onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the month “March, 2026”

29 Mar 2026

Don’t hate the game (choose it.)

I have read as many books by men authors in the past 3 months as I have in the past 3 years. (Nine – or I’m in the middle of the ninth. Only 2 of which I would ever have picked up on my own.) Because of FOMO. I read them because I didn’t want to miss out on a book discussion with some online friends, or a book that I thought would be fun with my reading bestie.

I was, in fact, *not* missing out. They have mostly been what I expected. Men don’t generally write what I want to read. I am not their audience. But I have been reading anyway. And I have been having a lot of feelings about it. Shame and self judgment. I have been wondering if I am being disingenuous because I knew they were not books I would normally choose. I knew I probably wouldn’t like them or just wouldn’t care. I have some sort of personal expectation that I should not be wasting anyone’s time by not enjoying a book they are. Or by finishing a book I am not interested in. That I should be “matching energy.” Or that by not liking something beloved I am displaying that I am lacking something. Probably intelligence…(I know intellectually that I am not.)

When I was younger, I was very invested in reading books that would make me look highly educated, interesting and eclectic. And I happened to end up enjoying many of them. But that was a happy accident.

I love ideas. I love cleverness. And I have always been very proud of both my knowledge and my intelligence. But I mostly wanted to wow at parties. In my desire to LOOK smart, I made myself smart. (My vanity really has done so much for me in my life…) 

Intellectual books are “boring.” And I don’t mean that as a judgement. More of a discernment. To really grasp the layout of a complex set of ideas, especially in a novel, the brain is going to need to slow down. It’s going to need to work through complicated things. And that often registers for me as boredom. A slog. Not unworthy. Just a bigger commitment. I cannot just zip through. But I was ALWAYS willing to do that when I needed to project “intellectual.” (It helps if you lean into the boring instead of judging it.)

For a long time, for me the only reason to read was to someday impress someone by the fact that I have read War and Peace, all of Shakespeare’s plays, all of Jane Austen’s novels, His Master’s Voice, The Master and Margarita, and Lolita. (Wow, that’s a lot of Slavs…)


Someone in a seminar I attended once said that if you think someone is not playing to win, you just don’t know the game they are playing.

That was enlightening. It meant that there was more than one game and I got to choose which one I wanted to play. And I think lately I have been forgetting that I decide what game I am playing with reading books, just as much as I get to decide what books I want to read and why.

Also, women authors write plenty of books that I hate. In fact, one of my favorite reasons to finish a book I hate is to read it with my reading bestie when she also hates it. We have renamed books for how slow they were. Like “A Land SO LONG.” 

When we do that, the fun is not about the book. If it were I would DNF (Did Not Finish.) It isn’t even about what I can learn or project. It’s about the relationship with my friend. It’s about inside jokes and shared experiences. It’s about how hilarious we are with each other. It’s about knowing that she is the one person I will take a book rec from, no questions asked. It’s about her knowing that I have time and will always accommodate her busy schedule, and to catch up or slow down for her. 

As I get older, less vain, less interested in the judgment of others (thank you perimenopause) I read more for the emotional aspects of storytelling. Because that is what moves *me* right now. For years in my early 40s  I read mostly Young Adult novels (I still read plenty, just not a majority) because they hit the emotional spot, not necessarily the intellectual one. They were a chance to redo my own childhood for myself. For the past several years I was heavy into cozy books with low stakes and lots of feelings and interesting relationships. Because I needed to relax my body and my nervous system. Lately the novels I am reading are getting more political, more intense, more focused on the impact of culture on individuals. I may go back to cozy if I need to. I may slip a slightly boring, highly intellectual novel in there. 

I am writing today to remind myself, the question is not how to win, it’s what’s the game? 

Is the game to read a book I enjoy, or be in conversation with friends, or learn something new, or feel something? Because I can make very different decisions about any one book based on the game. 

Getting my eating under control gave me the tools to recognize when I am doing something based on wanting to be perceived a certain way, and the understanding that masking some aspect of myself for the benefit of others, is not helping my life, it’s harming. Keeping my eating under control is a constant recalibration towards my most authentic self. 

So the next time my friends want to read a book I don’t want to read, I don’t have to say yes. And I don’t have to say no. I don’t have to know now. When the time comes, I just have to choose the game.

Posted in Inspiration, Life, Personal Growth, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
22 Mar 2026

Available for connection

Last night I went to a party with a dozen or so awesome ladies, about half new to me. And it was a delicious delight. (And I didn’t even eat the party food!)

There was so much laughter, candor, humor, insight, and love. There was a spirit of mutual respect and appreciation. There was the desire to support each other.

A few years ago I made the deliberate choice to cultivate my friendships. Especially with women. I felt like I had lost my connections to people who liked me, and whom I liked. Not for any other reason than grown up life doesn’t have a lot of built in structures for relationship that aren’t partner and kids. As an individual, one has to make it a priority. Or not as the case may be.

