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April feature: Feeling triggered by other people’s mental health

It’s 2019, people are talking, and mental health is on the agenda – at least, more than it was on the past. We may be opening up more about the labours of anxiety and depression, but many less palatable disorders remain unmentioned. In the same respect, we are often more open to discussing the ‘prettier’ sides of anxiety and depression; the self-care, avant-garde poetry and confessional tweets. In contrast, the darker symptoms and implications are left just that – in the dark.

I saw a tweet relatively recently why no one discusses the fact that a consequence of depression can be not showering or maintaining general cleanliness. A ‘gross’ suggestion, and also indicative of the aesthetic lens through which many people view mental illness. In this way, self-harm (an infuriatingly glamorised act which undermines the very illness it represents) is viewed more pleasantly than a body that hasn’t showered for five days. Neither should hold more aesthetic weight than the other, because aesthetics is irrelevant and dangerous to perceptions of mental health. Rather, these are both signifiers of a potentially fatal illness. Viewing them in a judgmental and aesthetic way attributes morality to mental health symptoms and closes the discussion we’ve worked so hard to open.

In the same thought bubble, I want to discuss the idea of being triggered by other people’s mental illness. I have seen very little discussed on this topic, but it’s a huge intrusion upon my life. What makes this topic so relevant is that it is closely tied to multiple other key points of discussion around mental health – namely, setting boundaries, saying ‘no’, triggering/trigger warnings, and the importance of speaking out. As easy as it is to shout about ‘speak up!’, we don’t talk about the person that is being spoken to. We preach about the importance of ‘saying no’, but we don’t talk about the request that is being asked. These conceptualised ideas are part of a very real, messy, complex dialogue, in which both parties can be equally vulnerable. Let me put the situation to you: an incredibly vulnerable person reaches out to another incredibly vulnerable person for help; the first person feeling unable to speak to anyone else, and the second feeling unable to cope with the proposed issue. What do we do from there?

In this situation, I genuinely don’t know what I would do. This is the perfect example of where ‘speaking up’ doesn’t quite meet the cut as a one-stop solution to mental illness. The idea of speaking up as a one-stop solution can lead to the person in this scenario, having reached out and received no help, feeling truly hopeless – that there is no other way out. This is why diversifying the dialogue we have around mental health is so important. ‘Speaking out’ worked wonders as a start-up campaign to get mental health into a wider social narrative, but we need more.

However, I acknowledge that even this proposed situation in itself is more complicated how I’ve presented it. It depends who each person is – for example, when my friends are struggling, I’m always more than happy, able and willing to help. If I am feeling vulnerable or unwell at the time, I seem to instinctively use helping them as a distraction from my own pain, and I fully immerse myself in doing what I can do help. If someone who I’m not close with is struggling, then I usually can’t deal with it – then comes the panic and self-imposed responsibility and blame. That’s just me, though. Some people may feel unable to support their friends but more able to support others by being less close to the situation. In the words of another common trope from the mindful discussions going about – we are all different.

So what’s the solution? How do we balance a world of speaking up whilst respecting the needs of people who feel triggered by other people’s mental illness? Well, there isn’t one. That’s very key to the discussion we create around mental health. To posit the issue of mental health as a problem/solution equation is to simplify it miles past its messy, congealed reality. There is no ‘solution’, but rather tools, support, opportunity, progress, comfort, aid, recovery. Recovery itself isn’t even a solution, because mental health isn’t that black and white.

I’m not here to slam on the growing discussions around mental health. I frigging adore it, and am all the way here for it. I just think we need to be mindful of how this discussion progresses. Rather than spreading the word until everyone knows it, we ought to spread the word and then spread the sentence, the paragraph, the book. That way, sufferers of mental illness may feel increasingly able to reach for and welcome support in a variety of ways, and in ways that respect both parties. We’ve gotta look after each other you know.

Rachel Cargle, activist/writer/lecturer

Author bio

Rachel Cargle is an activist, writer, and lecturer. Born and raised in Ohio, she now lives in New York where she is pursuing a BA in Anthropology at Columbia University. Her Instagram account, @Rachel.Cargle, provides invaluable resources on how white people can educate themselves on racial issues, as well as discussing and promoting her incredible work. In 2017, Rachel Cargle started a non-profit to help women afford mental health care. She also runs a weekly newsletter called State of the Woman, and writes for several publications.

Review

Rachel Cargle’s writing is so inexplicably important that I couldn’t possibly discuss just one of her articles, so I’ve picked two:

‘When White People Are Uncomfortable, Black People Are Silenced’‘This Photo Of Me At The Women’s March Went Viral And Changed My Activism Forever’

‘When Feminism is White Supremacy in Heels’

‘When White People Are Uncomfortable, Black People Are Silenced’

Published January 2019, this article remains persistently fresh in my mind despite having read it three months ago. Speaking against the silencing that is continually imposed upon marginalised voices – currently and historically – Rachel Cargle uses her intelligence and an unstoppable urgency to denounce the oppression of marginalised voices in protecting the white ego.

When the truth is held up, it reflects the false securities that our society rests on: the elitism, the capitalism, the racism, the ableism, the sexism, the homo/transphobia, the xenophobia, the anti-blackness.
Rachel Cargle, ‘When White People Are Uncomfortable, Black People Are Silenced’

In her analysis of the resistance that white people demonstrate towards acknowledging our oppressive society, Cargle makes the issue blindingly clear. In the simplistic, idealist idea of ‘why can’t we all just get on’, Cargle’s discussion of ‘truth’ follows a similar strain. It is not a complex idea to say that we should all be treated equally. In the same regard, it does not require in-depth social analysis to discover that society discriminates against certain groups. It is simply true. Yet the uncomfortable fact remains that many white people are consistency reluctant to face this truth; leading to denial, swerving, even defensive anger. This is what makes the issue of silencing so complex. White people (in the generic sense) have not only instigated the issue, but denied it to the level that it becomes multi-layered and, in may contexts, indecipherable to those whom are privileged by it.

The way in which Cargle discusses the silencing of BAME communities reminds me of the idea of colour blindness – the whole ‘I don’t see colour’ narrative. This denial does nothing more than undermine and outright exclude the experiences of BAME people. Such blindness is what renders well-intentioned white people intellectually stunted when it comes to social issues; we don’t understand because it literally doesn’t concern us. It is for that reason that Rachel Cargle attempts to instigate thought and reevaluation in her work, and it’s a method that is so painfully necessary if we want to fight through racial silencing.

In the same way that our sub-conscience can repress traumatic memories, then to be uncovered only after rigorous digging and forcing ourselves to confront the source of the issue, racial silencing is a difficult pill for white people to swallow. Very few people can come face to face with their own privilege and feel entirely comfortable – or, if you can, that’s probably quite problematic in itself. Feeling affronted at first is understandable, because that sense of privilege is so deeply ingrained within us that most of us don’t know it’s there until we’re confronted with it. However, that is in no way to suggest that we should hide away from such fear; to do so is to deny an entire race of their voice, their pain, and their history.

The stubbornness of white privilege, as Cargle writes, has lead to her content being reported on Instagram. Imagine being so furiously uncomfortable with your own privilege that you have to go out of your way to try and silence a black person. Thankfully, Rachel Cargle inhabits such a powerful, unrelenting voice that she refuses to be stopped. In a less palatable truth, she comments:

The efforts to silence my own work will never not be terrifying. But when have black bodies, black livelihoods, black existences ever been safe in pursuit of truth and justice in this country?
Rachel Cargle, ‘When White People Are Uncomfortable, Black People Are Silenced’

This is a painful truth. This bittersweet reminder of the strength held by unapologetic BAME voices is one which forces us to reflect on our history and our present. I thank Rachel Cargle for her enlightening, educational content; not only because it is an invaluable resource to well-meaning white people, but also because she didn’t need to do that. She owes nothing to non-BAME people, yet here she is providing incredible resources and being an absolute boss.

