Please, Don’t Let the Internet Know I’m Fat
The first time someone called me “fat,” it wasn’t to my face. When I was in fifth grade, I worshipped one of the most popular girls in my class. I wanted nothing more than for her and I to become best friends, and for me to join the bubble of popular kids (which inevitably would make my life perfect). Fifth grade was also the year I started puberty, and I was a bit uncomfortable in my own skin. So it was especially hard when my friend Rachel told me that she hated the way the popular girl treated me. When I pressed her about it, she told me the girl had been making fun of me and calling me “fat” behind my back. And from that day on, I learned to hate my body.
Looking back now, it’s easy to see that I was too hard on myself. I hit puberty early and I hit it hard. My body was going through a natural, healthy change. However, gaining some pudge mixed with my nonathletic nature made me feel like my body was wrong. From that point forward, my weight would be a touchy subject. I would compare myself to girls with naturally slender frames, and wish I could be more like them. I felt like I was too fat for anyone to find me attractive. I was constantly on a diet, oftentimes restricting myself to unhealthy proportions. But even at my skinniest, I still hated my body. It was never enough.
Then in high school, social media popped up. My website of choice was called Vampirefreaks, a “goth” alternative to MySpace. In this place where no one knew me in real life, I learned that a strategically-angled picture can make a world of difference. I controlled my image so I could be me, but better. If my confidence was waning, I’d take a selfie in a Hot Topic corset, post it, and watch the positive comments flood in. I got a rush from getting admiration from strangers online. Looking through those pictures loaded with compliments finally made me feel beautiful.
It’s been 10 years since my Vampirefreaks discovery, and since then I’ve put on about 100 pounds. Ironically, I hate my body much less now than I did back then. Joining body positive communities has helped tremendously with my own self-image issues. However, I still have a long way to go before I can feel proud of the body I have. While I often tweet body positive sentiments, I won’t post any wide-shot photos of myself. Whenever someone tags me in a picture on Facebook, I inwardly grimace. The internet is still somewhere I can control my image to a certain degree, the place where I can be an improved version of myself. So I still want my selfies to give me a boost of confidence, not remind me that I have flaws and self-image issues. But how can I call myself a body positive feminist if I still can’t bear to show the internet my whole body?
To a certain extent, our personalities on social media are our own personal fantasies. There’s an angle we take to try and make ourselves look more glamorous than we feel in real life. My social media persona is a mix between who I am and who I want to be. Traditional media has been telling me my body is wrong my entire life and, despite my best efforts to ignore it, it still gets to me. Social media lets me take that power back. Does this mean I don’t believe another person my size should proudly post pictures of their body? Never. I believe all bodies should be praised, no matter the shape or size. But I also know my self-esteem isn’t in a place where I can allow myself to think about my own body that way.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be willing to show the internet my real body. I also don’t know if that’s a bad thing. Social media is full of people wanting to show the best versions of themselves. It’s a way to communicate with people in a place where we’re more in control over how we’re perceived. For people with anxiety and confidence issues like me, it’s a safe haven.
My battle with my body image is a battle I’m continuing to fight, and I think I will continue to gain more ground with it. Until then, I’ll keep posting selfies on days where my hair is just right and my confidence is soaring. They’re love letters to myself, little reminders on days when I hate my body. I remember that I am beautiful, even if I don’t always feel it. Maybe the way I portray myself online isn’t “real.” But it helps me love myself, and that’s all that matters.
