You are listening to Burnt Toast!
Today, my guest is , a disabled mom and author of the brilliant new book, Unfit Parent: A Disabled Mother Challenges an Inaccessible World.
Jessica is also the co-author of Dateable: Swiping Right, Hooking Up, and Settling Down While Chronically Ill and Disabled, and This Is How We Play: A Celebration of Disability and Adaptation, as well as the forthcoming This Is How We Talk and We Belong. She has been published in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Alice Wong’s bestselling Disability Visibility and more.
Jessica and I recorded this conversation before RFK Jr made his latest horrifically ableist speech about autism. But as I’ve been grappling with his argument — that a person who can’t “pay taxes” or “use a toilet unassisted” is a person “destroyed” instead of a human entitled to dignity, respect, and care — I keep coming back to Jessica’s wisdom, and her inclusive approach to disability justice. As Jessica puts it, she originally wrote this book for disabled parents because their stories are not told or centered. But Jessica soon realized she was writing a book for all parents, because becoming a parent is its own experience with disability. In fact, just having a body means you will, at some point, experience disability. And she argues that embracing disability as a universal and expected experience will lead to better support for all of us. “I still care for my body, but I’m no longer trying to fix it,” she tells me in the conversation below.
What if RFK thought about how to care for autistic kids—as well as all the other disabled Americans whose health he is ostensibly responsible for—instead of trying to fix them, or worse, prevent them from existing?
There are also so many important intersections between disability justice and fat liberation. For starters, Kennedy wants to blame our rising rates of autism on “parental obesity,” rather than the far more obvious explanation offered by his own researchers that we are just doing a better job of diagnosing it now. Because, when in doubt, blame the fat mom! That kind of fault finding and moralizing over parental fitness often leads us to the question: Don’t we owe it to our kids to be healthy? I think you’ll find Jessica’s perspective on that one expansive, inclusive. and enlightening.
Today’s episode is free but if you value this conversation, please consider supporting our work with a paid subscription. Burnt Toast is 100% reader- and listener-supported. We literally can’t do this without you.
And don’t forget, you can take 10% off Unfit Parent, or any book we talk about on the podcast, if you order it from the Burnt Toast Bookshop, along with a copy of Fat Talk! (This also applies if you’ve previously bought Fat Talk from them. Just use the code FATTALK at checkout.)
Episode 190 Transcript
Jessica
I am an author and a mom, and Unfit Parent, which is the book we’re here to talk about, is my third book. But it’s really the book that has my whole heart. And it talks about disabled parenting, which is the thing I care very much about.
Virginia
I tore through this book. My copy is dog-eared every three pages, I think. It’s such a rich book. There’s so much in here. There’s so much for parents of all abilities—it just resonates in so many ways.
Let’s start by having you talk a little bit about how you define disability. You have a very expansive definition, and I think more listeners may identify with it than they even realize.
Jessica
So I have really thought a lot about the best definition for disability. And ultimately, I think everyone is better off if we don’t commit to a super firm delineation between disabled and not disabled. Because I think that delineation like ends up othering disabled people and further perpetuating stigma. And then I also think it puts a really inappropriate amount of pressure on non-disabled people that they should be sort of limitless and all powerful and show no weakness and hyper independent.
My definition is, if you benefit from the disability rights or the disability justice movement, then you are disabled.
It’s pretty easy to take that and say, “Well, everyone does.” Because anyone who pushes a stroller benefits from a curb cut or ramps, and additional time on testing is used for a lot of kids. So if you expand it too much, then everyone’s included. But I think that’s kind of fine! Having gone from someone who was not disabled to pretty disabled, I don’t feel threatened by having an inclusive and broad definition.
Virginia
More people in the club would not be a bad thing. It would actually make it easier to advocate for the changes we need.
Jessica
Exactly, exactly.
Virginia
That’s super helpful, and I just want to encourage listeners who are new to conversations about disability rights to keep that broad framing in mind as we go, because so often, we do really silo off into “able-bodied” vs “disabled.” So I appreciate you grounding us there.