‘When Feminism is White Supremacy in Heels’

Find this title uncomfortable? If so then you, like me, probably need to be reading the article. Cargle begins the article by recalling the tragic murder of Nia Wilson, an 18 year-old girl in Oakland. On taking to Instagram to call upon white feminists to support and platform this tragedy – which was otherwise silenced from the media – the response she received appeared mixed.

‘[Many white women were] demanding that justice be served while expressing their disbelief that such a story hadn’t gained national attention in the same way that Laci Peterson’s or JonBenét Ramsey’s had. But there were just as many white women—women whose bios claim titles like “social justice warrior” and “intersectional feminist”—that somehow took this call for solidarity as a personal attack.
Rachel Cargle, ‘When Feminism is White Supremacy in Heels’

This particularly hit me – the exposure of the fact that such rampant racism, silencing and denial exists even within the feminist community. As someone who has had ‘intersectional feminist’ in my bio many times, I realised upon reading this that describing yourself in one way and acting in another are worlds apart. Words can be incredibly powerful, but they can also be rendered empty by unjust and contradictory actions. Besides the fact that I can’t even fathom the idea of becoming defensive towards such a tragic and painful event, this clearly highlights the fact that racism isn’t solely the straight white man’s game. It exists within so-called ‘woke’ communities themselves.

What could have been a much-needed and integral display of solidarity and true intersectionality quickly became a live play-by-play of the toxicity that white-centered feminism can bring to the table of activism.
Rachel Cargle, ‘When Feminism is White Supremacy in Heels’

Much like her Instagram content, Cargle outlines the essential beliefs and actions involved in true allyship, making the article yet another vital resource. In her discussion of the problematic stances taken by many white people in response to BAME issues, the general pattern emerges that white people need to step back. This is not our time. We can support, platform, promote, but we do not interrupt. That essential message is conveyed emphatically in Rachel Cargle’s writing.

I’m sure I heard this analogy somewhere, but I forget where: imagine all the world is a stage (yes I just involved Shakespeare in this). For all of history, we’ve only attended plays by white people. Now, BAME people are tired of relentless exclusion, and have demanded a stage for themselves. Both white people and black people attend. It’s a great show. You would watch, listen, and then clap at the end. You might then go and tell all of your friends how good the show is. You might shout about the show on social media, retweet adverts for the show, generally create a lot of positive noise about it.

You would not interrupt the show and start talking over the actor. You would not get angry at the show and yell at it, because it’s not your show. You also wouldn’t claim to be a huge fan of shows by BAME people when you’ve thrown rotten food onto the stage at every single BAME play you watched before this one. You literally would go, watch, listen, applaud, and tell other people about it. Allyship really isn’t that complicated – it’s only made complicated when the ego becomes inflamed and refuses to relinquish control.

Laura Thomas PhD, Just Eat It

Author bio

Laura Thomas PhD is registered nutritionist and vocal advocate for intuitive eating, regularly calling out the BS of diet culture. After growing up in Scotland, Laura ventured to the US to pursue her postgraduate studies, staying in the states for several years before returning to the UK. She is now based in London, and is a practicing nutritionist, as well as the host of a food and wellness podcast ‘Don’t Salt My Game’, AND author of the recently released ‘Just Eat It: How Intuitive Eating Can Help You Get Your Shit Together Around Food’.

Review

When I first saw the title of Laura Thomas’ book – specifically the ‘help you get your shit together around food’ part – I felt attacked in a very necessary way. I’ve been playing around with recovery from disordered eating/eating disorder (I still don’t know which it is) for two years now and, whilst I claim to be A-OK, I can’t hide the fact I tally up my calorie intake and calculate what I’ve earned each day. On picking up Just Eat It, I immediately knew that by reading I was signing up to A) finally admitting that my eating is still very much disordered, and B) unsubscribing from diet culture once and for all. It felt like a big task just starting this book, weighted with so much mental baggage.

There are a number of reasons why I chose this book. Firstly, I want to celebrate women/non-binary people who are doing important things, and this book is so inconceivably important. I genuinely didn’t realise how much diet culture has infiltrated us with toxic attitudes until reading it. Secondly, whilst you can gather from the picture above that Laura Thomas is a slim, white female, Just Eat It raised a huge awakening in me about the fatphobia ingrained in society, and how fatphobia is often the discrimination that we don’t talk about – perhaps because we’re all perpetrators. Laura Thomas’ explanation of the poison of diet culture and her gentle guide through the philosophy and practice of intuitive eating gave me not only a personal lifeline for my messed up eating habits, but educated me in a way that left my totally shocked by the attitudes of my own subconscious, and our surrounding culture.

Before I really get into the review, I feel like I should give a brief overview of how Laura Thomas describes intuitive eating, because this concept is often manipulated and distorted. Intuitive eating is, above all, the practice of restoring your body’s innate ability to decide when, what and how much it wants to eat; of listening to your body’s natural hunger and fullness cues (rather than your FitBit or MyFitnessPal); of completely abolishing the moral connotations of food in favour of food neutrality; of taking down the fatal fatphobia that plagues not only society but also our own minds, amongst various other things. It’s natural that this should seam daunting – or, if you’re like me, not at all daunting, until you begin reading and you’re confronted head-on with the realisation of just how conditioned we are in diet culture. If you’re fortunate, it might not feel daunting at all. My boyfriend for example is naturally a great intuitive eater – he eats when he’s hungry, stops when he’s full, and caters to what his body wants when choosing food. I look at him and genuinely can’t grasp how he does it, because every food decision I make is weighted with hundreds of time-consuming, ultimately pointless thoughts.

For all of its guidance and analysis on the topic of intuitive eating, Just Eat It is a massively important read. However, it tends to much more than that. Perhaps my most pressing take from the book was its commentary on fatphobia. Whilst I consider myself a valiant body-positivity advocate, this book opened my eyes not only to my internal fatphobia, but also to the sociopolitical, and physical dangers that come with our fatphobic society. But firstly, some myth-busting:

In 2013, a team of researchers led by Dr Katherine Flegal conducted a meta-analysis, one of the strongest pieces of research we have available. Meta-analyses pull together data from multiple studies into one mega-study; the researchers were hoping they could find out which BMI category has the highest death rate. They found that the ‘overweight’ group (BMI 25<30) had the lowest death rate, and that those in the ‘obese’ BMI group of 30-35 had the same risk of death as those in the ‘normal’ group. Seriously. This isn’t a fluke finding either. A large Danish observational study of over 100,000 people found that those in the ‘overweight’ category had the lowest risk of death from cardiovascular disease and total deaths.
Just Eat It, p. 171.

Surprised? I was. Like most people, I grew up under the impression that becoming ‘overweight’ meant you were more likely to suffer from heart disease and more likely to die earlier as a result. This is genuinely the equation that is dealt by our society. When a larger body is present in the media – e.g. Tess Holliday’s infamous Cosmo cover – uproar ensures, in which people with slimmer bodies slam that this ‘glorifies obesity’, ‘makes their weight seem ok’ and ‘puts a bad influence on children to desire larger bodies’, all in the name of ‘obesity = bad health’. All of these reactions make me simultaneously want to laugh and cry. Imagine claiming that children will see this cover and want to have a larger body, as if children aren’t bullied every day for their size. Imagine seeing any body weight, shape as size as anything other than ok.

