Look, I Made a Shirt (where there never was a shirt)

CW:  disordered eating, anxiety, panic attack

About a month ago, I joined a gym.  It had been over two years since I belonged to a gym (in part because of Our Lady of Virus, Corona, obviously).  There were a number of reasons for my not wanting to belong to a gym, including the aforementioned, but a major concern of mine was my recent recovery from disordered eating.  Gyms are, often, spaces where a lot of weight-loss talk tends to come up, and I wasn't really interested in participating in anything like intentional weight loss, especially in relation to exercise.  I've been focusing on a philosophy of body neutrality, and I didn't want to risk being sucked back into the mentality of shrinking myself again.  

I did find a fantastic space to exercise, with knowledgeable coaches and friendly exercisers.  I spoke frankly with the onboarding coach about my history of disordered eating, and he was sensitive and understanding.  He and the other coaches seemed ready to meet me where I was and to help me focus on my own goals of building muscle and gaining mobility and endurance.  

Eager to be part of the community, I accepted an invitation to an online meeting on a weekday afternoon.  I was excited to get to know the other members I might see in classes.  We weren't 3 minutes into the meeting when the first person started to talk about the weight she had lost that week.  Another expressed her disappointment in not losing weight.  Everyone wanted to talk about weight loss.  I started to hear whooshing in my ears, pounding in my chest.  I thought, surely I could sit here and listen to others talk about *their* goals.  People are free to lose weight if they want to, after all.  But the pounding and the whooshing became louder.  I started looking around my room, trying to find something to focus on, something safe in the here and now that would keep me from re-entering my prior trauma.  And then came the voice, the one that starts screaming "get out get out get out get OUT GET OUT YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE".

I privately messaged the meeting leader that I had to excuse myself and then dissolved into a trembling, wailing, nonverbal meltdown for about 30 solid minutes.  I slid to the floor and banged my limbs on the hard wood as words screamed in my head.  But my voice could only utter cries and panting breath as I tried desperately to hold on to the meal I had eaten earlier, as the muscles in my body pulsed and contracted.  I pressed palms of hands to my eyes to keep out the light, so that I could descend into the void of my imagination, only vaguely aware of my surroundings.  

My husband was home.  He cared for me as soon as and as much I was able to be cared for, and once my brain could bring the words back to my mouth, we talked about what sent me into such a tailspin.  I told him I still wanted to go to the gym (and I have since had several conversations with the coaches--I'm very pleased with the workouts and will continue there) but that I wished I could wear some kind of banner that would let everyone know right away that thinness was uninteresting to me.  I want to make it clear that I'm there for the weights, for the jumps, for the sweaty strength and community cardio. I want to advertise to anyone who can see my shirt that I will *not* be talking to you about my weight, your weight, or anyone else's weight, for that matter.  

If necessity is the mother of invention, perhaps aggravation is the mother of inspiration.  Some of my designs are completely unrelated to anti-diet messaging, but many are.  More designs are coming, but here it is: the official announcement of my line of Tater-Tot forward athleisure and random housewares.  Please enjoy, and thank you for reading its origin story.

https://getfedgear.threadless.com/

https://getfedgear.threadless.com/