without the backing track – I’m stood looking into a pretend oven, wide eyed in surprise. It helps people to laugh at poorly thought out jokes, apparently.)
And just indulge me for a moment. Did Frankenstein ever walk like a zombie? Perhaps he did on his more morose days but there are also breath taking moments of Shelley’s book when we follow him at break neck speed across the ice in pursuit of his creation.
Oh, hang on, you’re talking about the creation put together by the doctor Frankenstein.
Perhaps you need this simple, fat, brunette to explain that Mary Shelly’s ground breaking text is a dark and wretched exploration of body and acceptance. Ironic to think you had mistakenly referenced it in a video loaded with empty rhetoric and prejudice about what you see as disfigured, broken bodies.
And yes, for the record, I could catch up with you. I enjoy running as much as I enjoy eating cake and surprisingly, I do the former more often than I do the latter.
Seriously though, I’ve read responses to your video that have ranged from the outraged to the tickled pink. There have been those who’ve passed it off as ill-judged humour and those who have seen it as senseless nonsense dripping from the mouth of an attention seeking idiot. For others, it’s been harmful, very harmful and this has once more raised issues of responsibility and censorship on the internet.
But I still think we need to be grateful to you for highlighting just how tired and one-dimensional #fatshaming is these days.
And I could finish up by saying that I hope you enjoy your five minutes of shame because you’re the kind of bottle blonde that’ll be forgotten about in five minutes – but that would be senselessly rude and I’d have to wander across the screen in black and white.
And I can’t. Because you (and everyone else reading this) are exercising your ability to read, not passively soaking up YouTube content.
And Smarties. Thank you for reminding me of how delightful these little capsules of sugary chocolate joy are. I’m going to squish a few in my mouth this afternoon.
xxx
If this has made you think, please share (the buttons are up on the right hand side).
Has fat shaming ever worked for you or someone you know?
Has Nicole Arbour got a point or am I just taking this all too seriously?
Comment away!
And check out more of my views on taking back ownership of your body:
I know what I like to eat. I like fresh, light flavours like coriander, lime and juicy tomatoes in the summer; warm, rich cinnamon and cumin to enrich the bounty of autumn and deep, indulgent, sustaining textures in winter. That’s what I like. Variety.
I spend much of my time buying and cooking food. I choose combinations to sometimes test, sometimes tease and sometimes simply satisfy the palate – but there’s always variety.
What has all this to do with spirituality?
I thrive on variety, choice and exploration. It’s about using my knowledge, experience and skill to find and prepare interesting dishes and then share them with my family and friends. Please don’t mistake my love of pick and mix for insincerity or lack of commitment – I just can’t imagine what it would be like to have the same meal whizzed up and spoon fed to me every day with the expression of choice or complaint not just frowned upon but punished.
This is the kind of theocratic tyranny that I grew up with and why I left prescribed religion behind me a long time ago.
These days, my spiritual exploration is much like a visit to an art gallery. And I’m not talking here about browsing the halls on the way to the coffee shop, I’m talking about really looking, thinking, leaving, reading, perhaps coming back, thinking some more. It’s about my response to what I’m seeing, how it relates to what I already know and what I’d like to experience more of.
Let me explain. I’m not a Buddhist but I’ve read several books written by the Dalai Lama (The Art of Happiness, is well worth a read if you haven’t already) and so when I caught wind that he was coming to Aldershot to open the new Buddhist community centre, I felt compelled to go see if I could catch a glimpse of him.
HH the Dalai Lama blessing the new Buddhist community centre after which he spoke about Buddhism in the 21st century and called for an end to religious division saying “killing in the name of religion is totally wrong”.
I was very nearly disappointed.
I arrived in town on my very easy-to-park bike and after having been asked directions by a very wealthy looking family in a particularly flash car I found myself in what felt like another world. Next to the football stadium, the once rather drab looking social club was painted and beribboned, with red, yellow and blue flags flying high above the road. Fresh from Glastonbury, HH was due to open the centre, lead prayers for the Nepalese lost in the earthquakes and then teach at the stadium.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see but the cacophony was something I’d not experienced before. On the lower side of the road, a large protest against the Dalai Lama by Shugden tradition Buddhists was in full swing. The usually quite pedestrian barriers running along the footpath were festooned with banners declaring their message. Behind this, monks of all nationalities used loud hailers and voices to make as much noise as possible.
I saw one monk amongst the crowd, settled on the pavement in front of a sign for tyres and exhausts, deep in meditation. Behind were the coaches they’d arrived on – I couldn’t help wondering what 50 monks wandering around Heston services would look like.
