Growing Up as the “Bigger Kid”

From the ages eight to fifteen, I hated that damn camera. 

I hated the way I took up space in pictures compared to my siblings and I hated the pity compliments that would arise after expressing my insecurities. All I wanted was for that damn camera to be put away for good. 

A distinct memory I have as a ten year old girl was in a fitting room with my older sister. We were trying on some clothes and she looked absolutely incredible in each one. On the other hand, I remember my crippling insecurities rising as I looked at myself with a dress on. I felt hideous. I remember myself trying not to cry, trying to hold back just ripping the dress off and running out of that room. It was supposed to be a fun day at the mall with our grandma, and yet for the rest of the day, I couldn’t get the image of myself in the mirror out of my head.

To reiterate, I was a ten year old girl.

I could count on my hands the number of times one of my parents called me “fat” or “overweight” while being scolded as a child. While only a few times, the words stick. They stick with me as I compare my looks with my siblings and they stuck with me as I went into school. It was hard not to think about my body and those words when all of my friends were tinier than me. And I know now none of my friends cared about how I looked or what I wore, but at the time I would think, “Why would they want to be friends with me?”

Childish, but hey, I was a child.

In middle school and early high school, the only clothes I felt that I could wear without feeling gross were high rise jeans and loose t-shirts. The moment any kind of tight shirt or dress was presented to me, I freaked out. When I was twelve, at my literal mother’s wedding, I changed from my bridesmaid dress into shorts and a loose t-shirt during reception because I thought my body looked better that way. Looking back, I can’t help but feel somber for the girl who couldn’t see herself as beautiful just because all the girls around her were skinnier than she was. 

I remember how I used to wear distracting clothes, such as neon shirts, to take attention off of how my actual body looked. I rejected any kind of feminine clothing because I knew it would outline all of the features I could not stand. I did not throw fits or tantrums often, but when I did, it was usually over the fact that my mother would force me to wear a dress or a skirt for an event. I can feel right now the frustration that would bubble when looking at the photos from those nights with an ever-present frown on my face as I looked at myself compared to my sisters.

I am now eighteen years old, and I still can’t put myself on a scale around others, even my sisters. While I am now confident in myself, and I have learned to appreciate my body, that scale will always transport me back to those dark days. Yet, there are many differences in my life that fifteen year old me would never believe. Firstly, dresses are one of my favorite clothing items to wear and style. Secondly, I am able to get dressed in front of other girls without feeling insecure or uncomfortable. Thirdly, I no longer put value on my weight. I may be heavier or lighter than I was at fifteen, but what matters more is my attitude and living every day to the fullest. 

Now, this isn’t meant to be a sad piece or one that makes you feel blue, but a piece that opens up a part of me that I usually don’t talk about with the people around me. 

You might not believe it, but nowadays I’m the one asking for others to take photos of me. I love that damn camera. Even if I don’t like the results, I know it’s okay because I was happy while doing it and that never used to happen before. 

• #body image
• #GrowingUp