13 years ago, I moved away from my friends when I left New York City to be with my husband. And we were all already grownups. Navigating partnerships and parenting while we were in the same city was hard enough. From long distance, it takes even more. And I am inconsistent. And so are my long distance friends. This is not a judgement. It’s an observation. Life gets lifey fast and sudden.  

So when I noticed the lack of everyday friendships in my life, I took actions to change that. To reach out to old friends. To make new friends. To be an asset to communities. To find new people that I like, that like me back.

When I was heavy in my addiction and depression, I would isolate for long periods of time. I would hide away in my room and binge eat and avoid my friends. And then when I was better or lonely or ready to be back in the world, I would have to go mend the friendships I had harmed. And that made friendships feel like a kind of burden. And it made me feel bad about myself. And all of those feelings led me to want to isolate more, eat more, hate myself more. 

By keeping my food boundaries and bringing my own food to this party, I looked a little weird at first. But I got to be authentic and funny and fully present. And that is when I can be part of the community. That is where I can make a difference. Just by being there, available for connection. 

Posted in Inspiration, Life, Personal Growth, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
15 Mar 2026

No Super For Me

I have been what I considered a little sick lately. But over a couple of doctor appointments these past couple of weeks, my doctors and I discussed the fact that I was much more sick than I thought, and also that I am not good at knowing when my lungs are constricted. I basically can’t tell when I can’t breathe.

Here is the deal. I am a person who pushes through. For as ashamed as I have been of my feelings of inadequacy and laziness, the honest-to-god truth is that if I decide to do something I will do it, even if I have to barrel down toward it at full speed.

I also come from a family of people who push through. I can think of at least one uncle who found out he had a heart attack months after the fact. The kind of people doctors say things to like “I can’t believe you walked in here in that much pain.”

But also also, I grew up fat in a fat family. 

When I was a kid I was bad at most kinds of exercise. But I was fat. So it was just assumed that I was out of shape. And I would continue to be bad at exercise my whole life, but in my 20s I pushed through as a form of bulimia to work off what I ate and be skinny. It did not make me skinny. And then in my mid 30s I started a perfectly reasonable workout routine. A slow 2 miles a day 5 days a week. But it was hard. And I eventually got better and faster. I pushed through. 

And then in my 40s, when I got adult onset asthma, I realized that I had had exercise induced asthma my whole life. That I may or may not have been out of shape. But I *couldn’t breathe* because I had asthma. And that could have been treated young if my fatness were not always a “concern.”

I taught myself how to ignore my body. I taught myself how to push through. And now I literally don’t know when I can’t breathe. 

And there is a part of me that doesn’t want to let that go! As if there is some sort of virtue in pushing through at the expense of my body and my life. Which I suppose I have been taught. If it can’t be beautiful at least it’s useful. As if I have to be either a superhero or a supermodel. Those are my only acceptable options. There is a part of me that says that it is that self-flagellation that is saving me.

From what? I don’t know.

I am not a superwoman. I do not want to be. I believe in knowing what and when to sacrifice. I believe there is a time to dig deep into myself to give more than I think I can. But that I don’t want my body to be the sacrificial lamb. I don’t want to view not respecting myself as a virtue. I want to give freely and authentically as a gift to others, not an abasement of myself.

As to the practical application of this, I guess I will find out as I go…?

Posted in beauty, Body image, Inspiration, Life, Personal Growth, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
08 Mar 2026

I got the promoted phlebotomist blues

I hate blood tests. Hate is not a strong enough word. I have been traumatized by blood tests. And the only phlebotomist I have been willing to sit for in the past over 20 years has moved up in the world. I am overjoyed for her. I am sad for me. 

My asthma doctor, located in the town where my house is, asked if I could move up my appointment to this week, and I already owed my primary doc a fasting blood test for my appointment next week. And the particular phlebotomist that I always went to was in the same area. Perfect.

So at 6 in the morning I drove an hour and a half on an empty stomach, and uncaffeinated to the lab to find out 1) it is no longer a walk in lab and 2) my blood test savior no longer works there. 

I texted my primary doctor and said sorry, I can’t do it in time. I don’t feel bad about it. I will drive another hour and half next week for that doctor appointment without having had a blood test.

I get to decide what I regret.

I don’t regret anything to do with that experience. Not driving an hour and a half on an empty stomach. Not failing to get a blood test anyway. Not learning about the lab or phlebotomist. Not saying “no” to finding a walk-in clinic that would have me taking my chances on a random phlebotomist. 

When I am doing the best for myself, the true best for me, as I decide it, I am never sorry. It feels good. But to know what is best for me, requires knowing myself, my own mind, my own heart. And actually listening. 

