Let’s talk, okay? You hear it all the time, fat shaming, skinny shaming, shaming of all sorts. We just love dishing out shame nowadays. I think it has a lot to do with the Internet, people started anonymously being rude behind usernames and its bloomed out like a toxic waste cloud out into our physical world.
Let me tell you, I’m overweight, and I Don’t Give a Flying Hippopotamus. I don’t.
My parents were very obese when I was a kid and due to money issues, food was not always an every meal, everyday thing. If it was, it certainly was not healthy.
I started out very long and gangly, big feet and larger than girl’s my age bones:
I didn’t look anything like a chubby kid looked, I was just longer than everyone else. Then puberty started to put out feelers:
Then the teasing started. The fat shaming, and due to my size, I of course couldn’t find cute clothing so that added to the list of insults. So I got to be fat, awkward, and ugly.
Eventually, I seemed to grow into my body. I still though though I was way too fat, and hated my body to no end:
I remember distinctly, after getting these photos developed (there’s something CDubs will never go through!) how much I hated how fat I was in them.
“White?! What was I thinking! I look like a cow!”
Even in college, comments were made about the size of my T&A (as it were) and if I worked out, why didn’t I work out more? Why didn’t I try this diet, this method, take this new dance class….
These remarks circled and circled and wove around my little brain. It dug into my heart and festered there, I would cry and toss clothes around trying to fit into their little boxes that they wanted me in.
It just didn’t work. It still hasn’t worked.
Then, of course I found out I was sick and that in abstract terms (because at 23 do you really think you can die from a brain tumor? Does that possibility even cross anyone’s mind? Drunk driving, sure, drugs, yup but cancers, and diseases and tumors? Isn’t that like, for people pushing 60? Ah youth.) I’d have no body to worry about, if I didn’t focus on that instead!
So I stopped focusing on hair, on having good clothes, on eating perfectly. Yes, I would look in the mirror and say, “oh God look at that back fat! I have enough rolls to open a bakery!” But getting my health under control took a front seat and my weight had to go sit in the back for awhile. It was still there though, in the rear view mirror, I could see it. It shouldn’t have mattered though. I mean really, fat versus possible death, blindness etc.
Even when I went off and became a professional, and worked harder than I though was possible; still I worried about my wardrobe and how I fit into it. Was I being professional and fitting into it well and I should be doing Atkins… but I am still worrying about my health and Oh! I bought that Shaun whomever Hip Hop Abs, let’s to that!
Even with that verve and flurry of activities and trying and eating right for months…. There the fat was and it stayed.
Even when I was throwing up constantly while pregnant, feeling like shit, I was upset I didn’t have a perfect round baby bump.
My ass was defying medical doctrine by being pregnant and I was worried about the shape of my fat.
Then, I gave birth and lost 35 pounds simply through the birthing process.
I was 225 for the first time since collage.
Once again I worried. Was the baby eating enough? Was I producing milk? Did he get enough sleep? When should I start playing with him?
I really didn’t care about anything else. I noticed I had clavicle bones popping out again but, other than that, after the initial, “wow you look nice!” Nothing else was said.
Even 6 months later when I gained a good bit back, no one said anything. No one cared.
I then thought about it. A year and a half ago, I would be telling myself I am fat. I would look at my wedding pictures and only see my flabby arms (I was like a week or two pregnant apparently in those shots!). I would only be happy with the ones that were head shots. I’d be looking in the mirror freaking out because my booty went up a size (widening of hips for birth is a permanent thing people).
I don’t care. I am beautiful. I gave birth to this baby that medically should have been carried by someone else. I breastfed which is EXTREMELY rare in my condition (one because most women want back on the tumor shrinking drug, and two most women with my condition cannot produce milk). I teach 130 kids and work hard to be relevant. I live in chaos and there is so much love and cuddles and big blue eyes shinning with half grown in teeth giggles.
I don’t care I am fat, Large, thick, obese, fluffy, round. My blood pressure is 115 over 80. I am mobile, I do not have even a hint of diabetes, my asthma has cleared up, I walk and move and dance 5 days a week. I am active. I am alive and I am happy!
I really don’t care what size dress I am wearing. I care about the intelligence I posses. I care about the impact I have on others, the time I spend after school helping my students with music. I care about rushing to get CDubs ASAP after lessons so I can cuddle and play with him. I care about being a good mom, a loving mom, a organized mom. I care about living healthy, eating well, and getting enough sleep (can I get an Amen! Mommas).
The fact that I may make someone else uncomfortable because my size, myself, is not what they deem appropriate?
Oh please, take yourself off in another direction, I am trying to have a beautiful life over here.