#mobility issues

[artsy-biggirl]

Mobility assistance

[neurotypicalabusesurvivor]

This is a friendly reminder that none disabled people often do benefit from the same accommodations disabled people benefit from.

[stuffieautism]

if you didn’t realize, ableism is actually bigotry and systemic ableism and inaccessibility are really oppression and it’s not something disabled people brought on ourselves by having bodies&minds that you think are inferior and therefore not worth fighting for. disabled people’s lives and wellbeing matter. we don’t have to earn our worthiness by doing “enough” to deserve a good life. nobody does.

[buried-dog]

"baby proofed" more like disabled proof.

I've been fighting with a bottle of cough syrup for solid 8 minutes

WTF does a cough syrup need a child proofed cap? It's cough syrup, not bleach!

Which, BTW, is less child proof than this motherfucker

Why, Poland, why?

[mxmorbidmidnight]

To fellow physically disabled people I highly recommend saying PARKCORE whenever you try to stand up. Makes the struggle very epic poggers.

[the-angry-acrobat]

I love the idea of not being in pain constantly. ah well

[heavy--feels]

Don't Be Afraid to Grow... (Commission)

When you start testosterone, you are scared of gaining weight and becoming fat. Thankfully, you have a great therapist who encourages you to challenge your fears... and then to embrace them.

Thank you so much to @erotiqueme for this commission! <3 Would you like to commission me? Head over to my Ko-Fi page :)

Story TWs: internalized fatphobia, manipulation, gaslighting

***

200 pounds.

You looked into the mirror. Ever since you started taking testosterone, your hunger spiralled out of control. As a result, you gained 30 pounds in the last six months, and you were now looking at a decidedly more masculine, and yet also chubbier version of you. You loved all the changes that testosterone brought – the hairier body, the slightly different face shape, the voice that was about to crack – and yet, this is not how you imagined yourself to be. In your fantasies, you’d transform into a handsome guy, not… this. Chubby all over, with a slightly protruding, pudgy belly and the beginnings of a double chin. Of course this is how it’s going to end for me, you thought. All the other trans guys will end up gorgeous and I’ll be the ugly fatso.

***

“I’m… I guess I’m just afraid that I’ll end up ugly. I’m already getting there.” That’s how you finished your long monologue during one of your many therapy sessions. Your therapist was great, she helped you so much with accepting and embracing your trans identity, but right now, you felt like you were hitting a block.

“I think it’s worth to deconstruct the idea of ‘ugly’ a little bit more,” she said presently. “What comes to your mind when you think about yourself as ‘ugly’?”

“Well…” You blushed. “Fat. That’s what comes to mind. I’m really not trying to be fatphobic, but like… I’m scared of being fat. Sweaty. Out of breath all the time. Outgrowing all my clothes. You know. Ugly.”

Your therapist nodded stoically and scribbled something down in her notebook. “Internalized fatphobia is difficult to overcome,” she pointed out. “After all, we’re surrounded by it. And trans men and trans-masculine people in particular are under all that pressure to fit into some intangible ideal of ‘masculinity’. So much pressure to look ‘fit’, to become even more masculine that cis men. Feeling like only becoming a conventionally attractive guy would somehow ‘justify’ their transition… Does that ring true to you?”

Your mouth hung open. She had such a way with words! “Yeah,” you choked out. “Yeah, that’s all so true. I could never put it into words so well.”

She gave you a small smile. “I have a suggestion, and you can tell me if it’s something that sounds good to you, okay?”

You nodded.

“Let’s try to dig deeper into your fears. Say, imagine that the worst thing you’re fearing actually happened. You gained a lot of weight, you’re undeniably fat, and you don’t fit into male beauty standards. What in particular about that situation are you afraid of?”

“Well…” You paused, thinking hard. “I guess that people will mock me. That they’ll say I ‘ruined myself’ with transition.”

“And tell me, why would you be concerned by opinions of people who would say such things?”

“I… I don’t know.” You sighed. “I guess I shouldn’t really care about assholes. But I’m also scared that my friends won’t like me anymore. That any potential partners wouldn’t want me.”

“Fear of rejection is very understandable. But also, tell me – would you like to be a friend or a partner to someone who would reject you over weight gain?”

“I… I guess not. So you’re saying that it could be a test of sorts? Like, if someone stops liking me because of how I look, they weren’t my real friend in the first place?”

She smiled. “Exactly. And that brings another suggestion.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe instead of just imagining what would happen in your worst case scenario, you could try living it out.”

“Um… in what way?”

“You said you were experiencing hunger. Why not embrace it? Why not enjoy the process of your transition, something you’ve always wanted to experience? Don’t look around at what others might think. Live your life to the fullest.”

“You mean… eat a lot? And what if I…”

“…gain weight? Then circle back to the thought experiment we did earlier.”

“…I see.” You nodded. “I guess… I can try…”

She gave you a radiant smile. “Perfect. That concludes our session today. I will see you next week!”

***

The burger was calling to you.

The dietary information was scary, though. This combo would have 2,500 calories in total. Only for one meal.