Jessica
Especially for parents! When there’s this assumption that they’re not disabled and then therefore parenting shouldn’t be hard, or you shouldn’t be exhausted, or you shouldn’t need help, or you should be able to find the strength within yourself and the willpower to do all you need to do. I think that really particularly hurts parents.
Virginia
I underlined this part of the book, where you wrote about your own journey towards claiming “disabled” as an identity:
When my body shifted at 28 from one that could run work long hours and travel internationally to one that must mostly rest, I believed that I would go back to my old life once I solved the puzzle of my body. Until the hike in Greece during which I became disabled, I had the false belief that the life I wanted was a matter of sufficient effort and prudent decision making.
I read that and thought, well, this is also really describing diet culture. Because an experience a lot of us have had around gaining weight is that if we just work hard enough and have healthy habits and make the right choices, we’ll lose it. We’ll get back to that level of thin privilege we once enjoyed.
I’m just curious if that parallel resonates with you? Maybe it doesn’t at all! But wondering if you see this kind of diet culture driven mindset, does that show up elsewhere in our cultural attitudes around disability?
Jessica
Yes, I very much relate to that. And have been following your work and Aubrey Gordon’s work for a while and other anti-diet activists.
I think so much of the conversation overlaps. It’s a myth that there’s an ideal body, and pursuing this ideal body ends up hurting especially fat people and especially disabled people, but it hurts everyone to have this one type of body that we’re all trying to get, whether that’s based on size or ability.
Virginia
It just seems like it’s a mindset we apply to so many aspects of our life, too. We think, “Well, if I just do everything right, then I’m going to have this outcome and I’m going to achieve this goal or this ideal.” And so much of life is learning how often that’s just not the case.
Jessica
So I became disabled, as you know, very suddenly in one day. But it was the onset of a genetic condition. In the years prior to being disabled, I exercised every day, or five to seven days a week. I was always trying to optimize my eating. I was like, “Oh, okay, I’ll have oatmeal, but then I also need to add chia seeds and then walnuts, and then blueberries, and then almond butter. Like, how can this be the very best bowl of oatmeal? And then should I add protein powder, too?” And then lunch, it was like, “Okay, well, definitely fish. Like, I need omega three, and then fruit and vegetables, and then some complex carbs.” I was just considering every meal I ate. And then I became disabled—so obviously, eating and exercising that way didn’t insulate me from that, right?
Virginia
Yeah, so fascinating. Because people think they’re making their bodies bulletproof.
Jessica
Exactly that. Someone who ate like that should have been able to do anything.
So after I became disabled it took a while to get a diagnosis. And then it took me years to accept that I was disabled and that I would always be sick. And during that time, I tried any sort of therapeutic diet that was recommended to me, like cutting out gluten and then dairy, or much more protein, or no sugar, or suddenly nightshades were the enemy, and all these iterations.
As a hyper-achiever, I fully committed to each of these things. And then nothing helped. I mean, it’s not going to fix the makeup of my body to do those things. And I’ve now accepted the way my body is.
But it’s funny now that I have a real acceptance of my body and a much more distant relationship with the food I eat, I would say I eat probably below average. I have a bowl of fiber cereal in the morning, and then I need a lot of food each day. My second breakfast is usually a bagel with butter, cream cheese, bacon on it. I also add cucumber as a nod to health.
Virginia
A little cooling crunch. I get it.
Jessica
And then I have on my to do list every day “eat a vegetable,” which, if I compare that to the way I was before disabled, is hilarious. But I don’t know, this actually feels like a much healthier way to be, if you sort of shift the definition of health into humane. And without the delusion that my diet will solve everything, or really solve anything. Like I kind of just see it as like, all right, I eat as much as I need to, to give me energy. I mean, I also eat for pleasure. But my diet has shifted totally since becoming disabled, and I like it much better this way.
