So I'm fat. Now what?

Let me start this by saying two simple words. I'm fat. And let me also share that in many ways, I am sick of seeing all the articles and commentary and debate over fat shaming and body positivity. But mostly, I am sad that these discussions are still even necessary. But they are, and whether I want them to nor not, every single time I see a tweet or blog or magazine feature or Facebook post.... and every time I hear the comments that are directed at me (sometimes on purpose, sometimes when they think I can't hear them) or at someone else.... it affects me.

I learned long, long ago to put on a brave face in public. Sometimes it helped me, sometimes it led to more pain. See, I have been fat my entire life. I was born a “big” baby and have been a big girl for every single day of my life. I remember seeing our family doctor when I was approaching puberty, and him telling me that I had such a pretty face but no boys were going to like me if I was fat. I remember the mean girls in elementary and junior high and high school, who would pretend to be my friend so that I would tell them which boys I had a crush on. They would turn around and tell the boys and they'd all have a great laugh at my expense. I remember some of the boys I had crushes on, who actually were friendly with me, but just as friends. No one wanted to be the guy dating the fat girl.

Growing up, before bullying became something that people took seriously, I was bullied. “Fatty, fatty two-by-four, can't fit through the kitchen door. Fatty, fatty two-by-eight, can't fit through the garden gate.” was a daily song the kids would sing on the playground. In gym class, when we had to run laps, kids shaking and pretending that by running, I was causing an earthquake. I remember every last detail of these, and countless other, similar experiences.

I am far from being the only fat kid to have gone through it. Some used the abuse as a springboard to lose weight and become thin, so that kids stopped picking on them. My way of dealing with it was to pretend that I didn't hear the comments, and that none of the teasing bothered me. I laughed it off. And I withdrew from people. I learned to be by myself. I internalized everything and yes, continued to find comfort in food. Food was... food IS.... my ultimate frenemy. It is my addiction and it is my struggle, but it also doesn't judge me. It doesn't make me feel like I am stupid or worthless or ugly.

I have been “dieting” my whole life, with little if any success. I put quotations around the word dieting because the truth of the matter is that much of the time, I am putting no real effort into it on a consistent basis. Hence the lack of success. But I still feel compelled that, if offered a cookie or a snack of any kind, that I should decline because “I'm watching what I eat.” It's expected. If I was to actually EAT anything that could be judged as inappropriate due to my size, it's having to deal with the disgusted looks, judgments and comments all over again. Instead, behind closed doors, when no one can see me or judge me, instead of eating that one cookie that I was offered, that I really wanted, in private, I eat 5 cookies. And then I chastise myself for being a fat, undisciplined pig. Why can't I just not eat that shit? It's a vicious circle, a hateful game that I play with myself. And I always lose.

So........... what's the point of this? What prompted me to write this? Recently, I read an article about Tess Holliday, a plus size model, and some of the hateful reaction to her. And all sorts of memories came flooding back to me. A lifetime's worth. The article I am specifically speaking of can be found here: http://mic.com/articles/122279/the-comments-on-this-plus-size-model-s-facebook-show-exactly-why-we-need-body-positivity

In the world of fashion and modeling, “plus size” often is used to describe women who are a size 8, 10, or 12. The truth is, true plus size clothing stores START at a size 16/18. Tess is a true plus size model, clocking in as a size 22. She has cellulite, visible in her pics. She has rolls. She has a panniculus. She is fat. But, unlike me, she is confident with her looks. She sees her own beauty. She embraces happiness. I say unlike me because I still feel like that 12 year old girl who has a pretty face, but that no one will like because I'm fat. I know I have a pretty face, but I am certainly not beautiful. I have happy moments, but I don't remember the last time I was truly, completely happy. I simply don't feel like I deserve happiness. I am too much of a failure to be happy. I can fake it most of the time, look at the pieces of happiness I allow myself on occasion, and cling to those. But I'm not happy.

