What Women Weigh

Happy Friday, everyone! Most of you know that I write monthly for Fit is a Feminist Issue; I don’t always share that writing here, but today I will because this morning’s post has a teaching and learning angle. It’s about women, weight, and stigma, and it’s gotten enough traction over at FFI and on Facebook that I’d like to capitalise (a little!) on it here, too. I hope especially that you’ll share it with your daughters and sons, friends’ children, and the young people in your classroom.

Best weekend wishes!


The morning after the presidential election I had my regular quarterly checkup with my rheumatologist, a wonderful south Asian-Canadian woman who treats my Ankylosing Spondylitis. I was already reeling from exhaustion and sorrow and rage because, you know; then I remembered that I would have to get on the schmancy digital scale the nursestrot you past before taking your blood pressure and making you wait.Cue… feelings.

I don’t own a scale and I don’t mind them all that much, to be honest. I know what I weigh, for training purposes, and I know when my body feels strong and comfortable in my favourite outfits. (I am a clothes horse, for which I thank my fantastically hedonistic psychotherapist.) But I get anxious getting on the scale all the same; this is learned anxiety. I grew up fearing my weight – fearing being weighed. I grew up fearing the scale’s gaze, like…

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