A contingent of Shugden Buddhists protesting – one later chose to sit and meditate outside Mr Clutch. I like that.So much dancing and singing on both sides of the road: both sides of the Shugden debate
The pro-Dalai Lama camp on the stadium side of the road were also in full swing. There were drums, wide flags flying above. People danced in all colours: emeralds, ochres, saffron, azure blues – from the elderly shuffling to the music to the little babies wide eyed at the spectacle.
I locked my bike to a railing and set off to find out whether I could make sense of what was going on.
According to my watch and the timetable I’d read online, the man I’d come to see would be leaving the community centre sometime soon in order to teach at the ticketed event in the stadium next door.
My phone rang.
My friend, the jammiest of all my friends, had secured a space away from the crowds at the back of the community centre. I smiled.
And so, I found myself with a rack of press, my friend and three Nepalese ladies around the rear of the building where the Dalai Lama was praying inside. A pathway carpeted with ornate rugs ran from a small side door to a huge, black waiting car – the kind you might find carting a celebrity to a premiere. Under the bright colours and intricate paintings of the gateway were a swarm of butch looking security in black suits and high vis jackets. A photographer was making a last minute bargain with one of them to get beyond the wire fence barrier we were stood behind. He won and was allowed in, happily taking up a crouching position beside all the other lenses.
Excitement built as thumbs up were sent out between the security suits, and few people piled out of the side door followed finally by two monks blowing horns.
The moment was arriving. I felt like it was all too much. How disappointed would I be if I didn’t catch glimpse of him? What if the men there to protect him denied me of my once in a lifetime chance? The chants from the road were distant but ever present. The line of attendees for the stadium event filed past the bottom of the steps some way away, unaware of me, my friend and the three Nepalese ladies waiting with baited breath. The drums and the singing rang in my ears.
I felt faint.
And then out he came: small, smiley and utterly untouched by the cacophony around him. I’d had my cameraphone poised for the past five minutes but I calmly put it in my back pocket: I felt compelled to see this one event with my own eyes rather than mediated through a lens.
Did he see me? Probably not. Did he hear my quietly offered Namaste? I hope so. He was ushered into the car and whisked away in a moment.
As we turned from the fence and went to walk down the steps back down to the roadway, my friend commented that I looked like I’d been hit in the eye. It would seem my mascara had gone a little astray.
What did I take from the day?
That even though the spiritual so often has to sit within a secular environment for functional or security reasons it doesn’t mean that all is lost. From what I’ve read of his writings, the Dalai Lama himself is a largely down to earth man. His teachings are as applicable, in principle, to an atheist or a Catholic as they are to a practicing Buddhist.
But I couldn’t help wondering whether he would rather be wandering in the public park up the road where the elderly Nepalese residents of our town like to gather and talk. Or how he felt about all the security around him and whether he felt it was interfering with his work. He talks so much about how powerful an opponent to kindness and real understanding fear is.
My friend and I then did what any good tourist would and went to a coffee shop to ruminate on what we’d seen and heard. The Dalai Lama had radiated a smile that I wore all day.
I think I’m still wearing it now.
And so my tour continues – maybe I’ll find somewhere to call home at some point, maybe I won’t – but it’s not the arrival that’s important to me, it’s the journey.
A colourful welcome from the Buddhist Community Centre UK in Aldershot
Just days after visiting Aldershot, His Holiness the Dalai Lama reacts joyfully to a cake presented by President and Mrs. Bush in honor of his upcoming 80th birthday during a luncheon at the Bush Center in Dallas, Texas, USA on July 1, 2015. Photo/Bush Center
I’ve been getting a little hot-headed recently, which can only mean one thing – it’s time to go home to Cornwall for a while.
Time to sit in a pretty tea shop with my pretty Mum and watch the water washing around in the harbour.
Time to take my Dad’s hooligan of a dog out on to the clifftops.
Time to sit in the social club where I used to sit with my Dad when I was a kid and where he used to sit with his father when he was kid and watch the lights of the ships in the harbour come up as the sun goes down.
Where the Queen of Small Things goes to rest (those gulls had better stay away from my pasty)
Time to breathe some good air, catch up with some good friends and enjoy some peace away from the constant noise of the traffic.
Time to run the promenade, eat giant ice creams and have a Rowe’s pasty.
