In the way

Prior to my first trip to Italy in 2006, I had only met one aunt, who had been to visit us in the States three times over the years. As the only one without children, she had a little more ability to travel.

Even having spent time with her as a child and teenager, it was different seeing her as an adult and with a better grasp of Italian. I remember her watching me study one morning and saying "Ragazza stupenda!" ("Marvelous girl!", roughly.)

Spending time with people who will love you and appreciate you is amazing and good for the soul, but I was 34 before it happened. That beloved uncle only lived two more years after that. Of all of the beloved aunts and uncles, only one is left.

(The ties are not broken as there are many cousins.)

There are two reasons for my delay, and they do eventually relate.

The first one is the money. We were not a family that could afford to just hop on airplanes, and you can't drive to Italy. As it was, my first flight ever was on my way to the Missionary Training Center at the age of 21, and I had been considering the train before I learned that there was a travel agency that gave missionaries discount tickets.

When I was young we were still able to drive to some pretty cool places. When I have been doing better at some times in my life I have flown to some pretty cool places; I am luckier than lots of people. Economic inequality is nonetheless a real thing, and meritocracy is a myth. 

We should all have opportunities to connect with places and people.

I still could have gone sooner. The other chance that could have worked was when my mother and sisters went. I was focusing on college at the time, so it would have been a challenge, but probably not impossible.

In fact, I was reluctant to go because I was fat. At that time I was still trying to put off everything until I could no longer be fat. Then people would accept me more, and I would not hate pictures of the experience; every aspect of my life was going to be better once I lost weight!

Only I never did.

My extended family loved and accepted me as a fat person. 

(I'm not saying they didn't have any concerns about it, and I did hate that, but that didn't happen until the second trip.)

It was easy to hold off on meeting new people or going new places or even relating to people I already knew in new ways, because my life had to wait to start until I was worthy of it.

Yes, I tried for a long time to lose weight, and gained weight in that time. Stamina and muscle tone fluctuated, but the presence of fat never did. 

Since I stopped trying, I have evened out, but I have evened out as fat. 

It has surprisingly little to do with my health,  unless you know how much of what is generally believed comes via financing by the diet industry, and then it is less surprising. (Hey, there's capitalism again, along with the economic inequality part.)

It is not a moral judgment on my character, though you will find people who believe it is, and at 36 I still did.

That stigma on fatness -- which I fully accepted -- really held me back, without improving my life in any way. It has affected how other people see me. For some it still does, but the bigger impact was on what I did and how I navigated.

It did limit my ability to connect with others.

It isn't always the stigma on fat, because it can be race or class or gender or sexuality or so many other things that shouldn't be reasons to hate each other or abuse each other or have contempt for each other, and yet, here we are.

And obviously, these twin forces of capitalism and bigotry can be folded into dominator culture, that enemy of all that is good.

If what the world needs now is love (I maintain it is), dominator culture is what we are up against. 

It is personal, but it is also very political and religious and economic.