(no subject)
I'm more than a little annoyed with my health insurance company right now.
No, I'm not going to sugacoat it. I'm angry, even though what I expected was what I got.
I'm totally failing to write this clearly enough to describe why I'm feeling angry about it and just how condescending the whole thing was, so please bear with me.
There's a promotion with Medica right now to take their "Health Risk Assessment" and get a $25 gift card to Target. My company offers an additional $20 Target card for completing the assessment, on top of the $25. It's hard to pass up free $45, don't you think?
I rather wish I'd passed up that $45, for my mental health.
The assessment doesn't ask very in-depth information about diet.
It asked me how many servings of the food groups I eat a day, but no further breakdown. Then, when I answered another question that I don't actively limit the amount of fat in the foods I consume, it informed me that I need to cut down.
Nevermind the fact that there's a whole range of things within each food group that are good and not so good for you. Nevermind the fact that I may not actively limit the fat in foods I eat because maybe I just don't like fatty stuff and don't go for it naturally, therefore no limiting needed.
There was no question about calories or sugars or anything other than fat. Fat fat fat. Even though not all fats are bad fats.
This was a tip of the iceberg.
When asking for biometrics, the first three questions asked are height, weight, and waist measurement. Ahh, BMI calculator. Nevermind the fact that BMI has been shown to be ineffective in calculating health or that roughly 25 million Americans suddenly became "overweight" overnight when the standards were changed in 1998.
Here's a quote from the CNN Article at the time of the standards change: "Using the old criteria, the average woman -- with a height of 5 feet, 4 inches (1.6 meters) and weighing 155 pounds (70 kilograms) -- was considered overweight." Please read that twice. The average woman suddenly became overweight. Average, much?
Aside from diet and weight, I was offended by the overall condescending feel of the survey. As if I don't know what I need to "work on" according to their standards. As if I'm not aware that cancer of many kinds runs in my family, or that I'm probably going to develop high blood pressure and cholesterol and all sorts of things, even though those readings are all completely perfect right now.
It left a bad taste in my mouth, and was pretty triggering for old behaviors that I've tried hard to leave behind.
I'm not interested in being concern trolled. I know not everyone who has me friended is into fat acceptance. Note to you: I am, and I'm tired of hearing it the same old same old things.
I'm at a point in my life where I've finally, fucking finally allowed myself to start loving myself as I am. I refuse to allow myself to hate my body anymore. The picture I posted yesterday? I actually love. It's been 15 years since I've loved a picture of myself.
I've been on diets off and on. In high school I used to try and see how long I could go without eating at all. My mom and I dieted together. We took herbal supplements and made disgusting shakes. We cut ourselves down to a set amount of fat grams a day. We hated ourselves together. We sat down and talked about how Mom was so worried about me and my weight. I used to look at myself in a mirror and think, "you fucking waste of space, you fat disgusting whale, you shouldn't even exist." I used to cut on myself when, stepping on a scale, I found that I hadn't lost anything, or had gained. I should've been in the hospital most of the way through college. If it were possible to hate onself to death, I'd be dead.
This assessment brought everything back. That hate, that disgust at myself for even existing, brought the depression and suicidal thoughts related to my body back nearly in full. It's hard to resist, and will probably color the rest of the week while I try to get it out of my head.
I'm fat. I'm even Death Fat, according to BMI. But you know what? I'm okay with that. I have to be, because this is the only body I have and the only life I get.
It's a long journey and I'm nowhere near the end of it. I struggle daily with the old thoughts, the old hates. But they're a lot easier to ignore than they used to be. It feels more natural to wear clothes that fit closely and show off the curves I have instead of hiding them in shapeless sacks. It feels good to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and admire the curve of my hip, the roundness of my cheek, the shape of my eyes. I refuse to let that go.
I'm not 100% a-ok perky happy cured of my depression perfection, and I never will be. Perfection is impossible. But now, when I'm hating on myself, it's not for fat. It's not for how much I weigh or the double chin or the jiggly butt or the bumpy stomach. That's a damn start.
Recommended reading: The Fantasy of Being Thin, or pretty much everything at Shapely Prose, which has become a mainstay for me.
Fuck you, health risk assessment. Fuck you and the free $45 in gift cards that I couldn't pass up. I'm going to spend them on delicious fatty groceries out of spite.