Laura Thomas makes a point of saying that the term ‘obesity’ is an over-medicalised term, and this struck a big chord with me. It’s true. ‘Obesity’ is a word that suggests A) being too big and B) a medically credible opinion, meaning that people throw the term about thinking that it justifies fatphobic views. For most people, ‘obesity’ genuinely translates as ‘unhealthy’. This terrifies me. Yet, in Laura Thomas book we are presented with the evidence that being in a larger body does not make you more likely to die. This really shouldn’t have surprised me – it’s not as if every person spouting fatphobic comments has been brushing up on their medical evidence. That’s just not the world we live in now.

So, we’ve established that health-focused fatphobia is BS. So what does kill people in larger bodies more than those in smaller bodies? Fat-fricking-phobia.

It all makes so much sense. Just Eat It unapologetically declares the facts that many of us know but don’t acknowledge. When larger bodies are discriminated against, shame is induced. When shame is induced, people value their bodies less. They feel – as they are told they are – unworthy. They might stop their usual running routine which they love, because people in the park laugh at them (you know, the same people who shout ‘why the hell have they not done something about their weight?!). They might stop going to the yoga class that really supports their mental health, because their classmates laugh at their poses. They might stop going to the doctors about health concerns because they’re so damn fed up of it being pinned down to their weight. They might ultimately fall ill, fatally even, as a result of a health issue undiagnosed because they weren’t taken seriously by healthcare professionals. They might develop eating disorders or other mental health conditions because the relentless hatred thrown at larger bodies is so fierce that it’s just too much to bear. That – not being ‘overweight’ – is what has the potential to kill people with larger bodies.

That paragraph may have felt slightly overwhelming, but it felt necessary to get this out. It is quite literally a fatal issue. Even on a more day-to-day level, people with larger bodies are generally subjected to a lower quality of life as a result of treatment towards their weight.

Weight stigma has been linked to:
– lower educational attainment in children
– increased weight-related bullying and teasing in children (which may lead to disordered eating and eating disorders)
– being penalized in the workplace in terms of salary, employment opportunities and promotion decisions
– negative stereotypes such as lazy, undisciplined and gluttonous
Just Eat It, p. 48

Are you angry right now? Do you feel furious at the infinite subtle fatphobic comments you hear every day, knowing the impact they have on so many people? You should.

I chose to include Just Eat It in my current reading project because its discussion of fatphobia, in culture and in medical practice, is something we cannot ignore. Stop feeling uncomfortable when you see a larger body on a magazine cover, stop fearing lower belly fat (a goddamn biological necessity), stop equating larger bodies with inferior health. That, in itself, is the biggest health risk.

Jamie Windust, model/writer/activist

Author bio

Jamie Windust is a London based freelance writer, editor-in-chief (for internationally sold Fruitcake Magazine), activist and model. They are famous for their unapologetic self-representation, sensational style, and incredibly informed views on social issues. Jamie often writes and speaks about the experiences of gender non-conforming people, fighting to raise awareness both of their experiences as a whole and also the ways in which we as a society can do better. Overall, Jamie is a genuinely inspiring young person who is demonstrating how you can really harness digital platforms to build a voice and make a difference.

Review

I have followed Jamie Windust on Instagram for a while now, purely for their unapologetic expression of identity, incredibly informed content, and (to be entirely honest) mind-blowing outfits. As a model, writer, editor and activist, Jamie’s work translates into various forms, with their personal experiences as a GNC person feeding into their writing. I particularly value Jamie’s LGBT+ content; as a cis straight woman, this is an invaluable tool for me to continually remind myself of the GNC experience and ensure I stay conscious and respectful in these areas.

To celebrate Jamie’s work, I want to talk about their recent article for Dazed, titled ‘How to be a good online ally to trans and non-binary people in 2019’. Scrap the generic ’10 best travel destinations in 2019′ content – this is the kind of time-bound writing I want to encounter. As society becomes (to an extent) more socially progressive, it’s more important than ever to stay up to date on matters of identity. Something so fundamental to our existence deserves constant coverage, and as Jamie writes, ‘knowledge and information we have acquired 12 months ago may have changed’.

On first glance at the article, I immediately felt immense gratitude to Jamie. Allyship is a hot topic at the minute, and one often conflated with overstepping the mark and silencing those very groups we want to support. In the conscious desire that allies hold to listen and learn from marginalised groups, this places an unjust sense of duty on that person to teach and guide – as if their life isn’t already stressful enough. This, of course, creates a situation in which allies want to learn but aren’t quite sure how, without demanding the time and resources of marginalised groups. In this situation, we must sit back and listen – listen to everything that these groups are saying – and remain respectful. That’s to say, when I encountered Jamie’s article, I felt incredibly grateful that they had decided to share their experience, insight and advice to more privileged people in order to support trans/non-binary people. They were under no obligation to do it, but they did, and for that I am grateful.

The article itself acts as a non-overwhelming, comprehensive guide to trans and non-binary allyship. Grouped into various subheadings, Jamie approaches those areas of life in which we can easily perform allyship in an appropriate way. What makes the article so credibly pressing is that Jamie speaks both through personal experience, as well as intellectual and social understanding. Rather than limiting the article to their own experience, or even singularising cis versus non-cis experiences, Jamie maintains constant awareness of the myriad intersections across all identities, using this to inform their guidance for allyship.

One section of the article which particularly stuck a chord with me was the advice to ‘stop scrolling and engage’. I’m no stranger to the allure of mindless scrolling, but never had I recognised that this is not only numbing our brains, but also wasting vital chances to engage in diverse content. Whilst we celebrate social media as a tool for inclusion, community and elevating repressed voices, we continue to scroll past genuinely irrelevant memes and weird cat videos. This will never be excluded from my digital activity, but it really should occupy a much lower proportion of our time. As Jamie rightfully says: ‘Stop scrolling. Listen, read, learn, and engage’.

Jamie’s final point is directed towards bringing our allyship into real life, physical spaces. In the overwhelming presence of digital environments, it’s easy to forget that the physical world is not only ever present but also still critically unsafe for GNC people. Jamie’s Instagram posts continue this narrative of awareness for safety in non-conforming people, sharing his own traumatic experiences and acknowledging the pain this induces alongside his empowering and self-confident image. In these discussions, Jamie reminds us that even those confident, self-proclaiming, wonderfully proud non-binary and trans individuals are still unsafe and often subjected to abuse. It’s no wonder that so many feel inclined to hide and masquerade their true identity – something that should anger and motivate anyone who cares for human rights.

You can support Jamie by following them on Instagram (@leopardprintelephant) and Twitter (@fabjamiefab) where you can keep up to date with their work, and support their petition to allow people to identify outside of ‘male’ and ‘female’ on legal documentation here.

March feature: How social progress is hindered by prescriptive morality

In reflecting on my latest read, Deborah Frances-White’s The Guilty Feminist, I’ve come to realise that the increasingly woke, progressive society we live in is not all free love and acceptance. Ironically, in the bid to maintain absolute respect and correctness in the way we address contemporary topics of discussion results in it failing to resemble a discussion at all; rather, a prescriptive mindset is enabled in order to achieve absolute morality.

