rejection and fatness

I wanted a man.  What did I want him for?  I wanted to share a significant love–I wanted to matter to him.  I wanted to do something advanced and long term.  He thought about it.  My sexual desires got mixed into all of this.  His sexual desires, not so much?  It brought up pain about rejection and fatness.

Yes, this most recent one.  Every time I want a person who does not want me, especially a man, maybe it’s my fatness.  Of course–I am too fat.  Of course, most people are not interested in my body type.  Only strange people want to have sex with me.  I am Too Much, inside and out.

Ah, pause to cry here.  Nest, you can cry one tear or a thousand.  This is a deep pain, and I’ll wait.


It takes someone remarkable to like all different body types, such as my spouse.  He likes fat people, thin people, medium people, all different kinds of disabled people.  Multi ethnicities and multi genders, but dudes less.

But he likes me extra special.  We have a long time under our belts, loving one another with abundant sex and care.

There are people who have a thing for fat bodies, which I have never experienced.  Usually chubby chasers seem to enjoy fat folx who are doing gender in a cis way.  I am doing gender more creatively.

upper butt

This picture of me sitting on the bed–I was curious, how my upper butt area looks and asked my spouse to take a picture.  Then I was surprised I really like this picture.  The rolls of fat on my sides, the upper butt’s roundness, a general glowy plumpness.  Looks cuddly, substantial, alive.

Yes, I would love me, and I do.  I would fuck me also.

Culture taught me these rolls of fat are bad.  It took decades to learn how to say no to that.  Thin is not better.  Standard notions of health are not better.  That’s eugenics bullshit.

I don’t exist to look appealing to anyone.  My body is mine.  And I don’t exist to be healthy for other people either.  Personally I prefer health, but on my terms.  No one knows my history, trauma, or health needs.  You can see my fatness and make assumptions, but you really don’t know why I’m fat, or how that feels to me.

rejection and fatness

I’ve done so much work to undo the damage culture did to me, about disability and fatness.  But rejection is enough to set me back to square one.  At least partially, for a while.  The deep faith is still there, but unexpressed.

Mostly I’m back to being a teenager or kid or young adult who’s terrified of the judgement I feel of my body, with nowhere to hide.

I’m sorry I was so presumptuous to think I could be beautiful to you.  So sorry I made the mistake of believing I could be desired and safe in your embrace or gaze.  What a fool I am, to think I could be valuable to you, body and soul.

Really my fatness is always here, undeniable.  But these mostly-men who reject me–boners were there.  A thrill somehow did occur.

It’s not that I wasn’t good enough to elicit a sexual response.  It’s more that I’m a complete, emotional being.  Yes, it’s not that I was sexually unwanted.  It was something else.

  • I would not improve their social standing.
  • They would need to be real about emotions and love with me.
  • My genius was too much for them.
  • I don’t fuck around.
  • They’re afraid of emotions.
  • They are normal men with terror of intimacy.
  • Goddess energy is not their favorite.
  • I notice everything.
  • They’re afraid of commitment, and I’m all about interdependence and facing deep needs together.
  • My queerness confused them.
  • I’m not easy.
  • My relationship with my spouse is amazing and that must be intimidating to some–they could never even approach my spouse’s level of awesome.
  • I’m not what they’ve been taught to want, and making our own paths is scary and exhausting.

How do you sit with rejection?  From a job, a community you wanted to live in, a loved one, a man you wanted to open up to.  A man you wanted to hold, kiss, and go down on.  A man you wished to fuck you countless times and make a little healing with.

Good medicine with a regular man, but he did not choose me.  I can see the good medicine inside him, but it has no way of reaching me.  It glows with a light of its own, and I let go of the dream.

When I’m angry, I think “Enjoy what you choose, mutherfucker.”  When I’m sad, I just hide out.

I wish the ladies and enbies I’m close to who know how to love would ask for my hand in girlfriendness and go somewhere deep with me.  Preferably deep with consistency, a strapon, and abundant loving kindness.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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