Letter to our dear Candidate

Dear Mr. Romney,

As a young, college educated, lower-middle class, and female parent, it is amazing for me to think that only 47% would automatically side against you.

Why would a young person vote for you?  You are blatantly out of touch with what is important to people who are under 30.

Why would someone who is college educated vote for you?  You are not concerned with carving the road towards a more lucrative education system that does not drown its students in debt, and starve its academics.   Teachers, principles, and child care professionals are the least appreciated folk in our country.   For the hours of preparation, the personal resources unaccounted for that are used for the classroom, the extra time taken out of one’s day – it is not an 9-5 job.   There are so many unpaid hours.   So much work, often unaccounted for.   All for a teacher to be graded by how their students can memorize standardized bubble tests.

Why would anyone in their right mind vote for you if they make less than twenty thousand…hell, hundred thousand per year?!  You define middle class as over two hundred thousand: why, so you can justifiably give rich people greater tax breaks?  Your personal wealth is and always has been so enormous that it is a joke to surmise that you can relate to anyone attempting to make a life off of minimum wage – more correctly referred to as dirt-poor-cannot-sustain-yourself-nor-your-family-off-this wage.

There is not much more that upsets me more than to see females who claim to support you.   Based off of your policy and what you say on the campaign (not what you used to say in campaigns past), you fundamentally see women as helpless, second-class citizens who cannot make our own decisions.   That’s it.   You cannot be a self-loving, independent person and agree with your policies on choice.

From what I can tell, your policy on family is fine; have a gaggle of kids, easily support all of them with the money your money makes on interest, and live easily.   Not quite so simple when you have to apportion your paychecks week to week, rarely coming up with a surplus to put into savings.

And by the way, I am a responsible adult.  I care for my child.  I accept some welfare for the duration of my maternity/paid family leave.   I have two jobs - one which I'm working while I'm supposed to bond with my child because between my two jobs, and my husband's job working midnight to 8am at a Casino, it is still very difficult to make ends meet.  I have earned my Bachelor's degree, thankfully without any help and without debt - but so few people can say that.  Unlike you, I could not merely ask for help from my parents to pay for college.  Tadd has earned his A.S.  but with help - and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that because part of what made my country great is that we ARE entitled to an education -- but somewhere along the way that has been lost.   Education was never supposed to be the gift of the privileged.   It has always been the nexus of the American Dream.   Now, we teachers whose jobs and pensions are a joke; we have kids who cannot pass the high school exit exam nor even graduate; and we have college tuitions skyrocketing, quality of education plummeting, frazzled professors…need I say more?

Not one person is entirely self made.  Even you are not entirely as self made as you proclaim.  You know what's more?  I may receive money back from the government, but nobody keeps as much as you do!  It is hard for me to believe that you pay anything in taxes with your blatant censorship of your earnings.   If you would like me to pay more in taxes, you ought to consider paying a living wage; I would appreciate being able to support my little family.

Do you know what I do with my tax refund, Mr. Romney?  I save it with the hopes of possibly being able to purchase a home.  He has enough at the end of each year to purchase a few thousand homes the size and price range I would struggle to afford.   And even if my dream were not so noble, you have no right to tell me that I do not deserve the money I receive post-filing.   For me and many, it is the difference of standard of living, quality of life.   Issues you have never battled.

I do not have any entitlement issues because I believe that I deserve to purchase a home for my family to live permanently, to own; I am currently preparing to move for the third time in 10 months, thus the issue especially hits home.  I do not have entitlement issues because I believe that my two month old son deserves the same quality and accessibility to health care as the likes of you.  I certainly do not have entitlement issues when I think that millionaires can pay steeper taxes so the poorer of society can have food...with a table for one's family to gather around inside a safe home to eat within.

I DO have issues with those that believe that they are what makes this country great because "they made that," or whatever your campaign has heralded.   No.  WE made this.  WE ALL made this.  All successful businesses and companies thrive because of roads, because of communities, because of TAXES, and because of consumers who were willing to trust the product.  I essentially have issues with those who tell me I have issues.  Try living on this end of the spectrum, sir.  I am fortunate compared to the truly poor.  Try forging a living at Starbucks or at a Casino or at McDonalds or as a teacher and tell me that I have entitlement issues.

Basically Mr. Romney: Fuck you and that very expensive [tax exempt] horse you rode in on.

Sincerely a woman who would never vote for you,
Caitlin Sawatsky

Fat (With Pictures!)

Regardless of your sex, age, race, gender identity, marital or socioeconomic status…even education level, fat is something that plays a role in how one views the self.  I don’t care if you say that you are completely content with your outward appearance (which I’m sure few people would say), attention to anatomy is one thing we as Americans all have in common, unfortunately -- don’t you wish you could focus on something that mattered. 

As much as I’d like to say it does not, our feelings of self worth are so tied to the way we look - and I am not avant-garde in presuming this.  Thus, it does matter.  You can't stand in line at a grocery store without being bombarded with the message (aimed mostly at women, but increasingly more at men) that you can lose weight fast; you can look perfect if you take this; you can be who you want to be if spend money on this product or take this article’s advice.  How many different commercials peddling the magical cure of your fatness interrupt your favorite soaps?   Certain spam is aimed at the email addresses of certain demographics - obviously missing the mark on the many occasions I receive penis enlargement promos.  Those obnoxious banner ads on your most frequented websites even tout the benefits of taking whatever ridiculously named product.  I’ll even serenade you with the most recent weight loss product commercial on memory – shake your sensa much? 