Your stomach growled.

Don’t hold back, you reminded yourself again, just as you had done many times before. It’s been a month since that fateful therapy session, and the therapist’s advice was definitely bearing fruit. You just had to size up, and your scale showed 220 pounds as of today.

Every day, you’d look into the mirror and remind yourself that you shouldn’t care what people thought. That the idea of linking fatness to ugliness was messed up.

And every day, a slightly fatter version of you was looking back.

You experienced two hard moments during that time. First, when you realized that you didn’t have to look down anymore for your double chin to be visible. That gave your face an undeniable fatty quality, and you were acutely aware that it was the first thing people would notice about you. The second moment came when your belly, which up to that point had been protruding from your midsection in a larger and larger spare tire, suddenly started hanging over your waistband. It was unexpected and a bit upsetting, as half of your pants suddenly stopped fitting, and you had to figure out how to wear the rest of them – under your belly, letting it hang out and peek out from underneath your t-shirts, or over it, squeezing yourself like a fat sausage in a tight casing?

Thankfully, your therapist had been very supportive throughout both of those moments. She challenged your ideas of embarrassment and ugliness, and encouraged you to embrace what she called “your true nature”. You weren’t quite sure what that meant, but every time a session ended, you felt better about yourself, so you decided it was a good thing.

And it was truly very useful to embrace all that T hunger. Over time, it only seemed to be growing…

***

“Welcome,” your therapist said with a bright smile.

You opened your mouth, but only let out a huff. You plopped yourself on the sofa, your belly spilling over your waistband and covering your upper thighs. You felt sweat trickle down your neck and pooling between your rolls.

“What would you like to talk about today?”

You took a couple minutes to catch your breath, then you said, “I… huff… I guess how different my life is now.”

“Please describe it.”

“I… I guess I embraced my fears. I’m 300 pounds now.” You looked down at your blobby body. “I was scared of becoming that, and now here I am. I have a double chin, a large belly, and I can’t even tell when it escapes my shirt. It’s just hanging out most of the time.” You paused to adjust your t-shirt, only for it to roll up the dome of your belly within seconds. “I wear 5XLs, I can’t shop in regular stores anymore. I’m constantly hungry and when I eat, I pig out, I’m just so ravenous, I don’t even care. I caught myself with sauce smeared over my face many times.”

She nodded, beckoning you to continue.

“My skin is constantly greasy and sweaty. It doesn’t look great. And honestly…” You blushed. “I heard so many trans guys saying how great it is to get… well, you know… a bit of a dick. I guess I’m never really going to see mine. Cause there’s so much fat there.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. But still… I wonder if it hasn’t gone too far. I mean… I barely move, to be honest. It’s just so uncomfortable. Like, I had to walk to your practice, that wasn’t more than five minutes, and I couldn’t even catch my breath… Everything jiggles. My thighs rub together, it’s painful. Maybe I should reign it in after all?”

Your therapist shook her head adamantly. “I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“Huh? Why?”

“You truly conquered your fears! You grew so much,” she said with a warm smile, and you weren’t sure if she meant psychological, or physical growth. “And see, was it so scary?”

“I – I guess not. Though it was a bit scary the other day when I realized I couldn’t tie my shoes anymore…”

“Oh, but that’s nothing. Bodies change over time, and we adapt. You have been so determined and so resilient throughout your journey, I’m sure you won’t be conquered by some minor setbacks! And from what you’ve been telling me, your friends are mostly accepting of you. See?”

“I… I guess…” you said uncertainly. “So you’re saying, I shouldn’t stop?”

“Why would you stop, if you’re doing so well?”

“I… I suppose…”

Your stomach growled. That was another “setback”. You just finished a meal an hour ago, and you were already hungry.

Your therapist chuckled. “It looks like someone is a hungry boy. Why don’t you help yourself to a couple donuts?”

You blushed. Lately, you’ve been feeling like your transition – transformation, really – was leading you to some new end goal. Not just a boy, but a big boy. Fat boy. Hungry boy.

Almost on autopilot, you reached for a donut.

***

“Huff… huff… damn!”

Your pants wouldn’t button. This was the last button up pair you owned anyway, with all the rest of them being sweatpants bought in that embarrassing “old dude” store, ugly 7XLs found somewhere in a dark corner of that shop. This was mostly your sense of style now: enormous black or blue sweatpants and tent-like white t-shirts which over time acquired some faded stains from multiple condiments you consumed daily. Still, any time you stood up, your belly hung out of the t-shirts anyway, the wobbly hang swaying pendulously with each of your thunderous steps.

You wiped your sweaty forehead. You could wear your sweatpants to the next session, it didn’t matter anyway. Some time ago, you asked to switch to online sessions. It was easier that way. Your life has become very different when you realized you couldn’t fit behind a steering wheel and a five-minute trip to a bus stop took you now fifteen to twenty minutes, with breaks. Your therapist agreed enthusiastically, saying that it was very important for you not to overwork yourself and to be comfortable in your own body.

