About a year ago, I managed to shed around 30 pounds for what feels like the umpteenth time. During this period, my father came for a visit and made a comment that struck me deeply, leaving me both confused and a bit hurt.
My dad is a wonderful person; I truly care for him. He doesn’t mean any harm, which is why his words caught me off guard. Here’s how the conversation unfolded:
Dad: “Hey! You look fantastic. Have you lost weight?”
Me: “Yeah, I’ve been trying. About 30 pounds.”
Dad: “That’s awesome! Because you’re not really fat inside. You’re skinny on the inside. You’re not fat. That’s not my child. My child isn’t fat.”
Me: silence.
A. It was as bewildering and painful as you can imagine. B. It wasn’t completely unexpected because he often expresses sentiments like this. C. Surprisingly, I find myself agreeing with him to some extent.
As a child, I was always slim, no matter my eating habits (whether I indulged in a whole cheesecake or barely ate). By the time my second child arrived, I had gained about 15 pounds. I remember my boss back then complimenting my beauty but suggesting that losing 10 pounds would make me stunning.
Fast forward a few years, and I had somehow packed on another 20 pounds. I tried dieting and managed to lose 50 pounds, then I started nursing school and took on night shifts. When I weighed myself again, I was shocked to discover my body fat percentage was around 35% Oreos. I gained 55 pounds back, then went through the cycle of dieting again (yes, it feels like a scene from Groundhog Day). I started training for marathons, lost 65 pounds, got divorced, remarried, and then gained 20 pounds at my husband’s request (because, apparently, bones aren’t attractive?).
When I got pregnant for the fourth time, I stopped marathon training and gained 60 pounds. Now, I’m on a rollercoaster of weight fluctuations, having cycled through my entire wardrobe multiple times.
Lost 15 pounds, pregnant again (yes, that makes five). Gained 30, lost 20, got an IUD, gained 10.
Feeling lost yet?
Over the years, I’ve fluctuated up to 200 pounds at times. After dieting, I dropped 35 pounds, only for my therapist to diagnose me with “exercise bulimia,” which is apparently a real thing. My husband often tells me that my obsessive calorie counting and extreme workouts are driving him crazy. Six months later, I found myself back at square one with every pound regained.
I haven’t even touched on the emotional chaos of gaining and losing what equates to six small children or two grown men—it’s an exhausting experience.
I hesitate to share all of this because I know the stigma surrounding fatness. (I use the term “fat” descriptively; I am indeed a person with fat.) Society often views fat individuals as lazy, undisciplined, and gluttonous. While I recognize this isn’t true, I also understand that many hold these beliefs. I don’t want to be perceived as “that” fat person. I pride myself on being one of the least lazy individuals you could meet. I can’t sit through a film if there’s laundry to do or ignore a dirty carpet. Laziness is not in my nature.
Despite weighing 200 pounds, I struggle with the identity of being fat. I know I appear that way; I’m a size 16, and a Chinese food binge can push me to an 18 (thanks to all that salt!). I doubt many women want to embrace the label of being fat or have to shop in the “fat” section of stores (if those sections even exist). My loving husband avoids calling me fat, opting for terms like “curvy” or “voluptuous” instead, fully aware of the negative connotations associated with fat.
Internally, I don’t view myself as fat. I’m a wife, a mother, a sister, a nurse, a friend, a writer, and even a yarn enthusiast. I experience moments of depression and bursts of mania. I’m the adult child of an addict. I’m so much more than a number on the scale.
Yet, a looming truth hangs overhead: I am not the slender individual I feel like inside. Regardless of my self-perception, the reality is that I am fat, and that knowledge saddens me.
It saddens me to think about my husband potentially seeking a thinner, more conventionally attractive partner. Does everyone think he’s just a nice guy for staying with a fat woman? Or could it be that I’m an incredible person and spouse, regardless of my size?
It saddens me to look in the mirror and struggle to see beauty. Who determines what is beautiful? My curvy hips, my rounded backside, the contours of my belly—are these not part of my beauty? Is beauty merely a reflection of societal standards?
It saddens me to find myself in a group of women, scanning the room to see if I’m the heaviest one there. Why do we, as women, reduce each other to mere physical attributes?
The truth is, I would prefer to be smaller. I’ve been everything from underweight to overweight, and I do prefer a middle ground. However, I understand that 95% of dieters will regain lost weight, a fact supported by the research in Health at Every Size by Linda Bacon, PhD. Given my history, I can attest that this statistic rings true for me. I still weigh 200 pounds.
But I have not given up; I haven’t resigned to being fat for eternity. I’ve simply stopped viewing weight loss as a never-ending battle. I’m not counting calories or exercising solely to justify indulging in a treat. I’m not striving to “get in shape” because I’m not “out of shape”—I’m a shape, and it happens to be round. I’m not focusing on shedding “extra pounds” because they are part of me; they are all mine.
Ultimately, I’m not working on anything except prioritizing my health and happiness.
I truly want to embrace self-love for my body so that others will see my indifference toward my size. But I can’t quite reach that point.
I believe my body is remarkable. It has brought several beautiful, kind, and amazing individuals into the world. I can walk, run, and ride a bike. I am healthy (despite my size, so don’t even ask). I am intelligent, compassionate, and kind—none of which are tied to my physical appearance. I am thankful for all of these experiences. But when I look at myself, I still see a fat person.
And while I wish it weren’t the case, it is. I want to shift the focus of our conversations to encompass all the incredible aspects of who we are beyond our bodies. I am so much more than just “fat” or “thin.” We all are.
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Summary:
Navigating body image can be challenging, especially when societal expectations clash with personal identity. The author reflects on her lifelong struggle with weight, self-perception, and the emotions tied to being labeled as fat. Despite her size, she emphasizes the importance of recognizing oneself as more than just a number on a scale and calls for a shift in the conversations surrounding body image to focus on the multifaceted nature of identity.
Keyphrase: Body image and self-acceptance
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