When I was fat, I had
no idea.
People don’t walk up
to you and say, “oh, you’ve gained weight.” No one comments on your physical
build or your shape change. They keep their thoughts to themselves, because
when you’re fat, it is rude for them to notice. It isn’t their place to
comment, no matter what they think. When I was fat, I didn’t notice. I didn’t
care. I knew my clothes were fitting differently and that stairs took longer to
climb, but was I angry? Was I ashamed? Did I look in the mirror every day and
wish I was different? No, because I didn’t know I should.
I knew I looked different than other girls. I knew my body
was not the ideal type. I didn’t know there was anything wrong with how I
looked. I still dated, I still danced; I was still me and that was all that
mattered. I wasn’t aware that I should judge the way I looked and hate it. The
self-love I felt was genuine. I didn’t know I shouldn’t love myself until
someone told me I needed to change.
As a child, I had moments of insecurity. I had moments where
I thought “I’m too big” or “I don’t look like the pretty girls.” Then my family
would step in, remind me I was unique, special, looks were never a focus. I was
told I was smart. You are clever, funny, wise. I was never only told I was
beautiful or pretty, there was always an and. “Pretty and talented,” “brave,
kind, and have great eyebrows.” If you never hear that you’re not enough, you
will always be complete. I was 211 pounds, and I was happy. I was secure. Then
I was told I was too much.
Suddenly I had to change. The world would not accept that I
was clever, a fast learner, and a great conversationalist. Now, I needed to fit
a standard. I needed to look better, “feel better,” and to do this I had to
change. So, I did.
Eight pounds, twenty, thirty -five, gone. The weight fell
away and so did the security. When you’re fit or thin, suddenly your body is
not your own. The world decides you are now “worthy” of their thoughts and opinions.
“You look so good,” “you’re so hot now,” “hey girl, can I get some of that?” I
lost my confidence, I lost the and. No one comments on your wit, your brains,
your empathy once you’re pretty. It is only about how you look. Suddenly, if
you don’t look perfect or right you are less than and there isn’t any other
place your value can come from – there is only your looks. Although I once knew
this isn’t true, I believed it. I followed the compliments, got addicted to the
eyes and words, and began to believe that there was nothing else that gave me
value.
Now I crave it. I send selfies so I can shoot up on the likes.
I post “self-love posts” when my confidence is the lowest. I say that losing weight
has helped my mental health, but I struggle eating a bagel in the morning
because of the calories. I hate myself if I don’t go to the gym. I beat myself
up for each mini kit kat I eat. Do I love the gym and feeling strong? Yes. Are there now so many extra, useless concerns rolling through my head? Yes.
How long will I have to work out to balance out this meal?
If I eat this, can I eat dinner later? Are my arm muscles too big? Will I still
be pretty if I am strong? Am I worthy of their attention yet? Am I finally
enough?
Enough. I have always been enough. I used to believe that
whole heartedly. Now, there’s a line that I will never reach, but will keep running
toward. People always think someone who goes through a big transformation feels
better after. When I was fat, I didn’t know I had to be someone else to be
perfect. I was perfect. Now, I am the world’s property and they tell me what I
need to be, and I am not my own.
And the best part is, the world says I should be happy. I
should be proud of where and who I am; why? Because I’m starting to match their
idea of perfect? Because I can wear clothes in a single digit size? Tell me
society, what is happy about counting calories? About guilting myself every
time I do something that brings me joy, even if it doesn’t bring me closer to
fitness goals? Where is the happiness in fear that I will gain the weight back
and become nothing?
You created this
fear. You fed it and starved me. You gave me small doses of approval, hooking
me into the web of need, allowing me a taste of what it means to be validated
by others and not myself. You took away my inner support, cut me off from the
confident, kick-ass warrior within me and left me in the cold begging for one
more taste of a warm gaze. You did this, and I let you.
I fell into your welcoming arms so quickly; didn’t notice
the addict I became. Didn’t see how much I needed you. Now, I’m fighting back.
I am becoming someone new. Someone who finds people to feed the girl within and
not the girl I look like, people who grow the fire inside and not the hotness
that is skin deep.
I am fighting back. It will be hard. But you are no longer
who I am trying to impress. Because guess what world, I am beautiful and. I am
smart, funny, wise, empathetic, gentle, fierce, energetic, talented, loving,
sweet, and kind. I can be all these things to myself. I can be enough.