Virginia
It sounds like becoming disabled—I don’t want to oversimplify this—sort of gave you permission to prioritize pleasure with food more. And take up more space with that.
Jessica
Yeah, and also not think about eating as, like, “I better not mess this up.”
Virginia
You talked a lot in the book about your struggles with perfectionism. There was a line I loved: “Becoming disabled dismantled something corrosive about my perfectionism.” That one resonates.
Jessica
Right? Exactly, exactly. And I think diet culture, as you talk about, has so much overlap with health culture, like wellness culture. That idea that you can do one last thing to optimize your life or your mornings or your days or your body.
And you know, wellness culture wasn’t in full force—because I came I became disabled in 2011 and it was pre-Instagram, or very early Instagram. Something culturally was a little different then. But, oh my goodness, if I weren’t disabled now, I can only imagine how much I’d be cold plunging.
Virginia
That was the early days of Goop and Michael Pollan, and that sort of diet culture. Now we’re just like, “All of that times a million, please.”
Jessica
Yes, right, right.
Virginia
A major arc of the book is your own story of becoming a mom. One piece that I really want to talk about is how your experience of the early weeks of parenting was so much more joyful and less panicked than what many able-bodied parents experience—myself very much included.
My first daughter was born with a congenital heart condition, so I was plunged into new parenting and into parenting a child with a disability, right off the bat in a pretty intense way. And when I was reading your experience, I was thinking, wow, there could have been so many moments of less struggle and less panic if I’d had the kind of preparation you’d had.
Jessica
I’m sorry, that sounds like a really hard way to be introduced to parenting.
Virginia
It was a cold plunge, for sure. She’s amazing. But it was a cold plunge.
Jessica
That chapter really surprised me. I decided to interview a few disabled and a few non-disabled parents to try to see if there were different trends about the struggles of the first week. I expected disabled parents to describe more complicated recoveries from giving birth and that the difficulties would be maybe heightened, because there’s just a much greater chance of having the gestational parent hospitalized after birth, or to experience complications. And what I discovered in the first interviews is that every non-disabled person I interviewed talked about how becoming a parent was the time they went to war. I mean, it was just so much agony, even from friends I hadn’t realized how much agony they had been in. I thought so much about this, about why this is and, but it seems to be that almost across the board a uniquely challenging time is when you become a parent.
But then, when I talked to the disabled people the first few interviews, they all said, “oh, it’s fine. It was fine.” And then I was like, well, how was your recovery? And one person said, well, I had preeclampsia after giving birth and I had really bad side effects and had to keep going to the hospital. Oh, and I had given birth to twins. Oh, and Child Protective Services visited—and they were describing all this stuff, but saying, “and that happened, but it was fine.”
Disabled parents were like, no, it was fine. I knew we’d figure it out. And then the another disabled person I talked to, she was like, “Well, I do everything with only my mouth because of my disability, and I had someone coming to help me the first week, but they ended up backing out, so I had to recover from a c-section while caring for a child alone with only the use of my like mouth and neck muscles.” And she was like, “But we figured it out! It was a good bonding time!”
Virginia
I mean that story! I was like, okay, okay.
Jessica
Yes. I was like, what is happening here? But the thing is, it was true for me, too. I became a parent, and I remember talking to my therapist at the time, and I was like, “I think something’s wrong with me, because this is only good. I was like, where’s the anxiety? Should I have anxiety? Why don’t I have it?” Because I’m not a laid back person. And I just felt so preternaturally peaceful.
So then I interviewed more non-disabled people and more disabled people and the trend continued with one exception. And at this point, I’ve interviewed about two dozen in each group, and it’s held steady.
Virginia
Wow.
Jessica
And I’ve thought a lot about it. The answer can’t be that everyone should just become disabled before having a kid. And it’s not like disabled people are better in some core way. So I’ve ended up coming down to these three explanations.
