And I don’t know what I look like.
I remember being in 5th grade, petrified that I was bigger than everyone else. I was grateful there was a girl who looked fatter, so I wouldn’t be the fattest, but also horrified that I made it to the top of the list.
Freshman year of high school during the band trip, I remember unpacking in a hotel with my friends. The conversation led to me commenting about how big I am and angrily saying, I’m ALREADY a size TEN. Then my good friend replied, me too. I dismissed her comment because I knew she didn’t understand. Even though we were technically the same size, I knew I was bigger. And fatter. And more horrifying. You could tell by looking at me.
In the first few months of living in Baltimore, my roommate asked if I wanted the bottoms of a bikini that didn’t fit her right. I scoffed, commenting that if they were too small on her, of course they would be too small on me. She said that she figured we were the same weight. The look on my face, confused anger, led her to continue. “We’re shaped differently, of course, but I think we’re about the same weight.” I wouldn’t believe such a ridiculous notion.
Fat does not mean ugly, but I hated myself for a long time and in my eyes, my fat was part of my clear and consuming ugliness.
It took me 20 years to realize that I am not fat. Or ugly or rotted or disgusting underneath the bones and muscles and nerves and hair and fat.
This is about realizing how thin privilege has shaped my life while I was busy being worried about the burden of being big and fat. All while fighting my personal demons.
Fatness, and the negative qualities our society associates with it, have been a part of my life for a long time. I have been brought up in a stereotypical female role, groomed to believe that prettiness — ie, thinnes, youth, charm — was the ultimate goal of each day. Even now, after seeing my tattoo on my forearm, my grandmother’s reaction was- well what if the man you could marry doesn’t like the tattoo?
These insecurities of being perceived as unattractive: physically, mentally, emotionally, and overall, still show on a regular basis. Though I now try to live as a self-accepting bad ass bitch, scars run deep.
Only recently, reading more about society, feminism, female anatomy system and sexual response, and other topics, have I gotten a clearer understanding of my walls and how society plays a role.
You know how many people do not bother with the UP TO FORTY FIVE MINUTES it can take to make someone with a clitoris orgasm through cunnilingus? Freud admitted, in so many words, that he said orgasm via the clitoris was inferior to orgasm via vaginal penetration just because he was sexist. Unlike people who have a penis, whose networks are pretty uniform, each person with a vulva has a unique network of nerves and therefore way to come. This stuff blew my mind.
Partners have been as important as books. One in particular comes to mind. He was just so expressive, grateful to be with me, patient, and excited. I had shared some thoughts about weight with him and he had commented along the lines of: “Yeah, give or take 70 pounds, you would still be beautiful.” I believed him.
To disrupt the fight for self-love in a brain that hates its body was refreshing. To have a partner express their acceptance, when many have remained silent, was different. To have someone accept me wholly was a relief.
Lessons on anatomy, physiology, history, and feminism and realizations about the self, keep blowing my mind as I reach my mid twenties. I am indignant about this because a) I taught/teach sex ed and this is great information to have b) knowing it would have made my sex life better, c) knowing it would have made my overall life better, and d) more people should be learning this, earlier.
I’m grateful body positivity is a main stream issue and I get to read about the many wonderful people who are continuing the dialogue of self acceptance. Their stories, strength, struggle, and success gives me hope and happiness, acceptance, perspective.
I do not identify with many of their physical challenges of being fat. I do not need to worry about the sturdiness of chairs, the space in aisles of restaurants, seat sizes in movie theaters, or finding cute clothes that fit.
I don’t identify with all the societal challenges either, but I kind of do because they were there in my head, if not in reality.
I also don’t identify with being thin and I marvel at the attention my thinner and prettier friends have gotten.
I do have a running anxious dialogue of all those things though. It seems clear to me that most of the hate I was hearing was inside my own head. But that self hate was nurtured by people, media, society, etc! Which came first, the narrative or the outcome?
Experiences run along ten thousand spectrums and I don’t know where I fit.
My delusions about my self image and my weight have surprised me. Looking back at pictures of myself from high school, I am shocked at how different I appear in the photo than what I had seen in the mirror years ago. Now, I don’t trust my eyes or brain to be a good judge, but I also don’t see a need to find the right words to describe myself.
I am throwing my hands up in the air and saying, this is how I look like and I don’t know what it is, but it is, so we’re all just going to accept that and move on with our lives. I think I am expressing myself in some genuine and positive way with my appearance and I’m going to try to use my energy to focus on other things.
I’m going to eat whole foods that I cooked and share them with people I love. I’m going to take selfies and post them especially during more anxious periods because I want validation and to celebrate myself when I feel like fleeing my life. I’m going to focus on the things that make me actually feel good and whole instead of desperately grasping for quick satisfaction.
I want to find the things that set my heart on fire. My body is just the vessel containing a never ending ocean. It is what flows out of the vessel that matters.
I hope the people who feel compelled to describe me use words like “hella rad” or “delightfully bad sense of humor” or “flawed but trying.” The people I want to hear opinions from are the ones who understand the size of your thighs doesn’t translate to much else. They are what they are.
And I am constantly evolving.
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