A few years ago, I was looking at my old school photos. You know the ones – where you had to sit on a fake stump and smile through the discomfort. I happened upon one that must’ve been taken when I was around 10 years old – right when I was becoming uber-aware of my body and how it didn’t fit, both conceptually with burgeoning beauty standards for tween girls and physically. As I perused these photos, I felt such a deep sense of shame. Instead of reminiscing over simpler times, I went to the bathroom and cried non-stop for a good hour.
Because, instead of thinking back to my plethora of crushes, the doom of getting braces or even the discovery of my love for reading, I latched on to my weight. My first thought was, “I was so fat.” And by fat, I meant gross. I was so ashamed of my past and present self for not meeting the impossible expectations I placed on myself.
A year or so after seeing the photos and having a subsequent meltdown, I was a freshly graduated high-schooler. I thought I had reached peak self-confidence, so I took a massive plunge… I downloaded Tinder. Right away, all my internalized fat-phobia came rushing back to me. I obsessed over which images to show, not wanting a hint of stomach or a peek of arm fat to be seen. And when it came time to meet my first date, I couldn’t get my brain to shut up. Did my date think I was fat, and therefore unattractive? Were they embarrassed to be seen with me? It’s no surprise I deleted the app right after I got home from my date, not wanting to face the mortification my mind created.
Yeah, so I’ve always had a detrimental relationship with my body. My mind has been my worst enemy, at times, but it’s slowly becoming my best advocate. In the past year, I’ve been doing a lot of self-reflection on how I’ve viewed my body, and I’ve been working to dismantle all of my negative thoughts about fatness. In doing so, I’ve come to this conclusion: fat isn’t a bad word.
As a fat woman who has grown up fat, my biggest fear was that someone would think I was fat. In my mind, fat was a synonym for unattractive, lazy, stupid and/or unworthy; the list goes on. But after a year of mentally correcting myself every time I felt ashamed of my body, I know being fat isn’t a bad thing.
I’ve grown up clutching my lower stomach in disdain and worrying over cellulite on my thighs. After many growing pains, both physically and mentally, I’ve come to realize that I’m not beautiful in spite of these so-called “flaws”. I’m beautiful because I’ve accepted myself.
Yes, I’m fat, and that’s okay. By taking ownership of “fat,” I’m taking back all the perusing and judgmental glances to my stomach, all the surprised looks when people see me at the gym and all the internalized shame I’ve built up inside. I’m dismantling the strict beauty standards that have held back my confidence. I have never felt so at home in my body.
Being fat can be emotionally exhausting sometimes, but it is in no way a death sentence to happiness. There are some days I still fight against my own mind, but I’m so grateful to have learned that fat isn’t a bad word.
So here’s to us fat girls and women. We are strong. We are graceful. We are beautiful.