No, I'm not going to sugacoat it. I'm angry, even though what I expected was what I got.
I'm totally failing to write this clearly enough to describe why I'm feeling angry about it and just how condescending the whole thing was, so please bear with me.
There's a promotion with Medica right now to take their "Health Risk Assessment" and get a $25 gift card to Target. My company offers an additional $20 Target card for completing the assessment, on top of the $25. It's hard to pass up free $45, don't you think?
I rather wish I'd passed up that $45, for my mental health.
The assessment doesn't ask very in-depth information about diet.
It asked me how many servings of the food groups I eat a day, but no further breakdown. Then, when I answered another question that I don't actively limit the amount of fat in the foods I consume, it informed me that I need to cut down.
Nevermind the fact that there's a whole range of things within each food group that are good and not so good for you. Nevermind the fact that I may not actively limit the fat in foods I eat because maybe I just don't like fatty stuff and don't go for it naturally, therefore no limiting needed.
There was no question about calories or sugars or anything other than fat. Fat fat fat. Even though not all fats are bad fats.
This was a tip of the iceberg.
When asking for biometrics, the first three questions asked are height, weight, and waist measurement. Ahh, BMI calculator. Nevermind the fact that BMI has been shown to be ineffective in calculating health or that roughly 25 million Americans suddenly became "overweight" overnight when the standards were changed in 1998.
Here's a quote from the CNN Article at the time of the standards change: "Using the old criteria, the average woman -- with a height of 5 feet, 4 inches (1.6 meters) and weighing 155 pounds (70 kilograms) -- was considered overweight." Please read that twice. The average woman suddenly became overweight. Average, much?
Aside from diet and weight, I was offended by the overall condescending feel of the survey. As if I don't know what I need to "work on" according to their standards. As if I'm not aware that cancer of many kinds runs in my family, or that I'm probably going to develop high blood pressure and cholesterol and all sorts of things, even though those readings are all completely perfect right now.
It left a bad taste in my mouth, and was pretty triggering for old behaviors that I've tried hard to leave behind.
I'm not interested in being concern trolled. I know not everyone who has me friended is into fat acceptance. Note to you: I am, and I'm tired of hearing it the same old same old things.
I'm at a point in my life where I've finally, fucking finally allowed myself to start loving myself as I am. I refuse to allow myself to hate my body anymore. The picture I posted yesterday? I actually love. It's been 15 years since I've loved a picture of myself.
I've been on diets off and on. In high school I used to try and see how long I could go without eating at all. My mom and I dieted together. We took herbal supplements and made disgusting shakes. We cut ourselves down to a set amount of fat grams a day. We hated ourselves together. We sat down and talked about how Mom was so worried about me and my weight. I used to look at myself in a mirror and think, "you fucking waste of space, you fat disgusting whale, you shouldn't even exist." I used to cut on myself when, stepping on a scale, I found that I hadn't lost anything, or had gained. I should've been in the hospital most of the way through college. If it were possible to hate onself to death, I'd be dead.
This assessment brought everything back. That hate, that disgust at myself for even existing, brought the depression and suicidal thoughts related to my body back nearly in full. It's hard to resist, and will probably color the rest of the week while I try to get it out of my head.
I'm fat. I'm even Death Fat, according to BMI. But you know what? I'm okay with that. I have to be, because this is the only body I have and the only life I get.
It's a long journey and I'm nowhere near the end of it. I struggle daily with the old thoughts, the old hates. But they're a lot easier to ignore than they used to be. It feels more natural to wear clothes that fit closely and show off the curves I have instead of hiding them in shapeless sacks. It feels good to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and admire the curve of my hip, the roundness of my cheek, the shape of my eyes. I refuse to let that go.
I'm not 100% a-ok perky happy cured of my depression perfection, and I never will be. Perfection is impossible. But now, when I'm hating on myself, it's not for fat. It's not for how much I weigh or the double chin or the jiggly butt or the bumpy stomach. That's a damn start.
Recommended reading: The Fantasy of Being Thin, or pretty much everything at Shapely Prose, which has become a mainstay for me.
Fuck you, health risk assessment. Fuck you and the free $45 in gift cards that I couldn't pass up. I'm going to spend them on delicious fatty groceries out of spite.