The Fat Girl — An Origin Story
Is it how the world sees you or how you see yourself?
It’s always amazing to me what the mind remembers and what it seemingly forgets. I cannot recall the first day I had a true stomach-cramp inducing belly laugh or the first day I discovered the creamy, delicious joy of ice cream or the first day I was awarded for my beautifully unique mind. What I do remember is the first day I was called The Fat Girl. It was the day I learned to be ashamed simply for existing. It was the day shame became a part of me.
The day wasn’t particularly memorable. Like most of my memories from childhood, some parts are so clear while others are hazy. I remember that it was third grade in Hawaii. I remember that for some reason, we were sitting outside the classroom in two rows — one row of boys, one row of girls.
Third grade was a little tough for me because midway through the school year I moved from Benton Harbor, Michigan to Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Anyone who had to switch schools mid-year understands the challenges that come with that. You’re the new kid. You’re the one looking for a table to join at lunchtime or a crew to hang with during recess. Your goal is to fit in, not stand out.
So, here I was just trying to fit in when some little nondescript miniature male informs me — and everyone else — that I was The Fat Girl. I was sitting in line, minding my own business, when I hear, “Hey! Hey, you!” Assuming that I was the “you,” I turned towards the voice. The little boy looks at me and says, “He likes you!” while pointing to his friend sitting next to him in line.
His friend, full of indignant outrage, yells, “I don’t like that fat girl!”
I remember there was laughter and snickering. I remember turning back around. I remember feeling like I wanted to just disappear, vanish right before their eyes like the Invisible Woman. It was the only time I ever wished that my hearing did not work. Then I wouldn’t have heard the comment or the laughter.
But I did hear.
Maybe I was fat before that moment. Maybe my family and friends up to that point had called me cute things like “chubby.” Maybe I was the only one who didn’t know that I was fat. But, after that day I could no longer claim ignorance. I was, so it would seem, The Fat Girl.
Unlike She-Ra and Gem, I didn’t get any superpowers or a cool theme song. Nope. I just got a huge heaping of shame that wove its way into my every thought. It was like getting another appendage; one that could not be amputated and replaced with a cooler, bionic part. An appendage that would stick to me even after the fat had melted away.
I wonder what happened to that little guy, the one who bequeathed me with my title. I wonder if he has a clue how long that moment has lasted, the roots that my digging cannot remove. It probably never crosses his mind. I suppose, like the spider who bit Spiderman, he went on with his life never realizing the results of his venom.
Author’s Note №1
You can show support and support my java habit by buying me a cup of coffee.
Author’s Note №2
It would mean the world to me if you would stop by to view my photography gallery.
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Jenita Lawal is a writer, traveler, amateur photographer, entrepreneur, and mother. After 20+years of living the American Dream, she sold everything and packed her suitcases to pursue the life of her dreams. She lives abroad in Mexico with her three teenage boys and loves exploring whenever there’s an opportunity. She’s on Instagram @jlawal_atw.
