To, start, this will be long, but it needs to be written. I’m writing this to put these words out into the universe. These are not words or confessions that I have said out-loud to anyone in full. Frankly, I don’t even think I’ve admitted all of these things to myself up until they all get typed out on this digital white piece of paper. What I do know is that I do not like talking about it, these words will probably not be repeated again and I have lied to myself about most of these things for as long as I can remember.
Now, with that said… Hi! nice to meet ya. I’m fat.
Now, I wish I could say that I am the beautiful, gorgeous, “I am fat – Hear me roar!”, body positivity type of woman. But that is far from the case. Nope, I am the, ewww, gross, mirrors are the worst, don’t tag me in pictures, hide me in the back, don’t hug me too tight because you will feel the blahness that is my body and don’t call me beautiful just because I have a pretty face, type of woman.
See, I love those women. Those women who are so confident in who they are and in their bodies, that flawed or not, they feel and exemplify beauty. Those women who walk into a room, share a picture online or get talked about and you can’t help but admire them. Those women are amazing. Those women, skinny, fat, tall, short, curvy, not, tan, not and everything in between; all of those women are beautiful.
I think the worst part might be this uncomfortable feeling of being in the middle of this love/hate relationship with yourself and with the expectations of the world. You basically have 2 options. The first being to love yourself as you are and give no fucks about what other people think, say or feel about you. The second being to hate yourself and what you’ve done to yourself and to your body and damn near kill yourself trying to achieve “perfection”.
But, see, what do you do when you don’t fit either category?
I have to be 100% honest here. I am not happy with my body. I cannot look at my body and see the extra pounds of fat and blubber that surrounds me and say, oh yeah baby! I cannot stand next to a girl who is a size 2 and feel pretty. I cannot look at the mirror and see the way my clothes cling and hang on my every roll and feel like I am sexy.
Frankly, more than half of the time, I don’t see how my husband thanks I’m beautiful; and trust me, he means it when he says it. I still think he’s delusional, which he hates. But really, if I can avoid him touching me in areas that aren’t “normal”, like my stomach, thighs, arms, even my face when my weight decides to be there; I will do everything that I can to maneuver away from him.
And yes, I know this isn’t fair; to him or myself. He loves me. Unconditionally. This includes with the extra pounds he has watched my body pack on. He is attracted to me. All of me. All the time. I know this. I just can’t fully comprehend this on a logical level and still have an extremely hard time accepting this. Which makes very little sense as I know how in love I am with him and would love him regardless of his physical appearance.
Somehow, I have this double standard with myself. Like, yes, I can love him no matter what, but how can he love all of me? Which, I realize is another element of wrong, because if I don’t believe him, why should he believe me?