My children have been my inspiration and my reason to find a community that works
I grew up as part of a tightly-knit religious community. It’s a very closed, secretive group and when I decided I could no longer be a part of it, I part jumped/was part booted out and found myself very alone. With a new baby, an imploded marriage and most of the people I’d spent the first twenty four years of my life with now crossing the street rather than look at me (their policy on shunning is pretty severe) I spiralled into depression.
Me and Paul: we’ve been through a lot in thirteen years.
Wind forwards sixteen years and I’m happy and healthy again. I’m at the centre of a network of people of my own making and I smile a lot these days.
How did I get here?
There is no doubt that humans are hard-wired to function as part of a community. I’ll concede that we all crave personal space and solitude sometimes but study after study has shown that people are happier and healthier for longer if they live within a social network.
There are, of course, problems with the above: relationships can be toxic; can break down; can be subject to harmful conditions and a whole myriad of other issues.
But consider the theory that pre-historic Homo Sapiens outlived the stronger and physically more able Neanderthals because they had the mental ability and drive to build strong relationships outside of the clan. (This article from the Guardian in 2013 makes for some interesting reading.) Networks are so important to us that perhaps we could adopt or find ourselves staying within a less than beneficial group out of necessity.
Looking back, I have no doubt at all that the biggest contributing factor to my poor mental health in my twenties was loss of community. This is why I now regularly visit pages on Facebook to help those who have just left my old religious group to come to terms with their loss. It’s a grieving process that is all at once liberating but also deeply upsetting and the religion’s shunning policy is one of their biggest tools to suck former members back into the fold (unfortunately, it leads some people to suicide).
But things do get better, life does improve and you can build a new support network.
Drinker of tea, maker of cakes and lover of daffodils, magnolias and agapanthus, my Mum refused to be separated from me and left the religion at the same time. She rocks.
So, I’ll not focus on the negative here but rather the ideas I would have like to have shared with my newly free but utterly deflated twenty four year old self (and these are things that I regularly share on those Facebook pages):
It takes time. It’s weeks, months, years of talking, texting and meeting up. Sometimes there are times when you fall out with someone, offend them or rub them up the wrong way but coming back from these situations and carrying on regardless makes for stronger links. ‘Bumping along’ as my Dad would say.
We have so much to learn from each other. Whether you are twelve or ninety two, I have something to learn from you and your view of the world and you from me. When we stop learning, we die.
Don’t be afraid to give. The singer Macy Gray sings “spread your rubber lovin’ and it bounces back to you” and I love this concept. The goodness you send out may hit a few walls or pavements before it comes back but it will – and rarely in the form you sent it out in.
Learn to trust because people are rarely inherently bad. They can be damaged, a little broken, strange in their reactions and strange in their habits but trust your gut and build links with people who make you happy.
Remember that sometimes you have no choice but to distance yourself from those who constantly dent your self-esteem. It’s just not worth it.
Finding the balance between self and community isn’t an exact science. You have to sacrifice personal choice and comfort to one extent or another in return for the rewards of being part of a community but others will have done the same for you.
Sometimes you get to choose your companions, sometimes you don’t. Whilst I genuinely loved the community which I grew up in, the sinister controls behind it were damaging. In order to stay, I would have to have given up so much of myself – in other words, the price was too high. So there are times when cracking out on your own and finding a new clan is the only thing you can do. This takes courage.
And it did take courage.
My Dad and my son in the social club where I thankfully spent the other half of my childhood. My Dad sat here with his father before him. It’s home to me.
So I find myself with friends who are mothers, fathers, writers, entrepreneurs, painters, dancers and musicians. I think of the faces I see at my craft group, my toddler group, the parents at school, the houses of my family and friends and I see stories and a life shared. There is laughter in the lines, genuine interest behind the words and light in their eyes. Sometimes I hold my belly and throw my head back in laughter and at other times, I cup the tears for their sorrow in my hands – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
And then there are the few friends that I grew up with who also left the religion. We have a very special connection that won’t ever go away.
I’ve built my community, my way and I feel very lucky to have been able to choose the people I want in it – but it’s not been easy.
And then there are the humans that have accepted me into theirs. I feel grateful to them too.
Here is where I have to stop blogging for today. A friend has taken my daughter to the park this morning so that I can write and they will be home again soon. I didn’t drink at quiz night at the pub last night so that I could drop her and her family home in the car. Sometimes, my back gate opens and her husband comes in with a tub of freshly made, fragrant curry that she’s made for my family and I’ll send him back with a warm chocolate cake for hers.
It’s the right kind of community for me and I feel so very thankful for it.