One, becoming disabled or being disabled has so much overlap with becoming a parent. There’s a skill set that you develop as a disabled person in response to what it’s like to live day to day with a very, very needy body. What is it like to live day in, day out, with body-based problems that present themselves completely unpredictably, and with limited social resources to deal with them? There’s this problem solving and comfort that’s inherent with disability. And so when it comes to parenting the Venn diagram of skills is overlapped.
Virginia
You talked about sitting on the floor to make your bottles, or the woman who only used her mouth talked about the system she had in place to be able to make the bottles by the bed. There is so much creative problem solving.
Jessica
Dr. Jessi Elana Aaron, who you were talking about, she had gotten her PhD and become a tenured professor, all with her disability. And so she had been practicing these incredible creative innovations for decades. So when it came to parenting, she wasn’t like, “Oh no, how do I use this body for the first time?” She’d been doing it for a long time in many contexts. So that’s one part.
But then the other part is that I think becoming a parent, especially if you’re the one who is pregnant, is becoming disabled temporarily. And I think that is very, very challenging, if you live in a society, which we all do, where being disabled is a worst case scenario for a body. We are told that it is better to be dead than disabled. It’s understandable that someone might want to be dead instead of disabled. We’re reminded constantly that health is the ideal, and falling away from health is is to be avoided at all costs.
Recovering from giving birth, I think, is a lot like becoming disabled. So suddenly you are living in a body that’s not safe in our world. And that that touches on something so primal. It’s like, How can I possibly survive with this new kind of body?
And then I think babies are the ultimate disabled person. Because they’re so erratic and so needy. You know, we had a baby about a year ago, and I was noticing his breathing at the beginning. It was just like, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, and then sometimes he would not breathe for a bit, and I was having to pay attention to every sip of his bottle he took. It’s like you have this heightened attention to the to the way a body is working and the fragility of that tiny little body. It’s like, oh, my god, we’re all just fragile bodies and we could die.
And I think if you are not disabled and aren’t having to confront our shared fragility on a regular basis, then that introduction to it is absolutely terrifying and destabilizing and harrowing.
Virginia
And not only is an able-bodied parent experiencing disability for the first time—they’re experiencing this disability with the expectation that it has to be as temporary as possible, and that they have to get back to “normal” as fast as possible. There is so much pressure on us to get back to work as quickly as possible, to lose the baby weight, to start having sex with your husband again as soon as possible. This expectation of return to previous levels of whatever is just bananas, given what you’re actually going through.
Whereas it sounds like, for you and for the folks who are interviewing, there is this understanding of Yes, it’s chaos. We’re just going to roll with this. We’re not trying to claw our way back to something.
Jessica
Right, and you know, for those of us who’ve been able to accept being disabled—which isn’t everyone, but it’s a lot of people—not returning to normal or having a changed physical experience, I think isn’t as scary. Like, we’ve done it. We were more acquainted with physical suffering and chronic physical suffering.
There are these two studies that are relevant to this conversation. One of them I only learned about after finishing the book when I interviewed a UCLA doctor who works with a lot of disabled pregnant people. She was doing a study on recovery, and she had a disabled population and a non-disabled population. In recovery from labor and delivery, and she found that the rates of postpartum depression were much higher in the non-disabled group.
So my interviews and my system are obviously not remotely scientific. I had no IRB approval. It was all snowball method of interviewing. But her study does reflect the same findings. And then there’s a Harvard study by Dr Lisa Iazzoni, who found that disabled people are checked for cancer less than non-disabled people, because it’s assumed that why bother treating us if we’re already disabled. But disabled people actually handle cancer better than non-disabled people. We navigate the medical system and handle the emotional fallout from cancer better. So she’s done this study, I guess, to try to convince doctors to treat disabled people for cancer, which is obviously depressing, but!
Virginia
They’ll do a good job with it! You should treat them. Also, it’s literally your job to do that.
Jessica
They deserve to know.
Virginia
Could you just do your job? Thanks!
