Not to rant, but...

I never intended this blog to be a place to rant, but I'm in need of some therapeutic venting.

Sometimes we can all feel a little fragile. For me, as a woman, I notice these things are often due to things that are mostly outside of my control. It could be hormonal, the effect of missing the boost of my body preparing for the possibility of new life. It could be that little bit of sexism I get every day, be it men taking up more than their fair share of a seat on the train or the way the world pummels me with how I'm supposed to look, act, feel, and think. It could even be feeling the injustice of how good some people have it, while others in so many places are being actively being destroyed by cultures of war, consumption, injustice, inequity, or even just plain violence. So yes, sometimes it gets a bit too much, and all it takes is one more asshat with one more snide comment or judgmental sneer to push me into a pool of anger, sadness, and/or anxiety (I guess depending on what kind comment it is).

So here's my story. Yesterday I went to the doctor because I've been feeling a bit unwell. I wanted to make sure that something wasn't wrong, like seriously wrong, that would cause me to feel how I did. In short, my head-achey, stomach-churning, heart-racing feelings were probably due to anxiety, but anxiety over what? Yes, I stress about my school work, but I also enjoy it. I feel incredibly lucky to glean the satisfaction that I do from my occupation. Yes, I have a cat and housework and things piling up all the time that need to get done, but so what? Don't eat off my floor, but who eats off of the floor anyway? And yes, I've put on about 3 kg extra that I don't want- but I can also do clapping push-ups, a couple of pull-ups, and pistol squats, and I can run 5k without too much concentration. As they say, muscle weighs more than fat. My ticker ticks, I'm fit as a fiddle, and I have the core strength of the Hulk. So something, I thought, must be going on, hence a trip to the GP.

The GP, Dr A, without taking my pulse, without even asking me how I feel, instantly tells me that I need more exercise, and also to drop some weight. Thanks, asshole. So an anxious woman walks into your office, concerned about her health, and you tell her something that she hears from every television, every pop-star, every advertisement, every magazine. Dr A consulted his knowledge (opinion?) of what healthy females look like, super-imposed that image over me as I sat nervously in his office, and made the call without quantitatively measuring one single aspect of my health. I think Dr A deserves a poo-coloured medal for contributing to my unhappiness, for being that jerk who pushed me over the edge. And what infuriates me is that I let him.

For some context, my BMI puts me at the lighter end of "overweight". Bear in mind, this same scale puts people who look skeletal on the lower end of the "healthy" range, and labels some Olympic athletes confidently in the middle of the "obese" category. The drawbacks of the BMI scale are well and truly known by most people who actually care about the public's health and well-being, yet many doctors rely on this number to draw conclusions about a patient's health. And in my case, without even checking my pulse, my blood pressure, my body temperature, or investigating how much I sleep, what I eat, and whether I've had any sort of traumatic incidents happen recently (or ever).  Dr A didn't even ask me if I was pregnant, or menstruating, or on any medication.

Now, when I left the doctor's office, I will confess that I burst into tears. I confess this not to fish for sympathy from anyone, nor to reach out for help, but instead to illustrate my point- we all feel a bit fragile sometimes. If I knew how often other people couldn't take it anymore and just let go (whether through crying, punching pillows, being snitty with a shopkeeper, or whatever), I think I'd feel more normal. I'm done pretending I'm strong all the time, and I'm done pretending that everybody, in fact anybody, has their life any more together than I do. We're all struggling on one level or another.

Anyway, I held it together long enough to buy some milk, and then sobbed quietly to myself as I trudged up the hill to my apartment, hating my messed up mood, hating my supposedly unfit, overweight self, hating the fact that I still had no answer as to why I felt so shitty. I proceeded to internalise all the shittiness of what had just happened to me, blaming it on myself. I almost felt deserving of such an asinine diagnosis because I couldn't deal with my problems myself. I discussed the shittiness with my husband, who, being a bit more rational than I was at the time, reminded me that I am healthy and strong, and that Dr A deserves to lose my business. I had a chat with another good friend who confirmed that Dr A was a fool, and that she knew a doctor who approached health as something a bit more holistic- and gave me that doctor's number. And after that, I felt better. Maybe not 100%, but enough to get me started on making my own choices on what to listen to, who to believe, and what to do to bring balance back to my mind.

And then I did what I always do when I need to center myself, I went for a run. It wasn't a punishing run, and it most definitely wasn't spurred by the advice of my doctor. I jogged leisurely around the park a couple of times, watching old men play with their granddaughters, watching young men practice footy, watching grandmas do tai-chi, watching women chasing kids chasing puppies. And I did feel better, not because I was burning calories, but because I was connecting to my own strength, my own resilience, and my own power. Endorphins, yep, for sure they made me feel better- but so did realising that I don't need to listen to all the shittiness. And guess what? I feel better, I feel stronger, I feel more closely connected to the ground that I stand on and the people I stand with.

So, the bottom line is that it's time to stop taking crap from people, particularly people who have no right or ability to make any sort of call about lifestyles, health, and well-beings other than their own. It was shocking to me that a doctor could fall into that category- I've always been under the impression that doctors tend to know what they're talking about. We're all smart enough to know when someone is talking bullshit, but for some reason, (I at least) still assume that even if somebody is spouting bullshit they are worth listening to if they have a degree/suit/office/whatever to validate their nonsensical advice/diatribe. What's up with that? Enough is enough. Sorry Dr A, I refuse to become an miserable waif in support of your quest to maintain your schedule- don't worry though, you won't be seeing me again.