Awhile back, my three-year-old daughter pulled up her shirt, rubbed her tummy, and nonchalantly sighed, "I'm gettin' a fat tummy." I was stunned. I do not talk like that. Fat shaming, even of oneself, is not tolerated in my household. A wave of flashbacks from my childhood flooded in. At the age of 8, a severely broken arm led to a surgery, which required steroids. Over a summer, I went from being active and stick-thin to awkward and pudgy. Seven years later, I became a teen mother, which wrecked my still-growing body. At the age of 20, I became pregnant with my second child and my weight did nothing but go up. A lot. I've spent most of the last 17 years being absolutely ashamed of my appearance. It's an unspoken battle. I do not draw attention to myself, do not bring up my burden to others. I never say I'm fat. I teach my children that they are beautiful no matter what. So where in the hell did my child get this notion that she is fat?
And then it dawned on me. She watches me get dressed. She sees me check my appearance in the mirror. Therefore, she can plainly see on my face the disgust I feel for myself, the failure I only acknowledge in my mind when it stares back from my reflection. I've seen this look on my face before, glancing up after seeing my stretched out, stretch-marked, puffy body. I can tell you that look says it all. I feel like a failure. I feel hideous. My husband hasn't seen me naked since... never. But then I had to have that hard moment with myself, where wisdom stepped in and made me face my worst enemy: me. How could I preach loving yourself to my children when I bashed every inch of my body in my mind? Wasn't I a hypocrite? Why did I feel this way anyway, especially when I saw the value of accepting beauty in every form?
I grew up with a judgmental stick figure mother. Your weight determined your value to her. I've heard, "She's nice but she's a fat f*cking pig." more times than I could count. I knew she was wrong and I often protested. I'd wage war and demand to know how somebody was a bad person based on their size. I often wonder if I subconsciously gained weight out of spite. A moment impressed upon my mind was my mother regretfully telling a mutual coworker that I "used to be so skinny"- right in front of me. My turning point with her, however, came after my daughter was born. I made it crystal clear that weight was not to be brought up near me again when, while holding my newborn 9lb 9oz baby, she exclaimed, "Oh, you're such a little fatass!"
While I'm not blaming my mother for my body at all, she was definitely the inspiration for the voice in my head telling me I've failed, that I'm disgusting. The funny thing is, I'm not actually that large. I won't divulge my weight or how much weight I've lost, if any, because that isn't my point here. Sure, the number on the scale and my BMI indicate I'm a giant. If we're going by my actual body and clothing size, I'm average. I've got a very small waist, a giant bust, and teeny little hips. My thighs are pure Hulk-like muscle. The smallest size I can comfortably fit in is a baggier medium. Even while hating myself, I know I'm beautiful. Sure, I could stand to lose a few pounds but I'd be skin and bones if I were a "healthy" weight.
And I'm not new to this "get skinny" kick. As I said, I've struggled with my body for 17 years. I've lost 20 pounds so many times, only to gain it all back. I even lost 34 pounds once. The problem behind keeping it off was my motivation. At first, I wanted to look cute and wear tight clothes. Then I wanted to prove my worth. Then I wanted to prove that I wouldn't fail this time. Then I just wanted to look good naked. Then I just wanted to look good in my wedding dress.
Now, I want to end the battle with myself. I want to be healthy. I want to run around with my kids. I want my daughter to grow up knowing she's beautiful if she's healthy. I want my son to grow up and find women attractive because they're smart, not skinny. I want to show myself that I am strong enough to do this. And I'm not talking about losing weight. I'm talking about loving myself no matter what I look like.
I stopped smoking nine months ago. I've transitioned to a healthier diet. I'm slowly but surely adding in exercise (curse it to bowels of hell!) I'm trying to defeat my crazy-making insomnia. Most importantly, I'm checking in with that wise little voice in my head, the one that tells me I'm doing well and to love every flaw I have because they make me who I am. I ask myself if I'm happy. I try to make peace with things I can't change. I make an effort to compliment myself, to tell myself I am pretty because I'm being true to my heart.
Stop fat-shaming, people. Stop hating yourselves because you're not perfect. What is perfect, anyway? What society tells you? It isn't. You're perfect when you embrace yourselves and others for being honest and kind to one another. If a little girl could see that size wasn't dependent on character, why can't we apply that logic to ourselves? We're beautiful because we're here, living this crazy life together, accepting ourselves and each other for being unique, individualistic, kind, and happy. If you want to lose weight, go for it! You can do it! But don't do it for anybody but yourself. Don't think about the you 20, 50 pounds skinnier. Just be happy being who you are now, in this moment, because that's the you that counts.