For the purposes of this post, I’m going to talk exclusively about those groups that concern themselves with social progress, fighting oppression and embracing fair and honest humanity. This cohort of individuals seems to occupy an undefined but simultaneously starkly recognisable sphere across social platforms; characterised by relentless inclusion, passionate advocation and, most problematically, fear-of-wrongness. By this, I mean the guilt-inducing force that renders many people silent on important issues, because they perhaps fear that their views are ‘wrong’, or do not yet hold a concrete view and therefore feel unqualified to speak. This feeling is damaging both to our intellectual confidence and the dynamic social environment needed to progress. Progress is not achieved by prescribed views and ideas; that is the means by which rigid, oppressive regimes are formed. Yet here I am, still afraid to say that I don’t quite know what my opinion is on zoos.*

Social media certainly seems to be a driving force in this increasingly confined dialogue. Heated arguments, ‘calling out’ and ‘cancelling’ culture have add fueled a system in which saying the wrong thing can result in very public and inescapable punishment. Naturally, this initiates fear of speaking at all. For the average person who just wants to think, say and do the right thing, the conclusion is drawn that ‘I’ll just keep quiet and listen to what the others are saying because they know what’s right’ – this is certainly an approach I have taken – as if those arbitrarily powerful voices are inherently more qualified than yourself to speak (rather than just confident and with a big following). Twitter is a particularly guilty platform for enabling this almost hierarchical discussion of what is write and wrong. Known by many as the ‘scary’ social media platform, even its format in being restricted by character limits puts pressure on the words that you do dare to contribute. When a viral tweet differentiates from your own opinion, you perhaps lean towards changing your views rather that examining the two standpoints and debating your thoughts.

Have you ever put your hand under a tap with water running so painfully hot that it almost feels cold? Perhaps a ridiculous metaphor, but this is how I see the culture of moral correctness. It’s incredibly important that as a society we work on our socially progressive values, but the aggression with which this is often wielded has entirely debilitated the very process of change. Pretty much everyone who has ever argued with someone holding problematic views knows that forceful lecturing is not the way to go. As inhumane as their views may be, it is near impossible to expect someone to become open-minded if we display the same furious rigidity with which they hold their (backward) views. I’m certainly not saying that, for example, we should tolerate extreme views such as racism. Absolutely not; rage has its place and time, but so does intellectual discussion. If I shout at my homophobic uncle he certainly won’t feel willing to engage with my views, instead becoming even more defensive and obstinate. However unpleasant it may be, debating calmly and respectfully can be far more productive.

This, understandably, can be a big ask when dealing with a very problematic individual. I know of many occasions when I have intensely resisted losing my cool when talking to someone about a social issue, because I knew that flying off the handle would do far more harm than good. I’m sure many people have had the same experience, and this makes complete sense, but makes me even more baffled by the fact that we fail to engage in this kind of interaction with people on the same damn side as us.

Not to pin all issues in life on social media – but this is kind of social media’s fault. Or, rather, the blame lies in how we use social media. What could have been a bridge-building, all-welcoming platform for rallying support in our progressive communities has instead become a battleground of opinions. In the digital whirlwind, it is often necessary to take a step back and consider how this culture transmits into the ‘real’ world. For example, people are much more likely to send an angry message on Twitter than they are to shout in someone’s face in real life. In a way, we’re all just keyboard warriors, because I for one know I’d happily shut down problematic views online yet feel crippling fear when asking someone to move their bag on the train. Logical.

It would be too simplistic to say we just need to be a bit nicer to each other online, but that’s certainly not far off the mark. When you’re protected by a screen and potentially thousands of miles it can be difficult to conceptualise the actual effect of what you’re doing. In a way, we need to become more mindful of our digital language, as well as being far more respectful of others – especially those who are fighting for the same thing as us. By regaining perspective, and remembering how our own views have changed over the span of our life, we can increase the space for debate, because a hundred different views will always make a far more invigorating and enlightening discussion than just one.

*My views are unclear because it depends on the state of the purpose of their confinement (perhaps they are an endangered species, and the zoo is trying to maintain their existence/encourage breeding), their environment (where they live, how they’re treated, how this reflects their natural habitat), and how the zoo ensures that they maintain a positive role in the advocacy of animal rights, protection and safety.

Deborah Frances White, The Guilty Feminist

Author bio

Born in Australia to an adoptive family, Deborah speaks openly of her experiences in finding her biological family, being indoctrinated to the jehovas witness religion, and ultimately leaving this ‘cult’ to pursue university education and a career in comedy. After starting her now world-famous podcast in 2015, Deborah Frances White and her many incredible co-hosts, special guests, and audiences (equally important in my opinion) have been storming the patriarchy with quick wit, hilarious anecdotes and fundamentally, an allegiance of feminist confession. What makes Deborah such a phenomenal woman is both her honest, engaging comedy, but also her insistence on putting inclusion at the top of the podcast’s priorities in both guests and theme.

Review

As a total devotee to the charming, hilarious wisdom of The Guilty Feminist podcast, and unrelenting groupie of the mighty DFW herself, reading her book The Guilty Feminist was simply non-negotoable. Deborah describes the book as having a generous dose of new material alongside highly requested favourites from the podcast, which I totally love. With key episodes bookmarked for my relentless enjoyment, having this hybrid of classic DF Dubz and thrilling new stuff is exactly what I wanted from the world.

Much like her podcast, the book is intelligent, witty, and painfully funny. The Guilty Feminist succeeds in being both boldly enlightening, and relatable on a very real level. She discusses every area of life, from work to relationships to weddings, with a zeal of language that makes the book impossible to put down. One feature of the book that I particularly loved was her inclusion of historical, and often guilty, feminists. With the rise of historical writing reinstating the value of often forgotten icons, like, Deborah makes her contribution through extensive discussions of the life, work and philosophy of remarkable women. Perhaps my favourite was an extract covering the fascinating African American entrepreneur, Madam C. J. Walker. In the name of ‘parasite feminism’, Walker created a monumental enterprise in haircare for African American women, utilising the status-filled credentials of her ex husband’s name to brand herself in a way that would be marketable to a racist society. She knew what would sell and she took it – boldly thrusting open the doors to opportunity without invitation. When Walker was denied space or voice, she took it anyway. Deborah’s account of the life and work of Madam C. J. Walker is little less than inspiring, paying testament to the value of taking and making exactly what you want in life.

Throughout the book, Deborah maintains a conscious awareness of the climate in which she is writing. Quoting comedian Michael Legge, ‘I’m left wing but it’s probably hard for you to tell right now because I’m not currently arguing with someone I agree with’ (p. 205), she acknowledges the debate-driven political world we live in, particularly among left-wing circles. This awareness is reflected in the tone of her writing, which is driven not as ‘this is fact’ or ‘I am right’, but ‘this is fair’ and ‘this has the potential to be debated’; she addresses the need for organised discussion and the importance of different opinions, whilst never undermining the validity of her own thoughts. It is perhaps this very awareness that makes her ideas so potent, by maintaining a calm and comfortable approach to addressing certain topics without the obstinate, stubborn refusal of a second opinion. On the contrary, Deborah embraces debate and disagreement, specifically when she references episodes of the podcast centred on religion in which she and her co-hosts disagreed on their topic of discussion – a situation she treats with fascination rather than resentment.

This is why we are heading towards an Orwellian ideological hegemony if we do not start to accept that there are different ways of looking at things. Plurality of thought and the ability to set our own intellectual boundaries has never been more important.
The Guilty Feminist, p. 206

I think the above quote summarises perfectly the danger of singular way of thinking. Not only that, this entire discussion presented the surprising realisation to me that arguing and disagreeing is a form of engagement so rarely encouraged, but rather is demonised into a battle for moral high ground. The term ‘calling out’, as Deborah highlights, is the perfect example of this playing out in language, embedded into an emerging culture in which the first person to call the other person out is automatically the moral winner.