Okay, there is one more layer to this conversation that I want us to dig into: Something I frequently hear from parents, especially moms, who are struggling with whether to pursue intentional weight loss—maybe a doctor has told them they need to lose weight or again it’s that get your pre-baby body back pressure— is rhetoric like, “Well, I owe it to my kids to be healthy.” Or, “I just want to be able to run and play with my kids.” And I often struggle to explain why maybe that shouldn’t be the goal.
It feels to me very much in line “all that matters is a healthy baby!” which is that thing that people will often say to pregnant folks. And as the parent of a kid who was not healthy when she was born, that fills me with a lot of rage.
So, I would love us to talk about this idea of owing health, or “just” wanting to be healthy. Both are framed as so understandable, like everybody should feel that way—but they are actually quite problematic.
Jessica
Before I answer, and maybe you’ve talked about this and I’ve missed it, but: Do you feel like a fear of fatness is a fear of mortality? Do you think those are bound up together?
Virginia
I do, yes. Especially because of the way we pathologize fatness in our medical system. People experience a lot of fear-mongering around that from doctors, for sure.
Jessica
I think if you focus on thinness as the goal, you’re kind of secretly acting like if you can get thin, then you will never die. I think people kind of convince themselves that. But the fact is, there’s nothing we can do about our bodies being mortal.
So this thing, “all that matters is the baby’s health.” One, it’s a lot of pressure on a parent and on a baby, because 20 percent of people are disabled. So it kind of sounds like they’ve all fucked up.
And two, no physical body is ideal. No one actually measures up! Everybody has lots of needs, and lots of limitations.
Our first kid had some asynchronous development and we found that milestone tracking brought us some heartache or some worry. So one thing that we have done with our second kid is we’ve actually totally, totally ignored milestones. We don’t have anything tracking milestones. And I think because we’re older and very tired, we don’t remember when anything should happen.
Virginia
That is such a gift of second child parenting!
Jessica
But it’s been so funny, because we think our baby is hilarious now. Because we don’t know when anything’s supposed to happen. So one example is he started to take things out of a container, like any container, with a lot of intensity, and then he would put things back in the container with the same intensity. And so we started calling him like “our little businessman” or say, “he has to go to work!” And we were like, wow, he’s so organized. I guess he’ll be organized forever. And then we went to our one year old checkup, and the doctor said, “Now has he taken things out of a container and put things back?” We’re like, oh, this is just a milestone.
Virginia
Oh, this is just a thing babies do, okay. We thought it was a weird personality quirk.
Jessica
I think this is kind of wrapped up in the question, because I feel like in this one way, we’ve let go of “all that matters is his health.” We’re just like, who are you, little guy? And maybe it makes us slightly delusional, but it’s also much more fun to live this way. And he’s going to do what he’s gonna do. I think if he needs additional support, we’ll know. We are paying attention. We’re with him and we’ll get it.
So I kind of wish we collectively could do that with more parts of our bodies. We could accept our bodies for how they are, and seek support to alleviate suffering. So not give up on ourselves, but not try to shoehorn our bodies into these completely unattainable ideals.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about with this is before I knew that I had Ehlers Danlos Syndrome—I have a connective tissue disorder that causes a great deal of chronic pain, and it caused a secondary neurological condition in 2011. But before that point, I was in daily pain from the time I can remember knowing my body. Like my back and my neck and my arms and my legs and my hips, and I thought everyone else lived like that, and they were just a lot more chill than I was about it. I also thought I could do something to make my body stop hurting. I thought I just bought the wrong car. So I kept switching cars. I thought I needed a new mattress. I kept switching mattresses. I tried acupuncture, I did massage therapy. I thought I was like, one decision or one action away from not living in a body that hurts.
And then when I found out I have this genetic condition that will cause pain the rest of my life, I first grieved. But it is much better to give up on thinking I can escape this pain. It doesn’t mean I don’t try to ease my own suffering. Like I have a heat pack on my back right now as we talk, and I have ice packs on my back as we talk. And I did switch mattresses last year because my old one was causing pain, and I could afford to switch mattresses, and the new one is better. So I still care for my body, but I’m not trying to fix it. I’m trying to just care for my body that will hurt every day of my life.