I sometimes wish everyone had to be fat for a week, if for no other reason, than for perspective. To someone who's never struggled with their weight... do you have any idea how much energy and effort simple things actually take? You see me climb a couple of flights of stairs, breathing heavy afterwards, and judge me for not being able to climb without trouble. Strap a couple hundred pounds on your back, and see how easy it is. Carry the weight around and see how your back feels... how your hips and knees and ankles feel. Is this a fate of my own making? Yes, of course it is... but do you actually think that I don't know that? You don't think I feel all of the shame and guilt that you think I should? I do. I realize it in every second of every minute of every day. And for that very reason, I would never wish my reality on anyone.

On the other side of the spectrum, there are those who try to show compassion and really make effort to see fat people as people. They are the ones who say that what matters is the person, not the body. That everyone is beautiful. People like J.K. Rowling, who's quote has been circulated as a meme countless times. You've seen it, I'm sure: “Is fat really the worst thing a human being can be? Is fat worse than vindictive, jealous, shallow, vain, boring, evil, or cruel? Not to me!” People who, when incidents like the reaction to Tess, or the comments that were made a few years back about Jennifer Livingston, a newscaster at a small Wisconsin TV station (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUOpqd0rQSo), express their outrage and how it's what's on the inside that counts.

But let me point out a few things that fat haters like to point out, as if we who are fat were unaware.

Being fat (not the size 8 or 10 kind of fat, but FAT) is unhealthy. Yes, this I know. I actually know it more acutely that you do, because I am the one that's fat. I am the one that has to stop to catch my breath if I'm going up more than 2 flights of stairs. I am the one that feels the ache in my bones and joints when I bend over or squat down or get up out of a chair or out of bed in the morning.

But I ask you... by being cruel to me, or to anyone else struggling with their weight, do you actually think you're helping? In your twisted sense of reality, do you think your cruelty is motivating us to make lifestyle changes? You're not. YOU ARE NOT. YOU are making it worse. You don't have to like me or befriend me or offer anything that you think might be “supporting” my unhealthy lifestyle. Maybe you could just leave me alone.

Being fat is not physically attractive. Maybe not to you. Everyone has their own preferences. So you don't want to fuck me. That's ok. Maybe I don't want to fuck you either. But does that mean that I am not worthy of some basic human compassion? Does that mean you can't be civil to me? Even friendly? Would it be so hard to just be kind to me because I am a living, breathing human being?

If you read the article in the link above, about Tess Holliday, I draw your attention to the guy who's comment was “not really contributing to the discussion. Just wanted to state how much she turns me off”. In other words, he's commenting for no reason other than to be mean, hateful and try to hurt her feelings. Nice job. Yet we have had to deal with ASSHOLES like this our whole lives: people who purposely want to make us feel bad for no other reason than to make us feel bad. I have learned to pretend not to hear these kinds of assholes. I keep a stone face, make no acknowledgment whatsoever. I refuse to give assholes like this the satisfaction. And even they don't get to “win”, neither do I. Many times, because they aren't getting the reaction that they want, they keep going. Comments get more and more cruel and hateful. And about 95% of the time, once I am alone, I do break down. I might be fat, but I have feelings.

And sadly, those words, those insults... they stay with us for a long time... years... sometimes forever. That old saying that we used to say when we were kids was wrong: Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. We often wave off the words that hurt us because we wouldn't want the people who are making us feel bad about ourselves, feel bad about themselves. So we say it doesn't matter, it doesn't hurt, it's no big deal. But, the truth is that the broken bones we got from the sticks and stones will heal. The bruises will fade. We know when we've healed from physical injuries. The injuries inflicted by words stay with us much, much longer. Those hateful voices stay inside of our head. Every time I fail at a diet, I hear them again. When I want to be able to jog in the park, but I can't, I hear them. And every time I hear those words and voices, even though they're in my head, they rip off the scab and my wound is fresh.

At the end of the day, my words aren't going to change the world. People who don't know me, make no attempt to get to know me, but hate me on sight due to my size are not going to wake up one day and magically discover a shred of basic human decency. So why write this? Selfishly, for myself. To remind myself that it's the asshole haters who are the problem. To tell myself that just like Tess, there IS beauty within me. To quiet the negative voices, and let my voice drown them out, as I tell myself that I AM WORTHY. And to retrain myself to be kinder, gentler, and more accepting not only of myself, but everyone around me. Whatever their imperfection may be, I write this to remind myself that is in our differences and our imperfections that character and acceptance live.