By driving an hour and a half on an empty stomach I was telling MYSELF that I am willing to get a blood test. That in spite of a long history of medical industry aversion, I am willing to do all of the things that need to get done to take care of myself. But when I said no to going in blind to a new phlebotomist just so I could get a lab done, I also did *that* with my own best interests in mind. My comfort, my wellbeing. That is also best for me.

Some people would disagree.

I don’t care.

I now KNOW what it looks like to get my blood taken by someone who makes me feel safe, who cares whether or not they are hurting me or harming me. I know what it looks like when someone can do the job even when the job is difficult. I have difficult veins. If you are bad at a difficult job, that is my skin on the line. Literally. I do not regret caring about my own feelings and my own pain.

There was absolutely a time when I would have been FURIOUS about every aspect of the situation! Furious at who? At the lab? At God? At anyone unlucky enough to be near? And I would NOT have been happy for my phlebotomist. I would have only been angry at her for not being available to be of use to me. (Shout out, Lisa!!! You were integral in changing my medical industry experience and I am forever grateful! I wish you all the promotions!!!) 

But the real reason I would have been furious is because it could have given me a bunch of yucky feelings about myself. About not complying with my doctor. About sliding back to not being able to go to the doctor out of resentment and fear again after years of regular visits. Or worse, I would have felt like I MUST get that test because I put myself through all of that hassle to get there without eating breakfast and my doctor’s appointment is this coming week. And I would have gone and would have blamed everyone else for making me get a blood test that hurt me and bruised me and made me have a panic attack.

As if I didn’t have the option to just say no.

I am going to figure out what to do about future blood tests. I can probably do some research. Maybe? I found Lisa because after I refused to take the test 3 times, they brought me to her and said “this woman has a gift. You will be okay.” And SHE promised that if she didn’t get me with just one stick, she’d just take it out and I could go. She got me in just one stick that time, and every time every six months for a few years now.

She has a gift. I know she’s not the only one. I figure as long as I am willing to do what is best for me, I will figure out how to get my blood drawn.

But I don’t have to have feelings about it. I don’t have to be ashamed of failing my doctor. I don’t have to be angry I have to find a new person to draw my blood. I don’t have to be afraid of having a bunch of terrible blood test experiences. 

Also I literally went 20 years without going to the doctor. I think this 6 months without one blood test will be fine. 

I only know my own mind because I have two decades of the mental and emotional clarity that comes from putting my drug foods down. Every day I don’t eat compulsively is a little more of my authentic self uncovered. And it really isn’t who I thought I would be. 

It’s definitely better. 

Posted in Inspiration, Life, Personal Growth, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
01 Mar 2026

Not right. But just right

This week my husband and I had a talk about money and how he wants to move some around. 

The truth is I disagree with his plan. But entirely intellectually. And his plan is not bad. Just different than what I think we should do. What I think would make *his* long term money goals a reality. Because if we are honest my only long term money goal is to continue to never be stressed about money ever again.

But there is a part of me that is sort of trained to want to be recognized as right. Don’t you see…if we do it MY WAY you will get what you want. 

But I don’t do that.

What it comes down to is that honestly, I don’t actually care. Not the way my husband does. I don’t have the same kinds of *feelings* about money that he does. And there are very few money hills I will die on. 

Obviously I tell him what I think. But not in depth. If he pushes back even a little, I drop it. Because I am not emotionally invested the way he is. I don’t think about it the way he does. It does not affect my quality of life the way it does his. 

But I do have my own hills. Food of course. But also other things. After we ended up having to drag our kitten out from under furniture to get her on the road twice in 24 hours last week. My husband asked if I wanted to try to leave her home next time. It’s less than 24 hours. 

I said I was not comfortable with that and probably wouldn’t be for a while. That I would come up with some strategies for making it easier, but I was willing to drag her out if need be.

And he said “fair enough.”

There is voice in my head that says it’s stupid to care more about leaving my cat for a day than money. That money is objectively more important. More valuable. There is a voice in my head that says that it’s easy for me to not care about being poor while I am not poor. 

But I remember that I was poor for my pre-married adult life. I didn’t have high paying jobs. I did what I had to do to get by. (Like a quintessential xennial, I was participating in the gig economy before it was cool…) When I got married I stopped worrying about money. And when I stopped worrying I stopped having most feelings about money.

(Wow, I just realized that’s also true of fatness and Valentine’s Day. Maybe I should look into that pattern.)

But ultimately I most want to enjoy the peace of knowing I don’t need to be right. I don’t need to force my ideas on someone else’s feelings. I don’t need to judge myself for not caring about the things that most people care about. And I know how to take care of myself, and ask for what I need. 

So maybe not right but still just right.

Posted in Inspiration, Life, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Post Navigation