I blame Deliciously Ella. For sweet potato brownies, sure. But also for perpetuating the modern-day obsession with health. Health as currency. Health as an indicator of value. Health as something that is achievable for anyone and everyone (if only they’d give up all of those gosh darned inflammation-causing foods!).
This occurs to me today because I wrote about the trauma of Atlas’ birth – via unscheduled C-section (“unscheduled” seeming better than “emergency” because really, it wasn’t an emergency, but nor was it a plan) – for Image.ie (I’ll be sharing it here, for paid subscribers only, on Friday), and I guess you could say that one of the resulting comments triggered me.
you and your baby are healthy that is all that matters.
Short. To the point. Presumptuous, too, if you think about it. As in: we might not be healthy. Both, or either, of us could be sick and, if we were, that would matter but so, too, would other things. Health is not the be all and end all.
It’s a topic that comes up a lot when discussing the body positivity or fat activist movements. “BUT WHAT ABOUT HEALTH?!” some idiotic keyboard warrior will interject, and all conversations will devolve into a pointless back and forth when, in fact, an individual’s health is nobody else’s business.
Furthermore! We have the right to be unhealthy. I might (still) smoke. I might drink more than the recommended number of alcohol units each week (yes, I am talking to you). I might lead an entirely sedentary lifestyle. I might have several anonymous Tattle accounts, all the better to spout nasty bullshit about women I only know from the internet. None of these are “healthy” behaviours, but I am totally and utterly entitled to engage in them.
THIS SHOULD NOT BE A RADICAL IDEA.
This obsession with health – see also wellness, mindfulness, positive thinking – is also, lest we forget, incredibly ableist. “Your health is your wealth!” we say. But does that mean we are burying everyone who’s not healthy – those with congenital diseases; people with cystic fibrosis; those with disabilities; cancer patients and so on – in pauper’s graves without a backward glance?!
Don’t get me wrong: it is great to be able to tick all of the privilege boxes. Health? Tick! Comfortable finances? Tick! Reliable (ideally pensionable) employment? Tick! Good for you!
But there are those of us who, for whatever reason, didn’t get full health at the start of this inexorable Nintendo game we call life and that doesn’t mean that we are doomed, that our lives are going to be shit, that we are not entitled to do and enjoy all of the little tiny things that are taken for granted by the “healthy” among us. (In inverted commas because, honestly, I would argue that we all have some health issues, whether physical or mental or just with the way we engage with Instagram.)
Lest you mistake this for a short, sweet, anti Deliciously Ella tirade, by the way, Gwyneth is another one. THEY’RE ALL AT IT. That’s all I have to say. (I’m very tired; my baby sleeps for maximum two hours at a time. THAT’S NOT VERY HEALTHY, I keep shouting at him, but he cares not.)
I watched the entirety of season two of Netflix’s Emily in Paris. For Not Without My Sister. (Kind of.) Our review (kind of) will be out on Friday on the podcast Patreon. The clothes are worse than ever, by the way. Haley Nahman wrote a really interesting piece about marketing, Emily in Paris and fingerless gloves. You should read it.
I’ve now started watching Stay Close, also on Netflix, and I can’t help but wonder: why can’t I have a cool name like Cush Jumbo? Cush Jumbo is an excellent name. I bet nobody messes with Cush Jumbo.
Recent ridiculous baby purchases – despite my decision not to buy any stuff in January – include this matching top and bottom set from Zara. I stg the baby needed jumpers. It’s cold in Indiana, okay?! And this little tracksuit is just the thing to ward off the -15C temperatures.