Speaking of which… it wasn’t that you were psychologically uncomfortable. A lot has changed in your outlook, and at some point you simply had to adjust to the thought that you were now a full-fledged fatty. As to physical discomfort, though? That was almost always there, as you were always outgrowing something, from a piece of clothing to your chair. Every week, you would find out that you were now too fat for yet another activity. That was simply the way of things.

With a soft grunt, you kicked off your treacherous pants and pulled up the trusted pair of sweatpants, the ones with a huge ketchup stain at the front. You tried to pull it over your lowest belly roll, but after some consideration, decided against it, letting the belly hang unobstructed. You had five minutes until the start of your session, and you were afraid you were going to be late. After all, your laptop was in the living room, and you were still sitting on the bed in your bedroom.

“Okay, you can do it,” you hyped yourself. “One, two… three!”

You rocked back and forth, your bedframe creaking. You firmly gripped the edges of a nearby cupboard and with great effort, pulled yourself up. Your arms were shaking, fatty rolls on your upper arms wobbling as you stood. Your centre of gravity shifted and your belly hung down, covering your fupa and upper thighs. You calmed your breathing and started waddling to the living room.

On your way there you propped yourself against the wall, already tired. Your chubby foot accidentally knocked over something. Your new industrial scale.

You sighed. You guessed you should weigh yourself, not just for the sake of curiosity, but also because knowing the exact number fit the overall “accepting your true nature” thing. Slowly, you stepped on the scale. You couldn’t read the number, but you had a setting there that allowed a robotic voice to read it to you instead.

“457 pounds.”

“Oof,” you only managed. Shit. You were enormous.

When you finally managed to waddle to your desk and check the time, you were five minutes late to the session. You cursed under your breath and plopped onto your chair, your sides hanging off the edges (you removed the armrests long ago). You quickly logged onto the proper page. The screen greeted you with a recording of your beet-red, fat face.

You definitely looked way more masculine now, two years into taking T. You also looked like a pathetically fat dude, with your jowly face and lips squished by round cheeks, eyes slitted and partly obscured by fat, and two proud chins sitting below your first one. With some degree of embarrassment, you noticed a dollop of sauce in the corner of your mouth. The embarrassment was much weaker than it would have been a while ago. So what of it? You thought. I’m just embracing my true nature.

With a ping, your therapist’s screen popped into life.

“I – huff – sorry…” You started. “For being – huff – late…” Your voice lowered over the course of the years, but it was also very breathy now, no matter what.

“No need to apologize,” your therapist said cheerfully. “I do understand you now have… much more to carry.”

“Yeah…” You blushed even further. “I’m 457 pounds today.”

“Oh my god, congratulations! I’m so happy for you. How do you feel?”

“Huff – heavy.” You chuckled.

“No wonder. How has your mobility been?”

“Uh, not great. Standing up is really hard now. My knees hurt. I can’t really reach over my belly anymore. Sometimes I just want to stay in bed all day…”

“Is this something that speaks true to you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Would you, deep down, really like to stay in bed all day?”

“I… I guess…” You scratched your spotty cheek. “But I guess I should also move at least a little… I don’t want to lose all my mobility…”

“You don’t want to, or the society is pressuring you not to?”

“Huh… I never thought about it like that…”

“There is a lot of pressure in our society to be productive. But you must know that a person’s worth doesn’t lie in how much they accomplished. You are valuable simply because you exist.”

“Yeah, but how does that…” you wanted to ask how it had anything to do with losing mobility, but you quickly lost the train of thought. After all, your therapist had such a way with words. And she helped you so much with self-acceptance. These days, any time you looked into the mirror, you’d simply shrug and accept yourself as a fatty.

“I am so proud of how far you’ve come,” she continued. “It has been a long journey, and I know it wasn’t often the easiest one. I remember how you told me about breaking your first chair, or that day you had an argument with your friend over your weight. But look at you know. You probably would have been terrified two years ago of what you’ve become, and yet, now, you accept yourself as your true nature: an extremely obese young man.”

Your heart beat faster. Was that really who you had become? A 450-pound lardass who could barely stand?

Yeah.

That was you. You couldn’t deny it any longer.

“I… yeah,” you admitted, blushing. “I am so fat. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with gaining weight all the time, and with being hungry and pigging out. I’m okay with my clothes not fitting, and with outgrowing chairs and doorways. I’m a fatty.”

“That you are.” Your therapist smiled warmly. “Why don’t you celebrate your journey? Reward yourself a little? I bet you are tired.”

“Yeah… all the time.”

“Why don’t you stay in bed for a week? I can help with accommodating your needs, we have a special program for that. You can rest, relax, watch your favourite shows, eat your favourite food… lots of it…”

“Mmm…” you murmured. The vision seemed heavenly. At the same time, you knew that if you allowed yourself to lie in bed and gorge for a week, you’d probably have tremendous problems with getting up after.

But then again, wasn’t that the whole point? To accept your urges and needs, and to satisfy them? You have defied society by transitioning, and now you were defying it by becoming a fat, barely mobile blob.

“Yeah… okay. I’d like that,” you said.

“Splendid. Let us make some preparations then, big boy.”