This critical analysis of the language of disagreement and moral battling felt so eye-opening to me, and made me realise that I am constantly terrified of holding the wrong or un-woke opinion. A recurring mantra in discussions of social progress is that ‘we are all learning’, which is entirely true, but this is often lost in unrelenting, one-person-takes-all arguments. I’m very aware of the fact that if I don’t know much about a topic or don’t hold a fully-formed, concrete opinion, I won’t dare to discuss it with other people. I don’t feel qualified. The danger in this is that we’re excluded from that learning process we are trying to encourage, instead blindly taking the unanimous view of our chosen tribe on Twitter – i.e., ‘this feminist holds this opinion on the matter so I must believe that too because I too am a feminist’. A world without individual, intellectual exploration is not only dull, but also, as Deborah points out, scarily indicative of an Orwellian society.

Deborah’s discussion of disagreement and argument is not just covered in theory; she includes an interview she conducted with transgender, non-binary social neuroscientist Reubs Walsh. In the interview, the two discuss matters of gender identity, performativity, how to engage in trans-friendly chat with others (such as enquiring about pronouns, without undermining a trans person’s desire to ‘pass’ as their identified gender). What makes the exchange so fascinating is how both contributors stage their opinions confidently, whilst consciously engaging in the thoughts of the other. Deborah Frances-White displays tone that combines respectful, inquisitive understanding of Reubs’ views, as well as a comfortsbility in expressing her views and thoughts on this topic that she is less ‘qualified’ to speak on. Here, we are reminded again of a fact very scary to modern woke minds – in performing true allyship and not speaking over unrepresented communities, we are not as a result entirely banned from the discussion. That, in fact, would be counter productive. Deborah willfully encourages the perhaps more privileged readers of her book to actively engage in these discussions in order to both better understand the experience of marginalised people, but also to invite new ideas and terminology into our hegemonic discourse.

Her deeply thoughtful lessons on both the vicotires and confinements of our evolving society are exactly what make The Guilty Feminist such a phenomenal read. As a pre-eatablished icon from the success of her podcast, it is no wonder Deborah Frances-White’s book has flourished, but that in no way takes the primary credit away from the sheer rallying, rampant voice with which she writes. Deborah’s book, in exploring the diverse and uncovered, made me ever more excited to encounter a diverse collection of writers during my project, making it the perfect place for that journey to begin.

February feature: Calling out #fitspo and modern diet culture

This post comes at the start of what will probably be several discussions about food, body image, diet culture, and intuitive eating. After reading Laura Thomas’ Just Eat It, I genuinely feel that my entire mindset around food, my body, and my priorities has dramatically altered. Until this point, I considered myself to be a body positive fighter against ‘slimming’ teas, body shaming and unrealistic, idealistic beauty standards. Whilst I may have argued these points in earnest, I couldn’t deny – and still can’t deny, although I’m working on it – the pointless hours I had spent worrying about my body, what I ate, and everything in-between.

Diet culture is a strange phenomenon, because most people seem aware that it exists, but very rarely do we truly acknowledge its dangerous depths. Beyond that, it is easy to forget the many forms that diet culture takes, especially in modern society. It is no longer just the print advertisements showing the same body types time and time again; diet culture is woven into just about every piece of content we consume. I have made many attempts to rid myself of this toxic influence, ironically by pursuing attitudes and trends that are just as embedded in diet culture as those early forms.

Through my recent journey of trying to unlearn these toxic doctrines, it’s becoming increasingly clear that diet culture operates above all in rigidity, restriction and regulation. Whilst we may label it under ‘diet’, the more important descriptor is ‘culture’, since even the D word has now been rejected by many. Whilst seemingly a significant improvement, the result is in fact the masquerading of diets and diet culture under new trends, lifestyles and regimes. This is where restriction and regulation becomes important, because the new diet trends of our society all maintain that common indicator of an unhealthy and restrictive diet. Examples include ‘healthism’, increasing rates of orthorexia, gym-culture, protein marketing, and evolving body trends which now embrace the toned, big-bummed, skinny waste yet still curvy (aka near impossible) figure. These are all components of modern diet culture.

The dangerous thing about modern diet culture is its denial of its true form. Diets have traditionally been very open in their intent; torch fat! lose weight! get that summer body! Sure, many people still embrace these attitudes, but the majority of dieters probably don’t even realise that they’re on a diet. I certainly didn’t. When I carefully calculated my macronutrient and calorie intake, maintaining prescribed ratios and *god forbid* never eating more fat or carbs that I was ‘supposed to’, I genuinely didn’t believe that I was on a diet. I was on a fitness journey; a quest to build muscle and feel strong. What I was doing felt like the absolute antithesis of dieting; after all, I wanted to gain (muscle) weight, and I justified the regulation by insisting that this would ensure I ate enough, at the risk of eating too little (as I previously had done). Perhaps this was a necessary part of my journey from severely disordered, restrictive eating to a healthy relationship with food and my body, but I doubt it.

In reality, this was a way for me to maintain the same control over what I ate and how I looked that fuelled my under-eating in the previous year. I may have kidded myself that I was now in the game of gaining weight, but there I was turning a blind eye to the hour of cardio I did every day after lifting weights, the careful regulation of my eating, and the obsessive desire for a flat stomach (as if I had no organs to house). I believe that this is the same journey that many other people, girls in particular, are susceptible to. In the boom of fitness influencers and Instagram #fitspo, the thin ideal has been reshaped – not only are we told to be thin, we are also told to be toned, and have natural curves in the ‘right’ places. I’d be lying if I said my fitness goals weren’t entirely driven by aesthetics; it may have felt good to reach a new personal best on squats, but only because it meant I’d be growing my ass a bit more.

My point here isn’t to shut down fitness influencers or say that they are perpetrating disordered eating behaviours and body confidence, but it’s not far off the mark. I believe that these ‘influencers’ hold a huge responsibility to deliver fitness content that does not encourage a prescribed body image, fat-shame, use problematic terms, or demonise vital parts of our body like fat. (FYI, there’s a reason that female lower belly fat is ‘stubborn’ – it’s goddam supposed to be there). No one is denying that many people pursue fitness for goals outside of aesthetics, but in the growing popularity of before and after pictures, it’s time to realise that #fitspo is the new #thinspo, and realise our own responsibility to others and ourselves to not appropriate fitness and exercise as another body-shaming diet tool.

This all ties in closely with disordered eating, because eating and exercise go hand in hand. As Laura Thomas says in Just Eat It; if it has rules, it’s a diet; and fitness culture is certainly filled with guilt-inducing, regimented rules. Heavy calorie restriction and over-doing the cardio is just as much disordered eating as tracking your protein intake in between gym sessions. One may be more physically dangerous than the other, but both nonetheless inhabit diet culture and disordered eating. Perhaps even more dangerously, the disordered eating behaviours among fitness culture are masqueraded by language that instigates a false sense of empowerment. Protein-rich snacks are literally everywhere; the new golden star in food marketing which immediately makes a food ‘good’. In the dichotomy of good and bad food, fitness culture has introduced a wider set of terms; rather than just ‘healthy’ and ‘unhealthy’, ‘portion control’ and ‘greedy’, we’re now bombarded with dozens of macronutrients, micronutrients, ‘superfoods’ and whatever else, giving that dichotomy even more ground. We live in the days of ‘cheat meals’ in which one chocolate chip cookie is both demonised as progress-inhibiting and sensationalised as the biggest, most exclusive treat of all time. How could such a conflicting, loaded and restrictive language of food ever be considered healthy? When pleasurable foods are limited to days labelled under a negative term like ‘cheat’, yet still loaded with the exclusivity of a wild indulgence, something so basic as a biscuit can become fitness culture’s drug. No wonder we end up knee deep in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, wondering how the hell we got there.

