What is PCOS? It’s polycystic ovary syndrome. The problem affects one in five women. That’s a lot. What causes it? Not my job to talk about that. This is a food blog. But. Someone I love is putting up with PCOS and, no, the contraceptive pill, for her, is not an option.
Someone I love is 90 kilo. That should not be a problem because she is beautiful and very fit. But it is. Not because she might not be able to have babies. She either does or does not. It’s a woman’s choice. And I have a little more to say about that before I’m done today.
No the problem is that she feels so overwhelmed by the weight of her breasts and the back pain that comes with it that some days she’s depressed. Other days when she’s down is when the folks at the gym stare. I think they stare because she’s big and beautiful and is benchpressing HUGE weights. She thinks they’re judging her. I don’t know. She’s super fit.
More. Doctors judge her. She has been told she is borderline diabetic by one doctor only to be told by a sports physician that she is nowhere near that. Doctors, by the way, do 40 hours nutritional studies throughout their entire training. 40! Her hormones need fixing but nobody seems to know how to do that. On a side note why are women prescribed such weird and potentially carcinogenic medication as birth control? They tried it on men… Hardly anyone ever got breast or ovarian cancer when I was young. People dies of strokes and heart attacks and… well… death. Cancer is BIG business.
She is also overwhelmed by her own lack of self-esteem. She was my weight before this happened. She thinks of herself as lean but then she looks in the mirror.
She runs HIIT for overweight people and advises them on nutrition. They vomit. They lose weight. She cannot. How did it start? She took the pill. The second time she has done this. This is the second time the weight piled on and is immoveable.
Why do I write this today? For those of you who have experienced bigotry for your size and those of you who have done it. For definitions of fat shaming. And because NOT ENOUGH research is being demanded by women to get this shit fixed.
Today is not about recipes. I’ll get back to that and I know I’ve been slack but, hey, I’ve just released another book and am writing yet another (2016/17) so bite me.
The other thing I want to mention (because so many mothers out there are also unloving of your bodies) is that nobody warned you, did they? That you have to forget sleep, that you will turn into the person giving orders, washing, missing meals and picking in between, that they’ll want your money, they’ll take your youth and then they’ll leave, or they won’t leave and SOME of you are still cooking for them. Before we get pregnant, and when we give birth, it’s all about the child, the divine little person we are bringing into this world. What a powerful thing it is. No. I love my kids but I know what happened to me when I had them. Can you please put your toys away? Can you put that back in the fridge? Have you got your lunch? Can you please be home by ten? Can we talk about this?
No. You will be called a nag. You will feel like your own mother. You will come to understand that you were lied to and will continue to be lied to. You will be stereotyped in advertising. It will be YOU cleaning the bathroom with that fucking grateful smile on your face.
THEN, when you want to get wild and sultry and back into the prowl what do they say? Hmm?
So, later today, or during the week, or right now, take another woman in your arms and tell her how wickedly interesting she is. Admire each other. Take a walk with each other and open up.
Oh, and have a read of The Elegance of the Hedgehog.