Dear World: I am overweight, but that’s not who I am

I was born at the beginning of the last decade of the twentieth century. I am a 90s kid. A millennial, you could say.

I was a cute baby. Cute in the way babies tend to be — a round head, big almond eyes, a head of soft brown hair, and a laugh that made my chubby cheeks go red. I was the very picture of health.

3 kgs of pure health.

Where I come from, the heavier a baby is born, the healthier she is considered. ‘Khaate peete ghar ka bachcha’ (well-fed baby of a well-off family) as we heavy little munchkins are called.

One is forced to wonder exactly when the fat-shaming enters the picture. Is it when a child starts going to school? Is it at puberty? Is it when a child begins developing breasts (their sex notwithstanding)? When does that extra bit of weight begin bothering parents, relatives, friends, and society at large?

Is there some kind of unsaid consensus on this matter?

But I digress.

The other day, I found my mother’s hospital records from when I was 15 days old and we had gone in for her post-natal checkup. I weighed 3.7 kgs at the time. I had gained a little less than a kilogram in 15 days.

So I was a heavy baby. Did it concern people at the time? Not at all. I was healthy and happy, and it was all that mattered.

But all that eventually changed.

I grew up in the midst of mostly thin siblings, so I was considered the ‘fat one’. Everyone had an opinion on my body and my clothes. They told me what I could or couldn’t wear, what I could or couldn’t do. I was also a class-A nerd and was always expected to achieve more, do more. No achievement was big enough, for there was always something greater I could aim for instead.

So I grew up under-confident and with body-image issues. I was an over-achiever at school, but I was never confident or proud of myself. I never wore sleeveless outfits, skirts, or body-hugging clothes. If I spotted any such outfit that I liked, I was conditioned to think it would look great on my perfectly-proportioned sister. Never me.

As I grew older, I successfully hid my struggles from the world. (Because it’s what strong women do.) To everyone, I looked confident, outgoing, and free from the cares of the world. But, oh, the mess inside my head! People looked up to me, while all this time, I was looking down on myself.

Luckily, I went to a liberal arts university for my PG. There, I learnt to confront my fears and make peace with my flaws in a safe environment. It took a lot of courage, effort, and time, but I managed to overcome some of my body-image issues and find self-confidence.

Today I weigh 23 times what I weighed at birth. I like to think I am still healthy. I make a conscious effort to eat clean, I never shy away from a walk or a staircase climb, and I try to include a sport or an exercise session whenever I can. I was recently diagnosed with poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, a lifestyle disorder one in five Indian women are affected by. That and the usual dust allergies aside, I’m healthy. And besides the usual heartbreak, a bunch of hurt, and general everyday stresses, I’m happy as well.

I am still on the ‘wrong’ side of the weighing scale. I always have been, and as it has been pointed out to me by my doctor, I might forever be. But do I let it define me anymore? Does my weight feature anywhere on the extensive list of words I’d use to describe myself to the world, and to myself? No.

I am overweight, but that’s not who I am.

I am much greater than my weight or my size or my height or my colour or the countless other physical markers that people use or have used in the past to put me into a familiar box.

It took me 20 years to come to this realisation. And ever since I did, I have made it my life’s purpose to break out of my shell and talk about it with as many men and women as I can reach with my words and photographs.

Don’t let them tell you you’re the fat girl or the skinny boy. You are not your body weight or your size. If only you could look at yourself for who you think you are, rather than what they tell you, you will find your superpower. And I am living proof — it is never too late to turn on your inner lightbulb and shine.