Virginia
That is such a helpful distinction—caring for your body versus fixing it. And also this idea of alleviating sufferingversus having a moral obligation, or a responsibility to others, to achieve health.
I mean, when people say, well, I owe it to my kids to be healthy, it’s this idea that somehow “I’ll be a less capable mother or a less capable parent if I can’t get my cholesterol down, or if my diabetes isn’t managed,” or whatever it is.
Jessica
I mean, I think we’re kind of bad at knowing what will make us a good parent, right? I’m a very good parent, and I do almost nothing. Like I’m in bed or my wheelchair all of the time, but I’m a very involved parent. I’m a really patient parent. I’m able to be with my kids and tolerate the boredom of children, because I tolerate the boredom of a disabled life. I’ve been practicing being bored for so long.
Virginia
That sounds useful.
Jessica
Yeah, and kids are so supremely boring. I’m really good at that now, and I don’t know, I just think we’re kind of bad at knowing what will make a good parent. People are like, well, I just need to run with my children. They always use that example. And I’m like, I don’t know. I mean, do you? I ride with my children on my lap, in my wheelchair and they really like that, too.
Virginia
Moms will often say, like, “I can’t use the playground equipment.” It’s like, well, why aren’t we building playground equipment better? Also, it’s maybe fine you can’t sit on a child’s swing. Like, do you need to? I don’t want to.
Jessica
And what a narrow view of “good parenting,” if you have to be able to sit on a swing to be a good parent?
Virginia
Yes, yes, yes.
I think again, it just ties back to everything we’ve been talking about. This pressure that’s on us, this way that health is a performance. And you’ve touched on this a little bit, but we’ll just maybe take it one beat further to help people distill it more. Like, okay, I want to unpack my ableism, but I’m still going to vaccinate my kids. Or, like you said yourself, you still have a daily goal to eat a vegetable.
So there are still things we do that are health-oriented or health-promoting behaviors, even if we’re trying to let go of the idea that we are obligated to be healthy or that healthy is “better.”
Jessica
Yeah. And what will it achieve us? I think keeping a steady stream of produce in my body is probably going to ease my suffering. I think it is a thing I want to do and I think it’s a really kind of achievable goal.
Virginia
Most days.
Jessica
Well the cucumber on the bagel, I’ve done it actually.
Virginia
You’ve achieved it!
Jessica
I think if we keep our expectations reasonable about what we will get from those choices, that’s caring for ourselves and that’s more sustainable and kinder and healthier, too.
Virginia
And something like vaccines obviously alleviate suffering.
Jessica
And it’s social responsibility! We’re very pro-vaccine because it alleviates our suffering and the suffering of other people.
Virginia
I really loved the scene at your daughter’s birthday party, where you talked about when she needed a break from the party, and she had the little finger signal, and that you could just roll away with her on your chair and give her this break. That level of attuned, present parenting is something that I think a lot of us are striving for on our best days. So it’s really inspiring and fun to read about the way you are able to create those moments of connection.
Jessica
Thank you. That means a lot.
Virginia
Anything else about the book we didn’t touch on that you want to make sure we get to before we wrap up?
Jessica
I wrote this book primarily for or initially for disabled parents, because we’re so excluded from conversations, and I wanted there to be a place where we’re talked about and celebrated. But in writing it, I became convinced that I think it’s a book that all parents would really get something from. Disabled experiences and disabled wisdom is worth talking about, even if you’re not disabled. Not just, “you should buy my book,” but I really think we shouldn’t have this assumption that we should ignore disabled things. One, the line between disabled and not is pretty thin. And two, as long as you don’t die very suddenly, at some point everyone does become disabled. It’s a topic worth considering for all bodies and minds.
