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[b:Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body|26074156|Hunger A Memoir of (My) Body|Roxane Gay|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1448064366i/26074156._SY75_.jpg|42362558] is one of the most honest and emotionally raw memoirs I have read in a while. Reading this book was a truly visceral experience, to put it succinctly. It is so great; I cannot believe I have not read Roxane Gay before this, but oh man am I glad I have now.
“That’s a powerful thing, knowing that you can reveal yourself to someone. It made me want to be a better person.”
Trauma is a difficult subject matter to speak/write on especially as it is so deeply personal. The aftermath can be especially daunting; around the corner lurks the very real fear of not being believed, being belittled, having your perspective gaslit, or being shamed and told it was your fault. For Roxane she is blunt; she writes without euphemism about her sexual assault as a child, her experiences with trauma, and how this directly (and indirectly) led to her obesity. This is the story of her body, and she is here to share it.
“Sometimes we try to convince ourselves of things that are not true, reframing the past to better explain the present.”
One of my favorite elements of this narrative is how she interfolds her present day reality with her memories of the past. She concedes that, “There is no rhyme or reason to what I can and cannot remember. It’s also hard to explain this absence of memory because there are moments from my childhood I remember like they were yesterday”. While this is inevitable with age, it is especially true for people with PTSD—as a means of survival the brain will compartmentalize and build fortresses to allow the person to cope.
“I worry that I can’t be happy or feel safe anywhere.”
I must confess that reading this was both difficult and cathartic in that I also live with PTSD. Like Roxane my trauma occurred when I was a child, though the nature of my own dark seed is different. I have never dealt with weight gain the way she has, but if there is one thing I have learned over years it is that there is no single, standard response to trauma. When Roxane says she equates bigness with safeness, I believe her. When she discusses her internalized feelings of worthlessness, I feel her. When she talks about how her body can feel like a cage, I wept. [Side note: some solid advice—be careful reading this book in public if you are prone to feeling-type emotions.]
“I am hyperconscious of how I take up space and I resent having to be this way, so when people around me aren’t mindful of how they take up space, I feel pure rage.”
Roxane does not hide her annoyance (and loathing) of the very real societal pressures put on women to perform femininity, which includes being thin. Living in a larger body already comes with the baggage of logistical planning to make sure she will be able to fit and exist in smaller spaces (e.g. chairs, airplanes, stairs, etc.). So when she then has to deal with people commenting on her weight, or blaringly obvious double standards in treatment, I think her anger is warranted. I will never understand seeing a person struggling and not wanting to help or offer the slightest forms of dignity and compassion. That’s like, the bare minimum for being a decent person.
“For so long, I closed myself off from everything and everyone. Terrible things happened and I had to shut down to survive. I was cold, I’ve been told. I often write stories about women who are perceived as cold and resent that perception. I write these women because I know what it’s like to have so much warmth roiling beneath the skin’s surface, ready to be found…I am not promiscuous with my warmth, but when I share it, my warmth can be as hot as the sun.”
Overall, I am really happy Roxane shared her story in a way that was real for her, and that was not compromised by a fear of making the reader uncomfortable. For her, her trauma and weight gain were innately uncomfortable subjects, so I’m glad she wrote candidly. If I were to offer any criticism, it would be that at times she does repeat herself, though that makes sense as the narrative follows an almost stream of consciousness rhythm and flow.
I definitely recommend this one and look forward to reading more of her work.
Rating: 4.5 stars
“That’s a powerful thing, knowing that you can reveal yourself to someone. It made me want to be a better person.”
Trauma is a difficult subject matter to speak/write on especially as it is so deeply personal. The aftermath can be especially daunting; around the corner lurks the very real fear of not being believed, being belittled, having your perspective gaslit, or being shamed and told it was your fault. For Roxane she is blunt; she writes without euphemism about her sexual assault as a child, her experiences with trauma, and how this directly (and indirectly) led to her obesity. This is the story of her body, and she is here to share it.
“Sometimes we try to convince ourselves of things that are not true, reframing the past to better explain the present.”
One of my favorite elements of this narrative is how she interfolds her present day reality with her memories of the past. She concedes that, “There is no rhyme or reason to what I can and cannot remember. It’s also hard to explain this absence of memory because there are moments from my childhood I remember like they were yesterday”. While this is inevitable with age, it is especially true for people with PTSD—as a means of survival the brain will compartmentalize and build fortresses to allow the person to cope.
“I worry that I can’t be happy or feel safe anywhere.”
I must confess that reading this was both difficult and cathartic in that I also live with PTSD. Like Roxane my trauma occurred when I was a child, though the nature of my own dark seed is different. I have never dealt with weight gain the way she has, but if there is one thing I have learned over years it is that there is no single, standard response to trauma. When Roxane says she equates bigness with safeness, I believe her. When she discusses her internalized feelings of worthlessness, I feel her. When she talks about how her body can feel like a cage, I wept. [Side note: some solid advice—be careful reading this book in public if you are prone to feeling-type emotions.]
“I am hyperconscious of how I take up space and I resent having to be this way, so when people around me aren’t mindful of how they take up space, I feel pure rage.”
Roxane does not hide her annoyance (and loathing) of the very real societal pressures put on women to perform femininity, which includes being thin. Living in a larger body already comes with the baggage of logistical planning to make sure she will be able to fit and exist in smaller spaces (e.g. chairs, airplanes, stairs, etc.). So when she then has to deal with people commenting on her weight, or blaringly obvious double standards in treatment, I think her anger is warranted. I will never understand seeing a person struggling and not wanting to help or offer the slightest forms of dignity and compassion. That’s like, the bare minimum for being a decent person.
“For so long, I closed myself off from everything and everyone. Terrible things happened and I had to shut down to survive. I was cold, I’ve been told. I often write stories about women who are perceived as cold and resent that perception. I write these women because I know what it’s like to have so much warmth roiling beneath the skin’s surface, ready to be found…I am not promiscuous with my warmth, but when I share it, my warmth can be as hot as the sun.”
Overall, I am really happy Roxane shared her story in a way that was real for her, and that was not compromised by a fear of making the reader uncomfortable. For her, her trauma and weight gain were innately uncomfortable subjects, so I’m glad she wrote candidly. If I were to offer any criticism, it would be that at times she does repeat herself, though that makes sense as the narrative follows an almost stream of consciousness rhythm and flow.
I definitely recommend this one and look forward to reading more of her work.
Rating: 4.5 stars