Permimenopausal Blak woman with severe, life-long, body dysmorphia posts photos of her in bathers on the socials, gets back love.

 This blog post is going to do what it says on the tin, with added context. I am writing it because, via an overwhelming positive reaction to some photos I took of myself enjoying the R&R at Wai Ariki Thermal Baths in Rotorua, I have actually had to stop and reflect, not just on why I was able to post such photos in the first place, but what the positive reaction to these shots has meant to me, and why that needs unpacking.

I have suffered from crippling body dysmorphia my entire life. It started when I was very young. In fact, I think if I were to go back over the photo albums, I would struggle to find any photos of me in bathers, or anything which shows any skin at all, from about 7 years old onwards. I have written this before on here, but to re-contextualise, as a very young child, I was continually body-shamed. I cannot remember the first time someone pointed out to me that I was "fat" or "solid", but I know that it happened before I turned ten. I was growing into a tall and broad-shouldered build with natural tone, and would be often compared to my younger sister who was smaller and slighter in build. She would be called "skinny and miserable" whereas I always was told I needed to lose a few kilos.

This criticism continued into my teen years. I am rehashing here so for those who have already read this before, apologies and skip ahead beyond the next two paragraphs. In year 8, I was told by two boys in my class that a vote had been held, and I had been voted the "ugliest girl" in the class. I was called fat many times until I was 16 when, in a weird sort of turn of events, I got my first boyfriend and via him, I had heard that another girl in my year who was dating his friend had said that the thought I was "pretty", but that there was just "something about me" that she didn't like or get. I don't think she knows just how much that comment meant to me. Even though she had judged my personality without cause, she had also been the first person to comment positively and without equivocation on my appearance.

This continued. I had been told I needed to lose weight in order to do gymnastics, so I eventually dropped it. I described myself as having "battleship hips" when I was 17 when, looking at pictures of myself right now, I know I am quite slim-hipped. Family feedback on my appearance was always negative, and when I gained weight due to developing severe depression in my late 20s while being in a toxic and abusive relationship, their feedback was utterly brutal. I remember one sibling having the hide to tell me that their criticism of my weight gain had "inspired" me to do something about it, and I think they were a little shocked to be informed that it sent me further down the well to the point where I even pondered self-harm. Getting out of that relationship meant that my mental health improved, and so my weight dropped to what I would call my "normal" - I am 172cm tall, and between a size 10 and 12. 

I maintained that size throughout my 30s with little effort. However, in a real turn up for the books, myself and Ruby Hamad ended up enduring a pile-on by "body positivity activists" who claimed that a remark by me (which was actually just an honest comment on online hate, and unpacking how it operates intersectionally for women of colour) threw fat women under the bus and as we were both "skinny", it was particularly harmful. Of course, these activists didn't unpack the actual comment, nor did they engage with either of our cultural backgrounds and journeys through body dysmorphia (which we both had stuggled with). It was a surface level outrage fest and though I acknowledge the right to feel pain in this world that is so unkind to women based on our appearances, I don't think nearly cancelling two women of colour without exploring actual context, or knowing their own journeys through dysmorphia, is the way to go about it.

There's an additional thing - I think this is why I enjoyed loads of sex in my late-teens and also in my 30s. Partly, it was because the act is simply fun. Partly though, it was because it gave me freedom from my dysmophia. Experiencing this continuously criticised (by myself, and by others) body in a pleasurable way was incredibly liberating. So too was going to day spas in Europe where everyone is naked. You get the freedom to experience your body as simply functional in this circumstance, with everyone having a different one, and that being OK.

ANYWAY, I am repeating. My second big battle with depression and therefore weight gain came during the lockdowns. As well as the many problems with the VicGov approach (policing a health crisis), I have never really properly acknowledged how triggering being forced to stay at home was for me. It was like I was back in that abusive relationship of my late-20s, but this time, it was with the government. Photo evidence proves my gain then - the photos of when I was a Greens candidate were taken when I was carrying 25kgs more than I am now, by a photographer who tried to spin it positively by telling me the weight gain had "taken years off (my) face". Like before, when the lockdowns ended, my mental health improved, and because my brain wasn't having to work so hard to just cope, my metabolism kicked back in and here I am again, at my "normal" size.

Of course, that has never stopped the dysmorphia. I have improved, and am much closer to self-acceptance than I have even been, but perimenopause has added a variable. Now, I'm size 10 to 12, but I ache more often, I pluck stray hairs more often, I bleed more often or not at all, etc. People keep regurgitating that this change tends to lead to weight gain for women, and therefore there's this cloud of ridiculous paranoia hanging around my head, telling me I am going to have to shift 25kgs again soon, and for the third time in my life. It's messing with me. And simply accepting myself if I do get bigger is a huge ask for someone with three bulging discs - as well as being not happy in my body, I also risk putting further strain on injuries I live with every day. Anyway...

I don't know what prompted me to post my photos at Wai Ariki. I think I wanted to show myself having a bit of R&R in what is one of the most incredible landscapes I have ever been to. I think I was also trying to liberate myself from my own dysmorphia. I see people post photos of themselves swimming in their bathers all the time, and in a way, I have been envious that they are so present in their own bodies. I was not expecting the positive reaction I did get.

