I Am Still Me | In the Silence
Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman by Lindy West
Note: I read this book in May 2020 so part of this musing is from thoughts at that point in time.
Shrill, both book and tv show, is a conversational and honest perspective on the journey of being a woman, being fat, being a writer, being shy, and then being loud. Lindy West shines a spotlight on the topics we don’t listen to enough (because they’re definitely talked about!) and expresses the opinions plenty of us have, but may keep to ourselves.
To be shrill is to reach above your station; abandon your duty to soothe and please; in short, to be heard.
I appreciated that Lindy West touched on so many topics (see the favorite quotes) that emphasized the intersectionality that each of us hold. Nonetheless, one of the things West said that has stuck with me was this:
Please don’t forget: I am my body. When my body gets smaller, it is still me. When my body gets bigger, it is still me. There is not a thin woman inside me, awaiting excavation. I am one piece.
It is still me. I am one piece. In a lifelong journey of seeing my body change, willingly and unwillingly, and figuring out who I am at my core, this is a straightforward reminder that I need. Sometimes, I am still trying to ensure my weight goals are based in the desire to protect and take care of my body than in feeling the need to look a particular way that may be expected. I won’t go much more into this because there are plenty of articles and resources about our bodies and body images, plus this is only a very belated and brief musing. But I will thank this book for giving me an affirmation to continuously reflect on as my body continues to change over the years:
I am still me.
You are still you.
|Renée|
favorite quotes:
Do a good job. Be vulnerable. Make things. Choose to be kind.
We have proof, in exit polls, that white women will pawn their humanity for the safety of white supremacy.
I insisted that shoes and accessories were just “my thing,” because my friends didn’t realize that I couldn’t shop for clothes at a regular store and I was too mortified to explain it to them.
Shame is a tool of oppression, not change.
You can’t fix a problem by targeting its victims.
The only answer is to decide we’re worth helping.
Comedy doesn’t just reflect the world, it shapes it.
My body, I realized, was an opportunity. It was political. It moved the world just by existing. What a gift.
We live in a society that treats white people better than black people, and to pretend that we don’t is an act of violence.
Love with an open hand.
The real scam is that being bones isn’t enough either. The game is rigged. There is no perfection.
Very few things — apart from death and crime — have real, irreversible stakes, and when something with real stakes happen, humiliation is the least of your worries.
Being alone with another person is much worse than being alone all by yourself.
Privilege means that it’s easy for white women to do each other favors. Privilege means that those of us who need it the least often get the most help.
Denying people access to value is so incredibly insidious form of emotional violence, one that our culture wields aggressively and liberally to keep marginalized groups small and quiet. What if you could opt out of the game altogether.
To read more of my book-based musings, visit In The Silence.
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