Exactly a year on from my first introduction to weight lifting and fitness, my mindset couldn’t be more drastically altered. I exercise regularly because it makes me physically feel great, creates a satisfying tiredness that makes curling up with a book all the more fun, and most importantly because it boosts my mental health. Just as she encourages the benefits of intuitive eating, Laura Thomas also discusses the importance of intuitive movement, and how this can reconnect us with our body in a healthy, kind and genuine way. A month ago, a trip to the gym would feel worthless to me if I’d forgotten my Fitbit, because I wouldn’t know how many calories I’d burned and therefore how much food I’d earned (hint: food is not to be ‘earned’ – you’ve earned it by being alive). Now, I’ve sold my Fitbit (terrifyingly, a mentally difficult task), move in accordance with how my body and mind feel, take a lot less time staring at my stomach in the mirror, and feed my body exactly what it wants. No one can press the benefits of intuitive eating like Laura Thomas, so I’ll leave that to her, and say simply that having read her book has changed my entire outlook on my body, undoubtedly rippling into the contentment of my mind.

Racism, white-centric language and Liam Neeson

It wouldn’t be modern life without some old white celebrity facing denunciation due to something problematic they said, did or believed in the past. Enter, Liam Neeson. Though I’m sure you’ve already encountered the story, for those who haven’t: nearly four decades ago, when a female friend of his was the victim of rape by an unknown man of colour, Neeson described a ‘primal urge’ to murder a person of colour – any person of colour – walking the streets for a week, wielding a weapon, and looking for a black man to murder. Right. After a long, open-minded reflection, I tried to gather my thoughts.

I have many, many problems with this, both in the incident itself and the aftermath of its exposure. Firstly, though, so as not to seem like I’m attacking an undisclosed and unrepresented situation, here is Liam Neeson’s initial interview:

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/liam-neeson-interview-rape-race-black-man-revenge-taken-cold-pursuit-a8760896.html

Now, here is Liam Neeson in his appearance on Good Morning America, after his initial interview had made headlines:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zb8KEpkCdRo

The immediate difference between these interviews is the language Neeson uses. Cleverly and meticulously, Neeson uses almost identical language and sentences to describe the event. It almost sounds like the same sound clip played twice, except for one thing: his use of the slur “some black b*stard”. Both interviews make it very clear that Neeson knew nothing about his friend’s attacker besides the colour of his skin, and as such he used all POC as a representative of the crime. I was genuinely shocked when I heard his because, in the premise of his admission of guilt and shame over this long-past incident, there was simply no need for this racial slur and it obliterated any ingenuity of his ‘honest’ confession. It served no need, besides to expose Neeson’s inherent racism, laughably following his insistence that he felt shame. There’s no denying that his actions were unforgivably racist, and his language here reinforces that little has changed.

Following my anger and confusion at this disgusting slur, I took to the internet – no, not to blurt out my opinion, because I am not a victim in this attack – to understand what reaction it had generated from POC themselves. From a variety of tweets, insta posts and interviews, the response seemed more varied than I’d expected. I watched and read as people of entirely different ages, genders, occupations, nationalities, abilities and beliefs, united solely by the colour of their skin, explained their individual thoughts and feelings, all perfectly justified as autonomous opinion. Lots of anger, disgust, criticism, analysis, dissection. All perfectly valid.

However, the point where I became really f*cking tired was when I stopped searching exclusively for responses from POC and realised that the most widely publicised responses were those of white people. From a variety of high-profile white people sprouted a variety of insensitive and irrelevant responses. On Good Morning Britain (which I’m furious that I’m actually giving the time of day), Piers Morgan and Susanna Reid spend several minutes discussing the infamous interview, shocked and appalled. What’s eye-rollingly tragic is that their criticism is not of the abhorrent racism of the incident, or its disturbing violence and the implications it may have on POC – rather, they reveal their shock that Liam Neeson conducted the interview in such a way. Their entire segment on it can be summarised in the tone of ‘I can’t believe he was stupid enough to give this interview’ rather than ‘let’s unpick the overt and covert, violent racism embedded within his interview’. Not only is this unhelpful, but diverts entirely from the true victims of incidents like this. Even Neeson’s interview itself takes the same diversion from race; in his proclaimed shame at his actions, he shows little regard for their racist foundation, rather focusing independently on the violence that raged through him. It is as though he is shocked that he could allow such fatal violence to overcome him, rather than being shocked that he had felt a murderous hatred for POC. It also casts blame on so-called ‘primal’ instincts, rather than his own goddam thoughts. Even in a story of racism, POC are denied true presence.

In breaking yet another of my self-prescribed writing rules (1. Do not discuss Piers Morgan), I want to talk about an article on this incident in The Sun (2. Do not discuss The Sun). The headline reads: Actor Liam Neeson claimed he was ‘dying to stab someone’ in ‘raging beast’ interview years before sparking major race row’. In no surprise to literally anyone ever, The Sun conveniently exclude mention of racism throughout the headline, only mentioning race at all in the announcement of a ‘race row’. I’m not here to pick apart The Sun’s racist agenda, because I have neither the time nor the emotional energy, but the language they use is representative of a larger trivialisation of race issues. Namely, the term ‘race row’.

‘Race row’ makes my blood boil. Embarrassing alliteration aside, racism is not some playground spat. It is not an argument to be won or lost. It is the institutional, sociopolitical discrimination of an entire race based on the colour of their skin – something that barricades people’s prospects, that dehumanises and denies their presence, that literally kills them, just because of the colour of their skin. I am fully done with language that denounces racial tensions to the level of bickering, suggestive of a two-sided argument and thereby validating racist views. It is not a row, it is discrimination.

Now, if you’re white and you’re obstinately defending Liam Neeson, please leave. If you’re a POC and you’re defending him, please continue to express your opinion. Some may call that a racial double standard and be outraged, but these people are forgetting that the double standard has been at the core of POC’s existence for centuries. You don’t fight double standards with a miraculously balanced playing field – this is the time for trying to undo and learn, not to simply maintain, the absolute evils that have been thrown upon POC throughout history.

Returning to the responses of white people, I want to say this. The response to this issue of race from POC is not something that can be conceptualised in imaginative speculation. There’s no need for imagination because we have POC to give us their responses themselves. If you’re interested in how this would feel hearing that as a POC, just goddam listen to them. They do not need or want you imagining their feelings. If you are a white human imagining your hypothetical response to one individual situation and believing that it is valid, then you are singularising the entire experience of POC in one event. This experience is built up, layer by racist layer, experience by discriminatory experience, so I think it’s safe to say that a white person does not possess the ability to speak on behalf of an entire race to which you do not belong. This is also why some POC are furious whilst some are defending Neeson – because the experiences of an entire race can not be summarised even by POC themselves. Every individual is exactly that – individual – with entirely different attitudes and environments, but with the one unifying oppression of racism. If POC themselves can not summarise their response in one isolated opinion, how could a white person even begin to do the same? Instead of declaring that POC should be outraged, or ridiculing the views those choosing to defend Liam Neeson, reconsider your perspective.