I mean, as well as over 100 likes on Facebook, people were stating that I looked "hot", and one person even cheekily referred to one photo as a "thirst trap" 😂. That was definitely not the intention of my posting it, but it was bloody nice to see that it could be read as such. In particular though, folks commented on my looking relaxed. That, in itself, was a massive achievement. I mean, not only am I a 47yo Blak woman with body dysmorphia, but I also went bathing not giving a shit about my leg and armpit hair. So there you have it. One simple act of posting pics got read in positive ways I had never intended, and also that I had never experienced, and thus, I am so grateful to all who interacted with these photos (reposted below) positively.

Body dysmorphia is a bitch, and my solidarity with all who, like me, battle it. May we get to a day where we can simply "be".

We lost in Melbourne

 I am trying to think how I can process my personal grief and anger at what transpired during yesterday's White Nationalist parade. And I do feel both because I am an old war horse around the traps, I have seen a number of successful anti-fascist actions in my time, and yesterday wasn't one of them. It was devastating.

However we, as the Left, and as those who stand against racism and fascism, and for multiculturalism, justice and equality, need to start with being honest with ourselves. Stating that we were vastly outnumbered is inaccurate. The numbers were roughly equal. Indeed, they were perhaps slightly in our favour. Yet the white nationalists still somehow got to goose-step themselves up Swanston and Bourke Streets to then have a rousing bunch of speeches with NSN leader Tom Sewell welcomed to the stage with open arms. That shouldn't have happened. It really, bloody, shouldn't have happened.

What did I observe then? Well, for starters, I got to the Library as the end of the crowd was joining the march down Swanston. I was late and missed all the speeches. I then sought to move through the crowd to the front like the seasoned protest navigator I am. The front was at Little Collins Street, so that's a good three city blocks (or six, depending on your counting and cartography preferences). That's roughly 5000+. At the Collins St intersection, those who had made their way from the Federation Square counter action to the Palestine rally were waiting. Some of these people had already been brutalised and were shaken, so were so thankful to see the crowd. A wall of police, including mounties and fully suited PORT officers blocked us off from the white nationalists.

Aerial photography shows that the number of nationalists was roughly similar in size to us. Certainly, they did not "vastly outnumber us", as I have seen some claim. Given the size of our crowd, and what forms "direct action" can take, what I believe should have happened next was that we held Swanston Street by locking in, sitting down, and refusing to give them passage. A blockade as a form of counteraction can be incredibly effective, particularly if you have a big group of people making this collective statement, AND the tactic is well-communicated so those in attendance know and are pulling together. If they want confrontation, we are waiting for them, and it's on our terms on our streets.

What our side did instead was this:

1. Split off to counteract some fascist breakaway groups in side streets - this caused confusion with many in the larger group unaware of what was going on;

2. Gave conflicting messages - at one point, half the megaphones were yelling to go to Parliament, while the other half were yelling to go to the Library. Attendees had NFI which way to go. With friends, I opted for towards Parliament, and literally all this achieved was us all getting trapped by more police on Russell, watching the nationalists walk up Bourke;

3. Fragment the group - as mentioned above, with bits of the anti-racism group getting broken off every which way, we ended up with smaller groups of some very vulnerable people. They will always "vastly outnumber us" if we are fragmented enough to be pockets of action, rather than a cohesive collective. In at least one instance I know of, a young woman was assaulted by NSN thugs while alone and trying to find her way to the crowd;

4. Clear the path - with these little groups breaking off, any chance of mass "you shall not pass" statements captured by aerial media photography were dashed. Because everyone was off in small pockets everywhere, Swanston Street again became fair game, and the white nationalists then marched up there, and then up Bourke, to land at parliament and cheer their Nazi speeches.

I have been to many anti-fascist rallies over the decades, but never have I felt as individually unsafe as I did yesterday. Indeed, myself, a trans woman, and two lesbians ended up dashing down two laneways, and across Bourke between clumps of "proud Aussies" from Russell Street in an attempt to find a larger, and safer, collective. As a fellow old war horse pointed out to me, at previous antifa and anti-racism actions, because the collective held the line, communicated the tactics, and didn't budge until the outnumbered Nazis were on their way home, "you'll always lose in Melbourne" became a popular victory chant. Well, the Nazis didn't lose in Melbourne yesterday. The streets were theirs, and due to our own disorganisation, miscommunication, and failure to protect the collective, it was partly our fault.

To hear this all culminated in a savage attack on Camp Sovereignty has further infuriated me. Nazis were so emboldened, they went to a sacred site, and bashed Blak women. This should NEVER have happened.

We simply cannot allow such an avoidable mess to happen on our streets again. If those sitting comfy on their couches at home, watching this unfold, really do care, I suggest you get off your arses, join the action, and make "never again" truly happen. To leftist organisers, I say know your tactics, assess your situation and numbers, make a collective decision, communicate it to all other organisers, and then stick to it. Don't lead vulnerable people off into potentially dangerous situations because you don't know what you're doing, and DO NOT CEDE GROUND. To those who were there - try not to be too disheartened. It was a fucken awful day, but we can turn this around.

Finally, I am putting my money where my big mouth is. If people want me, and reckon I can help, I am available to do so. As an Arrernte woman, I never want to see us lose in Melbourne again.

UPDATE: I have been sent video footage of the white nationalist gathering which presents a different view to the aerial I had previously seen. This footage indicates that their crowd numbers were bigger than I had seen. Regardless of size though, my points stand with regards to what unfolded on our side.