Well, all the New Year diet crap was bound to trigger this…
Let me tell you something about my upbringing: my family doesn’t like fat. Some, like my grandmother, outright tell you horrible things and slap your thighs. Others do that concern trolling because it’s all about your health, amirite?
I have always had a hard time accepting my body. When the girls in the 6th grade were contemplating buying their first training bras, my mother was buying me a 32C bra with Muppets on it. She thought that the Muppets would make me feel better. I do love me some Kermit, but when you get tagged as the fat kid at school because you’re the only option and your older brother’s friends are looking at you like you’re the older sister, let’s just say I wanted to hide. By the time I hit the 8th grade I hit the D’s. Throughout the rest of middle school and most of high school, I ate myself into oblivion. I peaked at just over 200 in high school, decided in the 11th grade that rugby and an eating disorder would help and graduated at 170. I was so happy with that weight. Now, I was still considered chubby at a size 15/16, but no one really bothered me about my weight anymore.
Then there was my first pregnancy. I came out of that one in rough shape. I had gained 90 pounds. Truth be told, all the mockery of those kids and the concern trolling of my family filled my head and it didn’t help that people’s first words to me was usually something about losing the baby weight, right after they cooed over K (I so have a post about that in the future…), and before giving me a hug. After I had my second one, G, I came out 15 pounds lighter. Cue the comments about how I can now lose K’s weight because OMG HOW DARE YOU STAY FAT AFTER HAVING A BABY THINK ABOUT YOUR KIDS YOU’RE GONNA DIE THEY NEEEEEEED YYYOOOOOOUU!!!!
Then there’s all these lovely posts and support online that tell you that it’s okay. Being fat isn’t the end of you, so long as you’re healthy that’s all it matters, and even if you are sucking down vats of McDonald’s it’s no one’s business but your own. I know deep down that this is all true. There’s one major problem. I can’t reconcile looking at old pictures of myself, with the way I am now, and truly say that I am going to be fine with the way I am.
Now, I find people who are fat and happy some of the bravest people on earth, and I am way more jealous of them than I am of thin people. Daring to be fine with just the way you are is such a giant FU to society, and I only wish that I can be so bold. But the plain and painful truth for me is that I haven’t looked at my full body in a full mirror for more than 30 seconds because I hate my body, I hate the way I look, and on the darker days I hate myself. And I know this is such a downer moment and I’m pissing on a lot of parades here, but telling me that I am fine just the way I am when I am so repulsed by my own appearance is like crapping on my head and expecting me to call it a hat.
It’s not for lack of trying. I tried before I got pregnant with G to lose weight. I walked to and from work every day, which was an hour total. I curbed a lot of my eating. I tried to stay positive that even just this lift in activity would help, but I didn’t move an inch. This is where those in the FA and HAES (Healthy At Every Size) movements would tell me that it’s okay, maybe I’m meant to be this way now. But how do you tell yourself, when you see yourself in better times looking hot and confident, that you’re supposed to be fat? How do you tell yourself that it’s okay when YOU YOURSELF is the primary person not okay with it? I can only blame society for how it sees me for so long before I see that I am my own worst critic and honestly I don’t know how to stop.
I’m scared. I have all the deathfatz stuff in my family with diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and heart issues. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be told that it’s fine. I also don’t like being told that I’m the fattiest fatty fat fat that ever lived and maybe if I just hit a gym (which I can’t afford, assholes) and stop eating (if I eat any less, it would be classified as an eating disorder, assholes) I would fix all of my life’s problems (you know what? Why don’t you quit your bad habit shit, assholes). I’m shit scared of never snapping out of it and accepting this in a healthy manner, because the last time I broke I tortured my body, and I was just fat enough that no one noticed. In fact, everyone complimented me on how awesome and disciplined I was! I am getting mixed messages every day, and the underlying voice is always telling me that I will never succeed.
Know why? Because when we get to the bare bones of this rambling overshare I shall call a blog post, who here REALLY believes that this is about being fat and not, oh, maybe about how I see myself? It’s one thing to let people in on the fact that there is nothing wrong with being fat (it’s just because people don’t like looking at it), it’s another to acknowledge that BEYOND the shaming, BEYOND the diet hounds, and BEYOND this shit-bag-uber-judgment society, there are some serious issues within some of us that need fixing first.
Without my family truly realizing it, I was raised to hate myself. I am always steps away from sliding back into an eating disorder. I always wonder if my uber hot husband will someday open his eyes and realize that he could be with a hotter woman. I dread my kids ending up in my position because that place of self loathing is so dark it cripples you. I feel crushed and beaten by life. There IS no telling me that I’m fine the way I am, because I am not fine and probably need some serious psychological help that I don’t even have the time or resources to seek out.
It would be great if the Diet Overlords would stop telling me what a fat ass I am, but it would also be great if the people who constantly tell me I’m fine to stop erasing my experience and my emotions. They are treating me like I am nothing but a silly girl, and nothing enrages me more.