Finally, I am well aware that I am a white person, giving my opinion on an issue of racism, whilst denouncing other white opinions. I understand the apparent contradiction. However, in acting as an ally I understand that acknowledging privilege is paramount in taking an active role in race discussions. I am conscious of my privilege as a white, heterosexual, able bodied, cis-gendered woman, and I try to dissect racial issues with this consciousness in mind. By prioritising the needs and beliefs of POC, whilst taking active approach to engaging in open discussions of race, white people can practice ally-ship in an appropriate and helpful way (n.b. I am very much in the learning process here, so please correct me if I am not speaking in the right way). In this journey, presuming knowledge of the experiences of and rebuking the responses of POC is simply not OK.

From a white person, to white people – stop pretending to understand the experiences of POC. Do not rely upon white-centric news networks for a diverse opinion, manipulating the social, political and economic discrimination of an entire race to suit their own agenda. Think deeply, critique intricately, and listen to those who are actually affected.

Yin and yang relationships, unapologetic honesty and political ambition in ‘Becoming’

It seems only appropriate to begin US Black History Month by reviewing the recent autobiography of one of my most revered icons, Michelle Obama. My review in a few words: I may have cried several times. May even cry now as I write about it.

Becoming is divided into three parts which all uniquely and beautifully convey Michelle Obama’s journey. ‘Becoming Me’ shows us her childhood, surrounded by a close-knit, hardworking family in the South Side of Chicago, documenting her personal development and the intricate personalities in her family. ‘Becoming Us’ tells the charming, gorgeous story of Michelle’s blossoming love with Barack and the growth of their family. Finally, ‘Becoming More’ shares Michelle’s feelings as their lives shifted onto the political stage, as well as the deep, unending efforts they invested in improving their country. Of course it is just one book when these parts are combined, but when you’ve had a life as rich and busy as Michelle Obama’s, it feels like you’re getting three for one.

On a personal level, one of my favourite components of Becoming was the honesty with which Michelle writes about her relationship with Barack. At first it’s almost funny when you read those chapters and think oh yeah, the ex-president of the United States is also a regular human too. Meeting him when he began as a Summer Associate for Michelle’s firm, the assertion that ‘Barack Obama was late on day one’ in particular made me laugh (p. 94). What follows is a sweet series of anecdotes on their blossoming love which filled me with utter warmth. However, rather than paint her life under some fairy-tale guise, Michelle is forever honest about the struggles she faced, even in her relationship. She describes Barack as the yin to her yang; the cluttered ball of never-done-enough chaos to her neatly organised schedule. It’s endearing, but she reminds us that this isn’t just a sweet case of opposites attract – rather, she reinforces the strain it sometimes put on her own psyche.

‘In the presence of his certainty, his notion that he could make some sort of difference in the world, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit lost by comparison. His sense of purpose seemed like an unwitting challenge to my own.’
Michelle Obama, Becoming, p. 132

Whilst utterly adoring both of them, from a female perspective I wondered how I would cope if I were the wife, the allocated sidekick, the pretty, smiling and waving face, of someone whose political aspirations outweighed my own. It was so refreshing to hear Michelle confess her struggles, even her strong hesitations about Barack’s various political campaigns, and subsequently grapple ruthlessly with her political power as First Lady. Throughout the book, Michelle professes her unconditional love for her husband as exactly that – her husband. She documents their political journey and gives testament to Barack’s efforts and impact whilst never relenting the power-balanced husband-wife relationship they so wonderfully have.

During the chapters describing Barack’s presidential campaign, Michelle gives a fascinating and often emotional account of what it meant to be a black woman in the political spotlight. A motivated and compassionate person herself, Michelle makes no secret of the fact that she wants to make positive changes as First Lady and harness her power. However, she acknowledges the backlash that falls upon outspoken women in politics, writing about the attacks on Hilary Clinton and her active role in the — during her husband’s presidency. Clearly, it was a case of knowing how to do as much as possible without taking any of the spotlight. The worst thing to do would be to seem ‘too assertive’ in a society terrified of powerful women.

‘I was now starting to actually feel a bit angry, which then made me feel worse, as if I were fulfilling some prophecy laid out for me by the haters, as if I’d given in. It’s remarkable how a stereotype functions as an actual trap. How many “angry black women” have been caught in the circular logic of that phrase? When you aren’t being listened to, why wouldn’t you get louder? If you’re written off as angry or emotional, doesn’t that just cause more of the same?’
Michelle Obama, Becoming, p. 265

Throughout ‘Becoming More’, Michelle reminds the reader repeatedly of the racial discrimination and prejudice faced by her and her husband during the campaign. As the first black First Family, it would be impossible to ignore the significance of their skin colour. Anticipating the weight that this would hold on their every move, she writes that ‘As the first African American family in the White House, we were being viewed as representatives of our race. Any error or lapse in judgment, we knew, would be magnified, read as something more than what it was’ (p. 295). Far from painting her and Barack as worthy idols, Michelle addresses the pressure put on their family to represent their race. However outrageously illogical, Michelle shows her awareness that perceptions of race across America would very likely be affected by Barack’s acts as President.

However, Michelle does not uphold this singular notion of her family as the representatives of blackness. She gives voice to many silenced individuals, sharing their stories and reinforcing the prevalence of race issues in American society. Whilst her documentation of the campaign process conveyed Michelle’s desire to support vulnerable groups, her acts as First Lady cemented this through her four main initiatives. Let’s Move!, Reach Higher, Let Girls Learn and Joining Forces all make invaluable differences to the lives of children and young people in particular, as well as military families. From not knowing a great deal about her work before reading Becoming, I learned about the concrete, measurable change that her initiatives brought about. In addition, Michelle committed her time to engaging with communities facing high rates of gun violence, particularly talking to young people. The page describing her meeting with the students of Harper High School, in which nearly every student had lost someone to gun violence, was one of the most raw and powerful extracts in the entire book. Rather than make promises to these children, Michelle’s answer to the question ‘what’re you actually going to do about any of this?’ from a child is honest, respectful and heartfelt:

‘”Honestly,” I began, “I know you’re dealing with a lot here, but no one’s going to save you anytime soon. Moist people in Washington aren’t even trying. A lot of them don’t even know you exist.” I explained to those students that progress is slow, that they couldn’t afford to simply sit and wait for change to come, Many Americans didn’t want their taxes, raised, and Congress couldn’t even pass a budget let alone rise above petty partisan bickering, so there weren’t going to be billion-dollar investments in education or magical turnarounds for their community. Even after the horror of Newtown, Congress appeared determined to block any measure that could help keep guns out of the wrong hands, with legislators more interested in collecting campaign donations from the National Rifle Association than they were in protecting kids. Politics was a mess, I said. On this front, I had nothing terribly uplifting or encouraging to say.
I went on, though, to make a different pitch, one that came directly from my South Side self. Use school, I said.’
These kids had just spent an hour telling me stories that were tragic and unselling, but I reminded them that those same stories also showed their persistence, self-reliance, and ability to overcome. I assured them that they already had what it would take to succeed.’
Michelle Obama, Becoming, p. 387.