Virginia
I’ll also add, for anyone who’s parenting kids with disabilities or neurodivergent kids, or just, in any way a part of a family that does not match the ideal health performance, perfect nuclear family myth that we’re sold—There is so much to learn from folks who have had these different experiences and found different ways through and I think the disability piece of it is just a huge, huge part of the conversation.
Butter
Jessica
So you had told me that ahead of time, and I was positive that I was going to say these new Birkenstocks I bought.
Virginia
I love that.
Jessica
They’re called Reykjavik, and the thing I love about them is they have so much rubber on the sole. And it makes absolutely no sense, because the top of them has like normal holes and is suede.
Virginia
Oh, they’re cute.
Jessica
Thank you for saying they’re cute. My whole family thinks they’re horrifying.
Virginia
They’re ugly cute the way Birkenstocks are ugly cute. I will admit they’ve leveled up from the basic Birkenstock, but I think they’re pretty cool. I mean, I like an ugly clunky shoe.
Jessica
We were trying to discuss what situation you would need that much rubber on the bottom, but really no protection on the top.
Virginia
Decorative rubber at best.
Jessica
And then my husband was like, “And you’re in a wheelchair, there’s zero situation that you would need that.”
But then I actually, can I say one more? My husband grew up in Manhattan, then lived in Brooklyn, then we met in San Francisco. He’s this, like erudite philosophy major. Literally, while he was cooking dinner yesterday, he was reading a history of Western philosophy. He’s just this man. And then inexplicably, he has become completely obsessed with the 2021 Matilda musical.
Virginia
Oh, it’s so good!!
Jessica
Okay, he’s obsessed. He listens to it on his headphones nonstop. Last night, before we did anything else, he was like, can we just sit together and watch a YouTube video of the song “Naughty?” And then he’s like, tearing up watching it.
Virginia
It’s so good. This is the one with Emma Thompson as The Trunchbull, right?
Jessica
Yes. Okay, I’ll tell him you said that. And so I just am delighted. My Butter is my husband liking Matilda very, very, very much.
Virginia
It’s such a good production, and it has been very popular in my house with my kids. We actually saw the theater version of it when we were in London last summer, which was delightful. Because, I mean, man, those little British kids can dance. It was such a good performance. We’re obsessed with the soundtrack. We play it all the time.
And I will also say, because on Burnt Toast, we do track for examples of fat stereotypes: I do think that the way the Miss Trunchbull character is written in the book is not great. There’s a lot of fatphobia in Roald Dahl books in general. I mean, he was not a great person.
But I loved Emma Thompson’s performance of it. They did pad her, but I wouldn’t say it’s a fat suit. I would say it’s more like they’re making her cartoonishly big and muscular. And then the scene where Bruce has to eat the chocolate cake—all the kids are cheering for him. And you can read it as very empowering. Like, look at this kid who can eat a whole cake to stand up to the bully! I found it a very pro-cake scene. It is not always played that way, but in the movie, I think it is.
Jessica
Well, even better.
Virginia
My kids and I had a whole conversation about it. We decided that it’s a cake positive, body positive interpretation of the text.
Jessica
I’m so glad.
Virginia
Oh, this was so much fun. Thank you, Jessica, for taking the time with us. I really appreciate it. Tell folks where they can find you and how we can support your work.
Jessica
So you can buy Unfit Parent anywhere you buy books. And there are also links on my website, Jessicaslice.com. I’m on Instagram @JessicaSlice, I have a Substack where I send monthly notes about Disabled Parenting, and then usually try to get people to read whatever poem I’m fixated on that month.
The Burnt Toast Podcast is produced and hosted by Virginia Sole-Smith (follow me on Instagram) and Corinne Fay, who runs @SellTradePlus, and Big Undies.
The Burnt Toast logo is by Deanna Lowe.
Our theme music is by Farideh.
Tommy Harron is our audio engineer.
Thanks for listening and for supporting anti-diet, body liberation journalism!