As a young lass conquering my middle school awkwardness, and growing into my high school rebelliousness, my jelly roll was my main concern: it was the little pooch that hung between my belly button and the button of my jeans.   No amount of pushups destroyed this thing and let me tell you, I would do hundreds every night fueled by relentless jelly roll hatred.  Mind you, I was a skinny little twerp.

Proof  that body issues affect everyone.  I have probably pissed off many by complaining.

Jumping forward a few years, after high school and into college I grew into myself.   A loud, confident personality with no room for image issues – granted, they lingered as they likely do for even the most self-loving individual.  Once I realized that no matter how skinny I am, I will have muffin top in certain clothes; that no one notices my butt dimples as much as I do; that everyone jiggles a little when they walk; that no, I will never lose the jelly roll.  And by the way Caitlin, all women have a little jelly roll - that airbrushing and Photoshop is partly to blame for the images constantly thrust in my face.  I came to a point in my life where I was comfortable with myself. 

Then pregnancy happened.   As I got bigger, people constantly told me how beautiful I was.  I swear, this is the only time in a woman’s life where the fatter she is, the more compliments she receives; moreover, everyone told me how tiny I was!  

  

Never tell a woman late in the stages of pregnancy that she is 'tiny.'  She likely does not agree.

And it was perfect!   I ate a ton, I mocked my shifting body, I danced for everyone because it looked funny and I literally had the perfect excuse for everything: 

Hungry?  Tired?  Feeling fat?  Walking around naked?  Don’t want to pick that up?  Picking your nose?  Have horrendous gas?  Leaving the house in a moo-moo?  Sleeping in the middle of the day? 

That’s okay, you’re pregnant. 

What I found most amusing was how when I called myself fat – in a proud, jesting manner – whomever was around would quickly jump to my aid with the same line every time: “you aren’t fat.  You’re PREGNANT” -- as if I didn’t know.   Hey, thanks for telling me!   I find it depressing that even the word ‘fat’ carries such a negative connotation.  That a fat person – oh, that’s they’re fault.  But if you’re pregnant, you at least have a good excuse to be…dare I say, fat. 

Where am I going with this?  I don’t know either.  I saw an image of Jessica Simpson via the internet, and she was pregnant – what many might deem a brick house; the un-pretty kind of pregnant.  The formerly petite bombshell has received much flack for her new body – to which I respond with a [pardon my French] ‘shut the hell up’ – or more accurately, a ‘who cares.’ I have lately spent much time looking at my own post-partum body and developed some mild post-partum depression (only kidding – that is a serious condition not to be taken lightly…the way I just did).  After seven weeks, I still cannot fit comfortably into old clothes, my stretch marks are raging pink flames...now my jelly roll jiggles and sneaks above my pants to dangle alla ‘muffin top’ – in whatever I wear.  Every day I weigh myself much to Mr.  Patrick's chagrin…yup, [insert number] more pounds to go until pre-pregnancy weight; yup, the roll still jiggles when I move like that; nope my pants still don’t button comfortably. 

Why do I care so much?  I’ll tell you why: 

Throughout my entire life, I have been told who and what I have to be in order to be conventionally pretty.   I have been indoctrinated into American’s need-to-be-skinny culture (regardless of the vigorous obesity epidemic).  I am told from a very young age a very narrow definition of beauty, including narrow waistlines among other pieces of the image puzzle.  Not only am I told what beauty is, I am told that I am only worth something if I fit within that definition of beautiful. 

So here’s the question: who created the designation, and when was it created?  I have my ideas and my answer, but we should all evaluate it for ourselves.  At some point in every person’s life, we ought to look within ourselves and figure out when it was that we decided we were or were not beautiful and who/what led us to that decision.  Truth is, we are all beautiful.  I hate to wring out old, tired clichés but it is true.  There is something about every person (a lot of somethings, maybe only one something) that is worthwhile – physically or otherwise.  And of course, that other ‘beholder’ cliché: we all see beauty in our own way, defining every person based on our own preferences. 

So when will I let go of the jelly roll?  Likely never.  But hey, realizing I have a problem is the first step, right?   So here are some images which are admittedly really difficult to post, but here goes.   Another step towards acceptance?   

(It better be.)

Meet Jelly Roll: side view; pants buttoned, attempting to ignore the urge to suck him in.

 Pants unbuttoned because that is most comfortable.

 Painful close-up of the jelly roll.

Like those stretch marks?  Special thanks to my son, Elijah.

On a completely different note, I have to admit that I liked most of my friends more when they were fat, before they lost weight.  What a cruel thing to say to someone who has finally achieved something they have likely obsessed over for any number of months or years.  But really, judgments and cruelty aside…I liked you more when you were fat.  Just adopt your fat personality and you’ll be likable again. 

Something to chew on: for whom do we aim to be beautiful?  For ourselves?  Our lovers?  Our potential lovers?  Our competition? 

And now I have to stick my boob into an angry nugget’s mouth.  One thing I do have to say is, I love my new boobs and hope they never go anywhere, being a woman who previously didn't fill out an A cup.

To another [beautifully fat] day!
Caitlin