In 421 pages, I went from excitedly rushing to learn about Michelle and Barack with fan-girling curiosity, to crying at the hundreds of powerful, heart-wrenching, inspiring, and often painful stories that unfold. This book is wonderful in its ability to allow the public to indulge in our desire to be dropped into the life of the ex-First Family, to learn their ins and outs, whilst also teaching meaningful lessons. Having to finish Becoming and rejoin the real world, with its political catastrophes and apparent reversal of our recent progress, was difficult and emotional. It is solely with Michelle’s encouraging words that we are able to retain hope, just as she still does at the very end, and continue to fight for progress – to continue becoming.

Reflecting on Veganuary: When ethics clash with disordered eating

So here we are, already one whole mammoth-month deep into 2019. I’ve been thinking about the topic of this post almost constantly throughout January, and even in the months leading up to it. As a vegetarian with an extremely complicated and relationship with food, I always knew that transitioning to a vegan diet would be equally complicated. So I didn’t do it. Didn’t even try, in fact – and I have no regrets.

That intro probably seems like I’m about to start vegan-bashing, which is absolutely not true. The ethics of a vegan lifestyle is, quite frankly, goals. I’d love for that to be my lifestyle. I follow lots of vegan accounts across social media because I find the whole movement, and the strength that it is galvanising, very inspiring. Seeing stats on the increasing number of vegetarians and vegans in the world warms my heart with the tiniest shred of hope that we might actually be able to slow down the cataclysmic ecosystem failure that our planet is facing. I watched the documentary Land of Hope and Glory last year and obstinately decided that I would complete – not even just attempt – Veganuary, and continue the lifestyle thereafter. Honourable intentions, sure, but I was forgetting the most important agent in this whole agenda – my own body and mind.

Having established that I am absolutely an advocate of plant-based living and depending as little as personally viable on animal products, I want to discuss the restriction it inhabits. Veganism, like vegetarianism, is a restrictive diet. It is restrictive for ethical reasons, but that doesn’t prevent the fact that it is inherently restrictive. Restriction is the entire point – you are cutting out entire food groups, labelling them as ‘bad’ and ‘no-go’ foods, attributing a sense of shame to the consumption of those foods. This is absolutely my attitude towards meat, and it aligns with my ethics. At the time I decided to become vegetarian, I didn’t even think about the impact that this restriction might have on my relationship with food.

When I remember the amount of time, pain, stress and anxiety that was consumed by my over-restrictive diet, I wonder why on earth I didn’t seriously take this into account when transitioning to vegetarianism. Truth is, the nutrients I was losing didn’t relate all that much to my past fears of food. I made this change whilst in the depths of exploring weight-training and trying to make #gainz – a lifestyle which was naturally (in my mind) impacted by cutting out 90% of my protein intake. In my obsessions with macronutrients, I saw meat as purely protein, and cutting it out meant only that I’d have to source protein from elsewhere to fuel my #fitnessgoals. Perhaps I was just in a good place with my eating, but I really believe that the nutritional make up of this food group was largely responsible for why giving it up didn’t affect me mentally. However, I want to press on the fact that this may not be the case for all people. Restriction is restriction, and whether or not I was able to cope with it, that may not be the story for many others.

So here I am having made a huge deal of the restriction involved in giving up meat. Good lord, imagine now giving up everything that contains any trace of animal produce. That’s a lot of food off your plate. And, if you think of the products that you automatically associate with dairy – cheese, butter, cakes, ice cream – there’s a trend to be seen. When I watched Land of Hope and Glory and declared my future veganism, I thought about what I’d have to cut out and how I would navigate this new lifestyle. When I realised I would no longer eat cookies, biscuits, cakes, and basically every other delicious snack (except for vegan options), I got a pang of excitement for the amount of fat and sugar I’d be cutting out. I envisioned a 2019 where I was at optimum health, practiced clean eating and lost a few pounds in the process. This honestly sounded like a dream.

Truth is, it was a dream. When I decided to be as vegan as possible to prepare myself for Veganuary, I tested myself by resisting cookies whenever they were in the house. When I ultimately ate a cookie, I was so angry at myself. Filled with guilt, shame and self-resentment, I couldn’t stop thinking about the impact this would have on my calories in/out balance, how the added fat to my daily food would automatically make me gain weight. Hold up. What?

I didn’t think at all about the milk and butter that had gone into those cookies that had come from the animals I was supposedly fighting for. Truth be told, in that moment I didn’t care – I’d eaten a goddam cookie and my body was about to pay the price. It was after this incident that I realised I was using veganism not as an ethical lifestyle, but as a diet tool masqueraded as being ‘good for me’. In my mind, the logic of supporting animals, the planet, and myself with all the natural whole foods I’d be eating, meant it was a no-lose situation. That would potentially be the case, if it weren’t for the fact that diet culture is so ingrained within me that I subconsciously manipulated an ethical decision into a desperate plan to lose weight.

‘It’s almost like an eating disorder, but they’re calling it veganism’
Kim-Julie Hansen, Talking Tastebuds ‘VEGANUARY SPECIAL’

Now, I’m fortunate in recognising this. I honestly think a year ago this realisation wouldn’t have occurred to me and I’d be full-steam ahead on the vegan train. Maybe it would have been fine, improved my skin, made me more energised, cleared my conscience – but maybe that would have come at the cost of my relationship with food and my body, not to say all of the progress I’d made in recovery. I am fortunate in the voices I listen to and the influences I take in. In the ‘Veganuary Special’ episode of Talking Tastebuds, vegan author Kim-Julie Hansen discusses the prevalence of vegan influencers who use veganism as way of encouraging orthorexia as a healthy lifestyle choice. After expressing her love of vegan junk food (finally, someone has done it), she criticises the culture of veganism adopted by many that focuses on juice cleanses, detoxes and intermittent fasting. One more time for those in the back please.

More recently, I began reading Laura Thomas’ new book Just Eat It. The cover boasts the slogan, ‘how intuitive eating can help you get your shit together around food’. Um, yes please, sign me up. I bought it immediately and this thing is pure gold. Seriously, like, how is it that every damn sentence is stating exactly how I’ve felt around food for years? – Anyway, circling back; Laura Thomas gives a modern take on diet culture and the many ways it embeds itself in how we eat.

‘In a world where ‘diet’ has become such a dirty word that even Weight Watchers have dropped it, pursuit of weight loss has become passé and people have ditched diets in favour of the more rarefied and esoteric ‘lifestyle’ movements like clean eating, wellness and even veganism. In an attempt to distance ourselves from overt dieting, we have developed new, creative ways to engage in disordered eating behaviours.’
Laura Thomas, Just Eat It, p. 28.

My god. If that’s not a word for word account of my attitude towards food in the past year, I don’t know what is. To be clear – Laura Thomas is not denouncing veganism as an ethical choice whatsoever. She simply criticises its appropriation as a diet technique, and I’m all here for it.

It seems that a lot of people are finally on board with shutting down diet culture and criticising the impact it has on our relationship with our bodies, yet we’re reluctant to admit that it has seeped into other avenues of our eating choices. While many fitness influencers are chugging the spirulina and goji berries, there’s very little conversation on the impacts this can have on our mental health. This absence of discussion is what leads many people (like myself) to feel guilty for not being ‘good’ enough – in regards to either health or ethics – unaware that this is the same guilt that feeds a desire to make ourselves thin.

So, while I header this post with a picture of my vegan, healthy looking breakfast, know that this was my breakfast of choice because it gives me energy and stamina (and porridge with peanut butter is life). After that, I was immediately excited about the strawberry custard creams I have in my cupboard, because who the hell doesn’t need strawberry custard creams in their life? I even dared to make the decision to dunk some in my tea. Maybe you’re not a dunker – if so, don’t hate – but those are the only kind of food choices I want to be making.